I was created by a woman so complex, so intense, wise, funny, wild… that I hardly have words to describe the outer layers of her shell. Her name is Nataliya but we all call her Lynx. In my family we are all assigned an “ animal” name. Mine is mouse, my brother is hamster, my husband is a raccoon… the list goes on. The animal totem and name come from my mother. She will quietly watch you for days ( like a Lynx watching her pray) and when the time is right she will let you know “ who you are” in her thick Russian accent. She is NEVER wrong.

How can I explain my mother… how do I start?

She was born in 1964 in Communist Russia. She is the daughter of a surviver of the “Great Seige” of Leningrad ( now Saint Petersburg). It lasted 872 days from September 8, 1941- January 27, 1944 … and was one of the most destructive and lethal blockades in human history, causing over a million deaths primarily from starvation and freezing cold. But my grandmother survived. One miracle at a time… starving and traumatized… but alive. My grandmother was one of the kindest humans I have ever met. Her apartment in Moscow was always clean and her kitchen always had something cooking. Her years enduring starvation made her a generous chef. Her love language was “ showing up and feeding you”. She had “ alive” eyes and skin that was soft and held the genetics of her aristocratic bloodline. She had scars over her hands and arms and I remember asking once while she made me breakfast “ where do those scars come from?”.

She responded while putting her spoon down ( she was stirring kasha at the stove)

“ Sometimes I wish I was a gifted painter because when I close my eyes I can see all of their faces so clearly… I wish I could paint them… so that their families would know what happened to them”.

Those scars I asked about where shrapnels scars from when the first bombs fell on Leningrad and she was outside. The people she wished she could paint were the ones standing around her that didn't make it.

That is just one story of a million I have about my baba Vera. From this phoenix came my mama Nataliya. She was born in the prime of Communism and did it all. At the age of 8 she was chosen by the party to represent the country as a “sportsman” and lived in a boarding school for gifted children. Five days a week she slept away from her home and trained in all sports but primarily rowing. She was tiny and strong with a set of lungs on her, perfect for a coxswain. On the weekends she was allowed to go home to see her mother and father. She would board busses and trains alone to arrive home for a day; her backpack full of canned food meant for her… but she would share it with her parents. At that time supplies were low and the elite were allowed special foods like protein, jams, and in my mother’s case a can of black caviar weekly. She would save her “ special food” and bring it home like a champion.

Can you imagine? Doing that at 8 years old?

( Lynx as a teen)

Lynx was part of this program her whole childhood and through high school. She was an excellent student and graduated with a “ Red Diploma” which is like valedictorian. My mother is beautiful but in high school was teased for looking like a “ boy” with her short hair… when in fact if the Berlin Wall wasn't in the way … those bullies would have seen that she looked like Audrey Hepburn. A classic beauty and with eyes that lit up the world. Don’t worry she got one of those bullies back… her name was Olga and she was partnered to sit with my mother in homeroom. Everyday Olga would slide my mother books off the desk to the floor … making my mom pick them up. Olga was the “ cool girl” who snuck cigarettes and kissed the boys. She had big breasts and a big mouth. A laugh that would shake the walls. One day when Olga once again slid my mother’s books off the table she received a warning from the Russian Audrey Hepburn “ you do that again and you will be sorry.” Olga didn’t listen and slid them once more. At which point my mother in all of her 5’4” glory stood up and punched Olga repeatedly in the chest. Olga fell and cried out in agony. My mother was tiny but she had been a Communist trained athlete for 8 years… she was 90% muscle. Needless to say Olga never pushed my mother’s books off the desk again. When my mother told me this story I asked “ why didn’t you punch her in the face, the stomach etc… why just her chest?”. Her response send chills to my bones until this day.

She said “ She was girl and her beauty has value in the world. It’s how she will be judged and I would never want to diminish her chances by damaging her face. She will have it hard enough in the world without me doing that. I couldn’t punch her in the stomach because I was afraid to hurt her ovaries and uterus. I was strong and if I damaged her chances of having a child … it would hurt her soul. So I chose her chest. I wanted to take her breath away… make her feel like she was drowning. She could recover physically from that…but her ego wouldn’t. When you choose to strike back Olesya… know your enemy and their weakness. Choose wisely when it comes to your attack so you teach a lesson, set a boundary, but don’t damage so much that the person cannot learn and recover. Forgiveness and growth should always be your goal”.

Lynx was 16 years old and this was her complex thought process. I hope that starts to paint the picture of my mama’s character.

( Lynx and a mink she had stuffed)

As life would have it the bully, Olga, had hardships and a challenging relationship with alcohol. One day many years later she ran into my mama in the street. Olga shared she was looking for work and ready to do anything. That she wanted to stay sober and have security. My grandmother Vera had just had a stroke and needed in home care. In that moment my mother decided to give Olga the bully a second chance and hired her on the spot. She became my grandmother’s caregiver until the day she died; 13 years later. The girl who bullied my mother, who my mother set straight, became the woman who loved my grandmother and ensured her comfort. Life is funny. “ Forgiveness and growth should always be the goal”.

Lynx graduated high school and was accepted to a prestigious collage. She wanted a degree that would help her pursue a life in the woods and in nature. It’s customary to send your children off to the “ dacha” or “ summer houses” in the villages to learn to forage mushrooms, berries, grow gardens, learn beekeeping, make preserves, tend to animals, and harvest hay. My mother was no exception and spent 3 months every year waking up at 4am to “ harvest the mushrooms” at her grandmother’s dacha. Then coming home and cleaning the mushrooms. Allowed bread and a cup of milk from the cow and a nap. At 9am she had to go out again to “ harvest the berries” in the woods followed by cleaning said berries and lunch. Then farm chores and beekeeping. More chores ( the villages only have well water no indoor plumbing so you do the math when it comes to chores like watering the garden and washing clothes). At 8pm she was allowed to sleep and start again. Everything she foraged was used all year long as food for her family. The summers she spent alone in the woods became her happy place. Her north star. No wonder she wanted to “ grow up” and become a game warden. If you don’t know what that is:

A game warden—also called a conservation officer or wildlife officer—is a specialized law enforcement professional. They protect wild animals, plants, and natural habitats. They also ensure public safety during outdoor activities like hunting, fishing, and boating.

( Lynx in the woods)

Lynx graduated collage with yet another “ red diploma” and finished her degree by living off grid in an abandoned railroad car in Siberia. Her job was to tag and track Siberian squirrels marking their migrational patterns. Imagine. She’s 18! Living in an abandoned railroad car in SIBERIA!!! With her dog… a rifle… and a delivery train that came to the station once a month. That’s it! She holds a record there… for a I guess party trick. During her stay there ( 9 months) the Communist party members would head to Siberia to hunt. My mother as the “ game warden” on the premises would facilitate hunting trips to the members of the Communist party mostly for moose. Once these men shot a moose they needed the animal skinned and prepped to be stuffed and mounted. My mother, Audrey Hepburn in disguise, would then do her party trick. She holds the record in the fastest skinning of a moose in the region. From rack to tail… 45 min with one small knife. Now for her party trick… mind you this is Siberia… she has very little when it comes to vitamins and and food… potatoes and old cabbage was her menu… she would with the precision on a surgeon locate the still warm liver of the moose and eat it raw.

You read that right.

Lynx would reach into the body of the still warm moose she just skinned. Cut out the liver and eat it in front of 30-40 year old men who “ surpassed” her in rank and government. She scared each and every one of them … shook them to the core. Three of them proposed marriage. She declined each one. She was still 18 years old.

If you ask her now… she will say… fresh liver is one of her favorite flavors.

“ Mouse don’t be silly, liver is sweet when raw and delicious. Full of vitamins and minerals”.

My mama went off to marry my father Yuri and they together lived off the grid as game wardens together. They built our home… literally log by log built it. I was raised next to a wood burning stove and no indoor plumbing. We used our dogs to hunt boars and bears in the winter. One of my core memories is being maybe 4 years old dragging a hunting riffle over my shoulder and crying. We had just went on a family “hunt” and I had to do my part and carry a riffle as my father mother and brother carried the rest. I couldn't lift it… but I knew to not stop and dragged that riffle home. Crying the whole way.

( Lynx and me and her trophies)

My mother made everything I cherished as a child. From my goose filled pillow … plucked feathers from our own geese… to the honey bath she would give me in the sauna with honey from our 40+ bee hives ( she is a 6th generation bee keeper). She fed me bee larva as a treat … rich in vitamins, fat, and proteins… I can still taste it. It’s sweet and sour like a jolly rancher. I would get to play with a mink for a day or two before it became a hat. My fur coat was sown by her so was my fur red fox hat. She kept our farm alive while my father hunted. She alone fed the animals, us kids, tended to the fire, milked the cows, cooked the food, washed our clothes in the freezing creek in all seasons, healed our injuries, and somehow was only 25 years old.

( me and Lynx)

She lost 2 teeth per baby. 4 in total for me and my brother.

She was young and we sucked the calcium out of her bones… she tried to keep it… ate chalkboard chalk to supplement ( it was made of calcium at the time and safe) but still alas we took her teeth and youth. She made her own “ fake teeth” with a kit she used to mold animal teeth for her taxidermy.

Her government wages were not enough to support our family and so by night she would sow fur hats from the animals she and my father hunted. Sold in the black market with a high risk of prison time if caught ( you couldn’t work for yourself in Communism) little by little her efforts brought us from surviving to thriving.

Lynx can ride a horse, build a home, find water, make shelter, snare a rabbit or trap a beaver. She knows how to howl like a wolf… and make them howl back… disclosing their location so she can hunt them. ( she can teach you too… there is nothing more beautiful than a group of woman howling at the moon like wolves… it’s terrifying and awakening all at the same time).

And she’s coming home… to me… to us.

Can I get a Welcome Home Lynx!

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Get ready for deep wild wisdom and humor.

Nataliya Rulina is about to join the chat… the taxidermist, the game warden, the beauty.

I finally have the mermaid hair of my dreams! Let me take you back to the manifestation I had 5 years ago. It was deep in Covid and I wanted to move out of LA and start a more grounded life rooted in nature. In my meditation I “ saw” myself living in a white house in the mountains, I had long hair, and I was wearing beautiful dress. This higher version of me was in her 40’s. She radiated confidence and security… the kind you only get from weathering storms. I instantly loved her. Wanted to rush into her arms and yes be her. At the time I had a long bob and started on my journey to grow my hair back to waist length in order to match this vision I had. If you want a breakdown video here is one below ( because we all take in information differently):

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At this point in my life I’ve achieved a great career in acting, I love working with brands on social media and creating content, I have AMAZING friends and chosen family. I’ve read books that live rent free in my mind, had incredible lovers I will write books about one day ( cheeky smile), got married, rebuild a house, currently resurrecting my Russian village ( watch the film link below,

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had my beautiful daughter, survived postpartum, swam with great white sharks in the open ocean, the list goes on and on. Pretty is the least interesting accomplished part about me. Like all humans we carry inside ourselves countless stories, experiences, versions of ourselves that few will ever know. As I turned 40 I couldn’t help but be annoyed when receiving a compliment ( even from my husband) of “ you’re pretty”. My immediate thought is “ ok, and…. my mom is pretty… my grandmother was pretty… so yes genetically I have good things going for me… so?”

Yes, I take good care of myself and my health and my beauty comes from the women that have carried me on this journey. I didn’t “ make myself pretty” outwardly… it’s not an accomplishment… that was just luck and a beauty standard that was shaped before I was born and happen to just apply to me ( that’s just facts and society and history… hoping that will change). Complements like “ you have beautiful eyes” ( I get this one a lot) is lovely but again it has nothing to do with me… I didn’t choose my eye color… it feels so distant from me. It’s just the vessel I was born into… now if you ask “ You’re eyes are beautiful, who in your family shares them with you”. See? Doesn't that hit different? I instantly think of my grandmother and mother and a smile creeps on my face. Yes! These eyes are beautiful because they are the eyes of my loved ones, my heritage, my history… they are NOT mine they belong to my FAMILY. I’m just wearing them for 80+ years and my daughter has them now too. She will carry them once I’m gone.

The same thoughts apply to “ you’re sexy” again my thoughts jump to “ okay sure… I’m a woman that takes care of her soul, body, mind and has confidence so yeah I’m sexy… so…. what… you want to fuck me? Ok. I’m a women everything wants to be with the divine goddess that is a woman… so what? These kind of compliments although I know are meant to give a quick boost to a person simply piss me off. They are cheap… surface level… and honestly unnecessary at this point in my life. I feel sexy not because I’m attracting a male gaze… I could care less if men find me appealing no really like couldn’t care less… but because I like my mind, my thoughts, my goals and dreams, because I gave birth to another human and didn’t die, because I like learning and expanding, because I like the way my body feels healthy and I’m linked into my routine and moon cycle. If you want to tell a woman she’s sexy try not to make it about you and what you can get from her but what she brings by simply being.

For example:

“ I can tell you’re enjoying yourself because you feel light and breezy in this moment, thank you for sharing that with us”

“ you walked in and I could tell you’ve had a great day and you love yourself and are happy”

That’s sexy!

If you want to compliment a woman on beauty:

“ I love that you always have a sparkle in your eyes, you feel alive”

“ I can tell you’re a good person because all animals and kids like you”

“ I see how much you care about Mother Earth and it makes me feel calm to be around you”

Literally anything… that requires to actual SEE a woman. The difference is depth. Aren’t we all tired of the quick hit ? Women ( especially mothers) do so much every second of every day literally until we die… we carry so much… the least we can do is SEE them… for more than what they do… or how they look… but who they are. This hits home for me because there isn’t a moment of the day that I’m not doing, giving, solving, planning… that’s just life and that ok BUT when I get someone to stop me and a compliment really hits for example:

Instead of “ You’re a good mom” to which my inner monologue is “ okay what was the other option being a shitty one? Yes, I’m a good mom that was what I was planning on being and choose to be every day… so … what’s your point?

Hearing “ I can see from how your child interacts with you that you’re intentional with your parenting and enjoy being a mother”

Now that! That ladies and gents would stop me in my tracks and I probably would start crying a little. That would make me feel seen. It would make any mother feel seen.

This is my little rant as well as a reminder to myself to try harder and be more present with the ones I love and strangers I connect with. To really notice people… see something in them and then vocalize it in a meaningful way.

I’d love to hear your thoughts so please drop a little comment below. Let’s chat.

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Before I grew you,

Before I felt you alive in me,

Before my bones

Became your bones

Before you stretched me to my limits…

My capacity …

Before… before… before…

You tore me open

Ripped me raw

Horizontal and vertical

A force of nature

A chainsaw

Before…before…before…

I was a girl once too.

I grew up running threw dew

and moss

Drinking stinging nettle tea

And knowing nothing of loss.

My mama washed me with well water she carried home

Her shoulders heavy from the stories never told

Of long winters

And abuse

Of harsh words

And a short fuse.

I was a young woman too.

Who left her home

Well…was forced too.

I traded crimson red

For Stars and Stripes of blue

Home of the brave

The strong

The few

I pretended to understand

The language and the currency

I pretended so well

They all fell in love with me

I was once a heartbreaker too

I loved boys who loved girls

I loved men who loved girls

I loved men who loved men

Who loved art

Who loved thems

Who…

Loved me

Made me into art

Used me

Loved me

Used me

I used them

I exchange rings of gold with men other than your father

Then left them on the Brooklyn bridge

Without a care

And no thought of dishonor

I danced on my toes

Ballets

I walked on water.

I fell ill

I was sick

I faltered

I prayed

I chanted

I grew

God I lived… I lived in preparation for you.

And then you came

The way of a mystery

My best friend

And yet you were separate from me.

You my dear

My dove

My light

You are the reason for my fight.

You are my magic

My glow

My grace

You have your grandmother’s roar

Her eyes

My face

God I am grateful

That you will not know

I’ll never tell you

The cost I paid to watch you grow

The price I’ll carry happily…

Deep in my heart…

Where I keep my memories.

Today… I dealt with conflict in the morning which resulted in me being late to my lesson. Ondine usually takes a spin on my horse ( which I rent and am deeply in love with) before I get on. I was trying to get to the stables in time to get ready and was rushed and slightly emotional. Usually, tacking up my boy ( his name is Mystic, he’s a 34 years old thoroughbred retired racehorse and much more) is a dream. He stands like a champ while I brush him, clean out his shoes, and spray him with fly spray… all while sweetly talking to him and giving him kisses. He usually half falls asleep but not today.
Today I was in my head. I walked with “ off “ energy in my feet… which he could feel. My heart felt unsteady and I felt trapped in my mind. He wouldn’t lift his feet up for… wouldn’t adjust his weight. I could feel him saying “ babe, what are you doing? Where are you? Slow down. Are we ok?”

“ No, Mystic my dear boy, we are not” I responded mentally.

I tried to slow down… I tried to inhale and exhale… it kind of worked. I kissed his neck and apologized for being “ too quick” and all over the place. My lovely trainer had to step in and remind me to “ inhale and exhale” to calm my frantic energy. ( she’s an amazing woman and trainer). Again, it’s never the horse… it’s the rider and today it was ALL me.

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By the time we had him saddled and we walked to arena I was 20% less of a hot mess but still nowhere near “ calm” or “ collected”. I almost said out loud “ I need to take myself on a walk and time out”. Instead, I pet his long strong neck and back… imagined his 12 pound heart beating and started to feel the tears in my eyes. He knew I wasn’t okay and was asking me to calm down… listen to his heart and regulate. I took and inhale and we put Ondine up on my saddle to start her little walk around the ring. For the first time I felt concern and fear. What if he would buck her off? What if he hurts her? Could she fall even though I’m holding her? Is her helmet on tight enough? Meanwhile, Mystic is being a champ swatting flies and being the best horse in the stable per usual. Ondine is a happy camper doing her breathing exercise and saying “good boy” enjoying every moment. Children are amazing like that. Mystic could feel her little heart and light energy but kept energetically communicating “ mom, chill out” to me.

Then the most beautiful download came through… and I’m going to cry just typing it.

I heard him say “ why did you lose trust in yourself today? In your instincts? In who you are? You’re lacking faith in yourself and thus are now doubting me … how safe I am… how safe I will keep your daughter, who I love. Have I ever done anything to make you fear me? No. Have I ever shown you anything but care and love? No. Have I carried you every lesson with grace and kindness? Yes. Am I carrying you now? Yes. You chose me as your horse because your instincts are always right. Because I am safe and kind and steady. All of the things you crave and need. Relax and remember that you make good choices and let me be what I am… a good boy that has your back.”

I started crying. What a reality check. Here I was projecting my own bullshit on an animal who’s only shown me safety, love, and security. WOW. Ok. I took a deep exhale and it was time for me to start my lesson. ( although I was already given one). I walked my boy to the mounting block and with an exhale settled into my saddle. I could feel Mystic take an inhale with me and we started warming up… a slow and steady walk around the ring. Synching our hearts, breath, and intentions. I spoke to him in Russian and apologized for bringing fear and anxiety to the lesson. Thanked him for giving me the time and space to calm down. I told him he was a good boy and I trust him and myself to have a great time. To be a team. I could feel the tears of relief well up in my eyes as we started to trot… here he was “ my man” holding my energy and giving me exactly what I needed. Isn’t in funny how when we are at an energetic low all we need is to feel it and move through it… not make it “ better”. It’s very rare that another human can create and hold that space for another. We are usually too busy “ fixing it” or finding solutions to make the feeling stop meanwhile Mystic simply walked the feelings home with me. He was my companion, he was a real partner, and he allowed for me to process and calm myself simply by being present with me in it.

In 45 min I remembered that I can be kind and assertive at the same time. That I could give direction with intent and clarity. That I could laugh while we canter, feel free, all while communicating to a 1200 lb animal exactly where we were going. That sometimes we lose our footing or our sturrups and that’s ok… it’s actually expected that’s why we train to find them without looking down. That I trust myself and my instincts. That I was safe and secure and that as long as I tune in and remember my own strength I don’t have to fear anything. I am always safe in myself and when I function out of this knowing EVERYTHING around me feels safe by default. To have that kind of aura … that kind of self awareness… is my greatest goal.

I want people to say “ when she was in the room the whole space took an exhale and relaxed”. I want people to feel safe around me. Secure. I want “ horse energy” the ability to see through bullshit, to buck off anyone who has bad vibes, and to heal hearts simply by being. That is what I want my legacy to be. That I made others feel safe even on their “ off” days.

Thank you Mystic my beautiful boy… I’ll see you next week.

I have made it to 40! Never and I mean NEVER did I think I would be here. Honestly, growing up the way that I did I never thought of growing older nor did I see myself at 40. I simply lived day by day and hoped for the best. Some call it childlike enthusiasm… head in the clouds… or a survival technique but it worked for me. Then 2 months short of 35 years old I met my husband on a dating app ( yes you can meet your husband on those… thank you Jessie De Lowe for the push to get on one) and all of sudden I realized that my life goals of having a family and being a mother were going to actually come true. It’s in that realization that my life started going hyper speed and I felt like I was running towards everything I had been working to manifest.

(If you want to learn how to manifest your dream life and break generational patterns I highly recommend doing the To Be Magnetic courses online. It’s not “ magical thinking” and “ crystals” although who doesn’t love a crystal it’s neuroscience. It helps me untangle my brain and take full control of my reality and LITERALLY change my brain pathways. NO more unconscious living.)

Let me share with you the exact imagery of my manifestations that I was calling in. This is what came to me after doing the TBM work and I had a clear image of what I wanted my life to be.

I was manifesting a white house in the woods, a partner, and land. I saw my future self living in this white beautiful home, I was older (maybe 40) and had long hair like a mermaid. ( at the time I was manifesting I had a short bob) I had a child on my hip and was wearing a beautiful cotton dress. I was healthy and not swollen from inflammation … something I have struggled with for 20 years due to chronic illness. My higher self was beautiful and older, had more calm in her eyes, and a fire of determination that only time gifts you. I was laughing and greeting my current self (age 34) and encouraging her to come inside and take a look around. I saw my partner ( I could only visualize his hands) who was working on a vintage car as I walked up to my white house on the hill. There was a giant dining table outside in the front yard and children and women were gathered eating and playing in the summer sun. The sound of children’s laughter and chaos filled the air. Everything inside my house was white and cream, cozy and clean. The rooms were spacious and the windows were left open… so were the doors. Children were running into the kitchen for snacks and someone’s Labrador was begging for treats. I was laughing and hosting. The house smelled like fresh bread and jam, melted butter and flowers. As I passed my office I saw that I was a writer, a creator, still acted and had awards but it wasn’t the focus. I had transformed to something much more … more expansive. I had several brands and had built an eco system that supported itself. I had picture frames of my family and books I had written. Flowers on my table and a beautiful candle burning filled the space with the smell of wet tomato leaves.

Then I opened my eyes and wrote this all down in my journal.

Now I’ll take you to me 5 years later.

I live in a white house outside of Yosemite National Park in the woods. It’s on a hill and has a meadow. It has a large front yard one big enough to host a party of 30 at a large dinning table. My hair is long like a mermaids and I am older with that fire in my eyes that I dreamt of. I’m not inflamed and have lost 20 lbs of water weight and for the first time in my life have my chronic illnesses balanced. I have a beautiful daughter that sits on my hip daily and I wear almost exclusively stunning dresses. I have a partner that loves to do housework and is an amazing builder… he has strong hands. The vintage car I was manifesting… well that’s going to be a white 1969 Ford F100 truck. Perfect for the country. The women and friends with children laughing at lunch … they are already in my life and come over any chance they get. My house is all white inside and it’s very cozy and clean. The house lay is expansive and we keep the doors and windows open all Summer long. Our amazing nanny makes the best bread and she bakes it in our oven… so the house does smell like bread and we always have jam. There are flowers in every room… and candles burning. I even have one that smells like wet tomato leaves. My office is white and spacious and here I am writing to you.

I manifested it… then aligned to receive it… then worked to create it.

Here’s what we also did. Our house was originally brown wood… all of it. Inside and out. The house of brown. We repainted it. The kitchen we blew out and redid from scratch… my husband and I slept in dust and chaos for months ( I was pregnant the whole time). The bathrooms we gutted and my husband learned how to tile, cut marble, install heated flooring, and became a pro plumber. I grew a human. We ripped up the carpet and waited 6 months for our woods floors to arrive… living on plywood. At one point my oven and fridge were outside on my wrap around porch… that’s how we cooked. I did the dishes in the bathtub. I’m only touching the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the renovations we did. Why am I pointing this out… because manifestation also requires you to work, see the vision, adjust and MAKE it happen. My house didn’t come white… I saw it as white. My husband made it so. I saw myself happy and healthy with long hair… and I worked my butt off to be healthy and happy and have long hair. I took the supplements, and the peptides, and the vitamins, did the bloodwork, etc.

• a little BTS of the madness before the finished product

Here I am at 40 in my office ( that was a cement pad off the kitchen used for a barbeque) looking outside my floor to ceiling window at birds eating from a feeder and watching deer drink from the troth and am floored because I HAVE EVERYTHING I saw in my vision for myself. It’s all in divine timing. The books are on their way, my brand The Village Daughter launched 2 weeks ago, my body is healthier than ever, I have an amazing friend group, my baby is a toddler, the partner is about to get his vintage truck… I’m working on getting that giant dinning table for the meadow.

I can SEE it all and it’s ALL coming in perfect aligned timing.

I’m so glad I stuck around to 40 and I simply can’t wait to see what 45 will bring cause I can see that too and it’s SO pretty.

Thank you for coming along for the ride. You make the journey more fun.

Links for mermaid hair and the dresses I wear are below. You can shop ALL of my must items and products here as well.

Mermaid hair brought to you by haircare and oil scalp treatments from Najeau add the Hairology supplents every day from Vida Glow and boom pow hair growth that is shocking even me. I lost half of my hair density postpartum and it has been a journey.

Now for the pretty dresses they are almost all Christy Dawn and you can shop their site and get a discount using my code CDOLESYA.

Dresses like this one Ricardo Dress that will make you feel like you live in a romance novel. ALL of Christy Dawn products are sustainably/regeneratively made. You’ll feel beautiful and help the planet at the same time.

Let’s talk mental health. I’ve had “ depression” or whatever you’d like to call the shifts in mood/energy/wellness my ENTIRE life. I don’t EVER remember a time when I didn’t struggle with the “clouds of grey” in my mind. I know it has to do with my upbringing… Communism, being an immigrant, domestic violence in the home, etc. It’s impossible to be a happy child when your childhood ended around age 6 and you were forced to grow up and process adult problems and life choices… but this post isn’t about that. This post is about what I do when I feel the clouds roll in to roll them back out. I’m 40 years old now and it’s taken me more than half my life to find what works for me. I hope in reading this it may help you too if you’re struggling through a depression state.

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Let’s get at it. Here are the 8 things I did WRONG and right in the entertainment industry.

1. You know your worth and goals better than anyone else! DO NOT LISTEN to…

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My perspective:

Jan 6, 2026

Hi my little love,

You’re at the park with your nana ( our super nanny) right now. I’ve had a hell of a morning pulling the house together. I was working last night and didn’t have time to clean up before your bedtime routine. I made homemade chicken soup later than usual and by the time you ate it was time for bath and books and sleep. The dog needed to be walked and I couldn’t find your favorite stuffy. The time slipped through my fingers like sand. I left the soup bowls on the table and all of the dishes in the sink. The pots and pans on the stove… with the spoons and spatula. The bread was left out and the crumbs were on the counter and the floor from when I made you your favorite croutons. I left your high chair in the middle of the kitchen and your bib … no I didn’t wipe it down. I spilled some of the bunny litter box pebbles on the floor in the kitchen when I was dumping it out and didn’t sweep it up… I must have been distracted. I didn’t wash the dog’s bowls and her food was stuck to the bowls and the water dish was just sad to look at. That was just the kitchen. Your art supplies were left out… I didn’t place them back… markers and paper…scraps of edges because you love using your scissors. Multi colored tape stuck to everything from when you made a “ flower” bouquet. A magnetile castle stood tall on the marble coffee table also with tape and little toys scattered around. Your corner of the couch was covered in blankets and pillows from making a fort and crouton crumbs were scattered around from you sneaking a snack. The bags from our afternoon river adventure I had left unpacked by the front door. Sand and starfish toys… buckets and shovels… and even your chips and snacks. A container full of steamed broccoli and your favorite dipping sauce… slowly died… as I forgot to refrigerate them. Back up clothes from the river I didn’t put away laid smashed under water bottles I didn’t wash. In the bathroom I left the towels on the floor not the drying rack… your bath toys were also on the floor and not their little shelf. The bath mat was soaked from last night and I even left your lotion, toothbrush, and my contact solution and night guard out. It was a mess. You know I am a clean freak and most of the time like 99% ( ask your aunties they know) our house is a museum of clean and organization… but I just couldn’t last night… I was too tired my bones literally hurt. I had no time and then I fell asleep putting you down… woke up to you snuggling with me at 6:30 am and you saying “ mama it’s a sunny day, time to wake up”. Now it’s noon and the dishes are done, the house and couch are vacuumed, the clothes put away, the bathroom is set, and I can finally sit and write to you a little.

Ondine’s perspective:

Dear Mama,

I had a great day with you yesterday. I woke up to the sun with you in our bedroom. You are always there when I open my eyes. You had just washed my favorite blanket, I spilled milk on it, and it smelled so good. You always let me watch a morning cartoon and we talked about if I had any dreams last night. You made me breakfast and then nana came to play with me. I saw you all day as you ran around and worked and cleaned and worked some more. I know you are busy but you always stop and say hi or to see what I’ve made. After nap time you gave me a big hug because I woke up too early and was grumpy. You asked me if I wanted to go to the river and have a picnic there and play in the sand. I said yes. You made sure to pack all of my snacks, my favorite shovel, nana made sure I had the right boots on, and we had blankets and water bottles. You drove us to our new river spot and we all walked down the path and crossed walking on stones. I slipped but nana caught me; she always makes sure I’m safe. I played in the sand with nana as you worked and took pictures in a pretty dress. I love watching you take pictures. I looked for treasure ( you hid sea glass in the sand for me to find and coins) with my shovel and zoned out looking at the water. Nana sunbathed for a second with her sunglasses on… she always loves being outside… her hair blew in the breeze like a mermaid. I ate some snacks and nana even carried me back up to the car when we were done… you know how much I love to be carried… even though I know I am getting too big and heavy. When we got home nana left and you needed to be on your phone to work but that’s ok because I watched my favorite ocean show. You gave me lots of blankets and pillows so I can make a fort on my section of the couch. You made me my favorite croutons as I waited for dinner… I ate some on the couch even though I know I’m not allowed to eat on the couch. I made a flower bouquet for you with my scissors, paper, tape and markers. I love seeing my castle on the coffee table… thank you for not putting it away… I’m proud of it and not done building. You got my high chair ready and you made me homemade chicken soup with the little noodles I like from the Russian store in LA. I ate all of the carrots and most of my noodles… spoons of soup. I was full and showed you my belly and how round it was. It was getting late and you said it was time for bath. I asked you to take a bath with me and I wanted bubbles. You filled up the tub all the way and we used SOOOO much bubble bath. You climbed in and we had all my toys floating around us in bubbles. You let me wash your face with bubbles and you even gave yourself a beard like Santa. I checked to make sure all of your mascara washed off and you didn’t look like a “ raccoon”. We used my shark squirter toy and splashed each other. Water got everywhere but you didn’t care. You got out of the bath and quickly dried off but then I wanted to get out too. You had warmed up my towel on the drying rack and it was fluffy and soft. You rubbed my body with lotion and said what you always say “ I am strong, I am beautiful, I am just right” as we thanked my body for the day. You brushed my teeth and brushed my hair. You sprayed that leave in condioner I don’t like but you said it will make my have long hair like Rapunzel so it’s ok. You braided it in a “ unicorn” braid for bedtime. After you got my pjs on I ran into your bedroom where I found my bottle of milk you always have ready for me and drank it. You put on my favorite song on the speaker and we called baba ( grandma) in Russia since she was just waking up. She made silly faces and spoke Russian to me. I laughed and laughed and laughed. You read me my favorite dragon book and scratched my back. I wanted more scratches but you said you were tired and needed to sleep. You turned off the lights and we fell asleep cuddled in bed with the dog. Then I woke up to you right next to me “ it’s a sunny day mama, time to get up”.

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Isn’t life funny? It’s all a matter of perspective. So if you’re like me… a hard working clean freak mama … take an inhale with me… on the days that we think things just didn’t get done… that we are behind ( and yes we probably are) that it’s all ok. That our little humans have a different perspective. That we are doing great. Making bubble bath bed time fun and yes the floor mat is now soaked and the dishes are not done… and yes you will be behind the next day… and that… that is OK. It’s all OK. None of it is permanent and THAT is the heartbreaking part of it all. It’s all fleeting and ALL so so so beautiful.

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In case you were wondering what I clean my house with it’s ALL Koala Eco… even the dog shampoo. The link is below. It will make your house smell like a spa and you’ll feel less like Cinderella cleaning. It makes cleaning “ an experience” and soothing because of the natural essential oils… just try it.

Cleaning Supplies

The dress I was shooting was the Suki by Christy Dawn and it’s stunning ( also sustainable) I wear an XS and you can use my code OLESYA10 if you’re shopping

( thank you nana for taking my pictures)

Don’t get me wrong I think it’s wonderful to be born into a functioning ( or dysfunctional but respectful in its own way) unit. That’s the goal and dream. Where you can feel seen and heard with all of your own “ special” complications and still be loved. In the event that you’re not… I want to let you know it’s ok to walk away in a loving way. As I enter my almost 4oth year this concept is more clear to me than ever. Your time… your currency is attention… is the most precious thing you have on this planet and if when you are around certain people that don’t allow for you to be your authentic self… I’d like to give you permission ( if you need a nudge in this direction) to disconnect and protect your peace. Allow people to be who they are without judgement and simply move on with your beautiful life. It’s the only control that you have.

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I’ll give you an example from my own experience. At a young age my biological father and I had differences in beliefs and gender roles. Without going into deep discussion on this it just became too hard for me to exist and be honest of who I was. In order to be loved I would have to lie about my authentic self… diminish into a smaller version… one more manageable for a patriarchal belief system that he upheld. Instead of trying to have him “ see” me which was never going to happen in the way I needed… I actively opened my heart to receive a new person who I could call '“ dad”. A man that could be a role model for me … one who knew how to listen, to care, to hold space, to protect energy, to laugh, and one who could choose to love me every day because they wanted to. At 13 years old I got my wish… I met my DAD. To be a dad is very deep responsibility for any man can be a “ biological father” but a dad… well that has to be earned time and time again. I’ll respect my dad’s privacy and only use his first name but it’s Kenton. A massive man of 6 plus feet, a light that pours out of his sweet deep eyes, a laugh that bellows from his chest like a drum, and a listening ear that heals all wounds. For the last 27 years, Kenton my chosen dad, has gone above and beyond to help me feel loved. He has always been there to hold my hand, to chat on the phone, to meet a boyfriend, to heal my broken heart… and even to just wait as I don’t call him and find my independence. I’ve taken him for granted in my wild youth… and yet he never flinched… never skipped a beat in loving me… in holding space for me. He is ALWAYS there… because as he says “ I dreamed of you too daughter and I knew one day I would meet you”. Kenton, has taught me devotion, the meaning of keeping your word, the power of self control, the honestly of consistency, the beauty of silence, the magic of a dads love, the healing wisdom of kindness. He has shaped the woman I am all by choosing to love a teenage girl who needed a role model and a lighthouse for her storms. He didn’t have to … he chose to.

My dad is the reason I fell in love with Europe and French culture. He is the one that helped me dream. The one that reminds me yearly that I am full of magic and love. He is the one that FaceTimes my daughter and she remembers each of their adventures. He is my safe space… the hug my soul needed.

