“Mom, I don’t want to go. Please, don’t make me.”
Darya clings to her mother’s arm, terrified. A new place, unfamiliar faces—everything feels wrong. Yulia takes a deep breath, steadying herself. “It’s okay, my love. You’re safe.” But inside, she wonders: How do I explain safety to a child who has never felt it?
Behind every child with special needs, there is a parent who never stops hoping. But for Ukrainian families like Yulia and Darya, hope is not enough. After fleeing the war, they now face a new battle in exile. For parents of children with special needs, accessing therapy and specialized care in Romania is almost impossible. The biggest challenge? There are no professionals who speak their language.
Without proper support, these families are left to navigate an unfamiliar system alone, risking their children’s chance for a better future. But thanks to JRS Romania, hope is not lost.
The JRS Romania office comes alive with warm smiles and the sound of children’s laughter whenever Yulia Kodemska arrives with her daughter, Darya, for speech therapy and psychological sessions. The bright and expressive little girl has touched the hearts of everyone at JRS.
Yulia and Darya turned to JRS Romania two months ago when they learned that children with special needs could find care and support here. They had wanted to come much earlier, but there was no space—the demand is overwhelming. In Romania, there are many Ukrainian children with special needs, yet almost no specialists who can work with them in their own language.
Darya is almost 7 years old. She and her mother arrived from Odessa in August 2023, holding onto the hope that the war would end soon. But as the months passed, it became clear that peace was not near. Missile strikes became part of daily life, and staying was no longer an option.
Even before the war, Yulia sensed that something was different about her daughter. By the time Darya was one year old, it became impossible to ignore. She was terrified of people. The sight of strangers—especially men—made her scream uncontrollably.
“She would scream and cry uncontrollably, and nothing could calm her down,” Yulia recalls. “She wasn’t just afraid of people—she was terrified of anything unfamiliar. A new room, a different place… even me, sometimes.”
For reasons she still doesn’t fully understand, Darya only felt safe if Yulia was wearing yellow. “If I changed my clothes, she wouldn’t recognize me. She would panic, crying as if I were a stranger.”
Eating was another struggle. For years, Darya choked on food, unable to chew properly. Even now, at nearly 7 years old, she still can’t eat soup on her own. “I have to feed her every bite.”
Desperate for answers, Yulia took her to a neurologist. The doctor told her Darya was physically healthy, but there were concerns about her development and mental health. Therapy was their only hope—physical therapy, massages, sensory exercises. They followed every recommendation, and for a while, it seemed like they were making progress. “We were on the right track,” Yulia says.
Then, the war changed everything.
The family had no choice but to flee Ukraine, leaving behind the doctors, the therapy, and the only system that had ever given them a sense of direction. In Romania, they finally received a clear diagnosis and official disability status, but the reality was even harsher: there were no specialists who spoke their language.
“I had no idea where to turn. I knew my daughter needed help, but I was lost in a foreign system, with no guidance, no support.”
When they arrived in Romania, Yulia did everything she could to get Dasha the official recognition she needed. After endless tests, evaluations, and consultations, the doctors finally confirmed what she had feared all along—Dasha cannot take care of herself and needs full-time supervision.
“The paperwork was overwhelming. We didn’t know the process, the rules, or even where to start. It took months of running between offices, gathering documents, waiting in lines—just to prove what I already knew: my child needs help. And now, after all that, in a year, I’ll have to do it all over again.”
Caring for Dasha is a 24/7 responsibility. “I can’t leave her alone for even a second. I can’t even be in another room. If I turn away for just a moment, she could hurt herself—or someone else. I can’t work. I can’t have a life outside of being her mother and caretaker.”
The child disability benefits they receive are a lifeline—but not nearly enough. “Dasha needs special medication every day. It’s expensive. Every month, we struggle to cover the costs.”
But in the middle of this overwhelming reality, there is one place where Dasha finally receives the care she needs—JRS Romania. Several times a week, she attends speech therapy, psychological sessions, and sensory integration therapy in a specially equipped room. It’s the only time Yulia feels she is not alone in this fight.
At other times, Dasha goes to a Romanian kindergarten, where teachers do their best to accommodate her unique needs. But with limited resources and no specialized Ukrainian-speaking staff, the road ahead remains uncertain.
“The teachers at the kindergarten have been a blessing. They care. They see Dasha, not just her diagnosis. They feed her when she can’t do it herself. They calm her when she gets overwhelmed—because if her emotions spiral, her body does too, and her hands begin to seize. Without them, I don’t know how we would have managed.”
But Dasha is turning seven, and this fall, she needs to start school. And I’m terrified.
“Will they accept her? Will they even try to understand her? And even if they do, how will she cope? She can’t sit alone in a classroom. She needs me there, beside her, explaining every lesson, every word. But that means I have to be fluent in Romanian. I have to be her voice, her guide, her protector. And what about the other children? Will they be kind to her? Or will she become invisible?”
There are special education schools with adapted programs. But can we even get in? Will there be a place for her? Or will we be left to figure it all out on our own?
“Finding JRS Romania felt like a miracle. Finally, someone saw us. Finally, someone could help my daughter.”
Thanks to JRS, Darya gets to work with real specialists, people who understand her needs and help her grow. And that is something I never thought we could afford.
“Therapy like this costs at least 120 lei per session—if you’re lucky enough to even find someone. For us, it’s impossible. We simply don’t have the money.”
I’ve tried everything. I’ve reached out to Romanian organizations that work with children like Darya. But getting in? Almost impossible. The waiting lists stretch on for months, sometimes years. Every time I ask, I hear the same thing: “Sorry, there’s no space.”
“So, what am I supposed to do? Just wait? Hope that one day, a door will open before it’s too late?”
“Since Darya started her sessions at JRS Romania, I’ve seen something I never thought possible—progress. Real, visible progress. She understands more. She interacts more. And, for the first time, she looks forward to something outside of our home.”
When we have a session, she jumps out of bed without hesitation. She can’t wait to get to kindergarten, to see her favorite speech therapist and psychologist. This place has become her safe space—the only place where she truly feels understood.
“Is it hard for me? More than I can put into words. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Darya may be small, but when she panics, she fights with the strength of a grown man. Some days, I feel like I don’t have the energy to go on. But I don’t have a choice. If I don’t do it, who will?”
She didn’t choose this. She’s not to blame for her diagnosis. And yet, the thing that haunts me the most is the fear that this help might disappear. What will we do then? Where will we go? For now, JRS Romania is here. But how many more families like ours are still waiting for help?
𝗛𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗯𝘂𝗶𝗹𝘁 𝘁𝗼𝗴𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿
The support Darya receives at JRS Romania is possible thanks to the #OneProposal Project, with the generous backing of Jesuit Refugee Service Europe together with Jesuit Refugee Service International, –Jesuit Refugee Service USA and many Catholic partners and friends. 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗶𝘁𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗲𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗻 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗗𝗮𝗿𝘆𝗮 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘇𝗲𝗱 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱.
But the need does not stop here. For every child receiving help, many more are still waiting. Continued support for these programs is crucial to ensuring that no child is left behind.
𝗧𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗼 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗻𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗯𝗹𝗲. 𝗧𝗼𝗴𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿, 𝘄𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝘂𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲—𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱 𝗮𝘁 𝗮 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲.