In recent months, more and more people have been describing a surprising psychological paradox: on the one hand, they acutely experience long days of calm when the sense of danger does not disappear but rather "suffocates from within," while on the other hand, during yet another siren or the sounds of a ballistic threat, they do not get out of bed, brushing it off with a familiar "it will blow over." Gestalt therapist and Betobee psychologist Olha Maksymchuk, in an interview with RBC.UA's Wave publication, explained why the brain and body produce such polar reactions when living in a state of chronic stress for several years, and why none of these reactions are "wrong."
The tension cycle that never reaches discharge
Maksymchuk introduced the concept of the "tension cycle": tension builds up, reaches a peak, discharges, and is followed by rest. This is how any organism lives — it gets scared, runs, releases energy, exhales, and calms down. Anxiety in this model is not an enemy, but a normal, healthy mobilization of the body in the face of a threat. The problem is that under conditions of ongoing shelling, this cycle is systematically cut short halfway. A siren triggers the buildup of tension, but an explosion does not always happen. The tension does not reach the top and therefore gets no chance to drop. It simply "hangs in the body" — an hour, two, an entire night. The cycle is interrupted dozens of times, and the body remains "as if half-cocked," while this memory accumulates.
Why silence becomes louder than a siren
After a shelling, the tension should subside, but according to the psychologist, silence — a day, two, a week, sometimes even a second week — gives the body no support. The tension has nothing to lean on, it has no "figure." The body waits for the next signal because all its experience suggests that the tension will start building up again. "This is not a paradox and not overthinking; this is what an organism sounds like when it has been in a state of readiness for too long and doesn't know how to get out of it," Maksymchuk emphasizes. She notes that for many, silence becomes louder than a siren: suddenly, everything that was pushed aside is heard within it — fatigue, losses, questions that there was no time for.
"Adaptation" or dissociation: what is actually happening
The psychologist bluntly states that the word "adaptation" is used too lightly: "people are used to it," "the psyche has adjusted." "I don't think one can truly adapt to abnormal circumstances. You can survive them, you can learn to cope with them. But the circumstances themselves do not become normal because of that, and the psyche knows it," she asserts. What looks like getting used to it from the outside often turns out to be dissociation from the inside — an ancient defense mechanism in which the psyche increases the distance between the danger and itself, "as if inserting glass between them." A person sees, hears, knows, but the event happens "somewhere, almost not to me." Maksymchuk emphasizes: this is not a choice, not bravado, and not frivolity. "A person who lies under the blanket during ballistic threats and says 'oh well' is usually not fearless — they are disconnected. And their fear hasn't gone anywhere; it just lies deeper."
When indifference is not fatigue, but a signal
At the same time, the psychologist honestly clarifies that not everything boils down to dissociation. Part of the reluctance to go to shelters can be explained by banal exhaustion, sleep deprivation, cold risk calculation, and even fatalism. However, she singles out markers that distinguish fatigue from a deeper state: "When this is accompanied by a sense of unreality, a cotton or glass wall between you and the event, gaps in memory — this is no longer fatigue, this is dissociation, and it is important to notice it." At the same time, she reminds us that such "distance" at the moment of real danger can be useful — it provides an opportunity to act without paralyzing fear. The danger is that this mechanism "sticks for months," and then responding to a signal becomes difficult even when a person would want to.
Why you shouldn't blame yourself
Concluding the conversation, Olha Maksymchuk emphasizes: there is no need to blame yourself for "wrong" reactions — neither for anxiety in silence nor for indifference to the siren. Both reactions are manifestations of the very same organism that has been in a state of chronic readiness for too long and is trying to find a way out. Understanding the mechanism, she says, does not eliminate the heaviness of the experience, but it relieves a person of the feeling that they are "losing their mind" or "not the way they should be." This, in turn, reduces secondary anxiety — the fear of one's own reaction — which in itself increases the burden on the psyche.