I will always respect my biological father for being just that. He helped bring me into this world and I appreciate his work ethic and determination in life. If I’m ever asked why I have no contact with him and haven’t in many many years my response is. “ everything that was good about him he already gave me”. This is true. I have his artist nature, his love for the planet, his gentle affection for animals, his OCD and cleanliness, and probably some of his “ fuck it I can do anything” ego which has served me well when it comes to being an entrepreneur. The best part is I’ve come full circle and have released him fully from being the man I know he could never be. He could never be the dad I needed so it’s unfair and honestly unkind to keep trying to force him to show up for me. It only leaves me upset and him feeling however he felt. In a way our “soul contract” ended and that’s just that. Not everyone you're related to should be in your life for your entire life. That’s just that.

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In closing… if you’re feeling that you can’t be yourself with your blood family and there is no room and possibility for change… sometimes it’s best to let people be who they are and in doing so you can be who you are intended to be. No shame, no anger, no resentment, just peace and love as you release. Then open yourself up and I promise you… PROMISE… that the love you want to share will come in the form of a chosen family. One that is well beyond your wildest dreams. There are BILLIONS of people on this planet ready to call you THEIRS. You just need to be open to receiving them. The table will be ready and you’ll have seat at it… just go find your table.

XX,

Love you so much

Here is blurry nighttime photo for my dad because grandpas’s are gold and natural treasures.

What was your favorite scene to film?

I would have to say that was in HSM3 and “ A Night to Remember”. The set ups and props the speed and each step had to be perfect. I loved my dress for this musical number and my makeup and hair. It was also the only time Kelsi didn’t have to wear…

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That same week I got a call from the casting office and I had booked Kelsi. I was thrilled! It meant a job and right before college. I needed the 5k ( yes that’s all I was paid for HSM was $5,000 USD no bonus no royalties nothing) and I needed to buy a computer for school, pay for my books that semester, and with the left over I signed up to get licensed as a CNA ( certified nursing assistant) so that I could get a real job while in school that included overtime pay. ( again I was insane and young. I ended up working 2 jobs and school full time for a year… I don’t recommend it.)

I remember getting to set the first day and having my tailer be a smaller one ( again local hire) I was #7 on the call sheet. Lucas was the first person I met and he was kind and honest … raw and real. He was smoking a cigarette outside his trailer and I knew from the second I met him that he was incredibly intelligent with more talents than most people could dream of. I met Monique next, she was light and full of life. She wanted to be there and you could tell she worked for it. I remember seeing how strong she was and muscular and was amazed. We three were the oldest of the cast. Vanessa, Zach and Ashley I met later… in rehearsals I believe. Everyone was a professional and we got to work learning our dances and getting into fittings.

I was what at the time they called “ curvy” and was asked to wear a sports bra to “ flatten” my chest. I was 19 years old and playing 15-16 years old. They wanted me to be the more “ neutral” girl and hid most of my body and features. My clothes were usually a size too large and then tailored to fit my waist etc. I tried on more hats than I could count and glasses that came from endless shelves in wardrobe. It was then decided that I would wear hats in every scene and glasses until the big reveal. It felt very Cinderella for my character. I personally hate wearing glasses ( I wear contacts) so that was hard to adjust to but that’s what you do for characters you play as an actor.

I loved my makeup and makeup artists. A local legend Tara Starling made us all look like stars. She did some of my favorite looks including this taxi look from the first cafeteria dance number.

I think it was in the shooting of “ I want it all” that we all had that “ this is special” moment. It felt magnetic and bigger than us. We were young, having fun, and doing something new. NO ONE imagined it would become what it became … and we are all so grateful it did. It changed our lives and millions of others. That’s the magic of story telling… it helps heal and inspire countless hearts.

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I could go on and on but here are some that were asked on my IG so I’ll get to answering them:

Which movie was my favorite?

That would be HSM3. Simply because I had been in LA already and made a few more movies. I knew more about the industry and had a great team behind me. I felt comfortable with my contracts and knew how to advocate for myself more. The budget was bigger and we all had a vision of making this show stopper for the fans. We were all IN IT to WIN it. It was the good kind of pressure.

Most difficult time you had shooting HSM?

I’ve never spoken about it but I have PTSD from my experiences as a child and teen and when we were shooting HSM I hadn't received the proper therapy for it. I have about 10 years of my life starting from 16 onwards that I don’t remember. Meaning I wasn’t making long term memories just short term. For example I don’t know …. literally have no idea… of certain things like how I got on planes for the HSM premier in London… or Disneyland… I know I was there because I have pictures… but I don’t personally remember details. That being said choreography was VERY difficult for me and at 19 years old my PTSD really took hold of my mind and I couldn’t connect my body to the steps. I was “sleep walking” through life. It’s a hard thing to describe unless you’ve had it.

Aside from a mental difficulty… it was learning the entertainment business as I was in it. Learning to read contracts, deal with massive fans with no prior experience, not knowing how to balance being “ famous” but also needing help with “ looking” cool and together meanwhile I wasn’t making enough money to pay for my rent let alone cool clothes etc. It wasn’t after HSM2 did I have enough to not be scraping by. For example I lived off my perdium ( which is like $120 a week for food when filming) all of HSM2 because you don’t get paid until the movie is done. That’s the money I used to pay for tampons, my phone bill, gas in my car… it was hard. I was a broke college student for HSM2 and had just moved back from Paris, France ( where I was studying economics ) to shoot the movie with all intentions to moving back and finishing my degree. I guess it’s the moment of “ reality” that make it hard. You’re playing make belief … dancing and singing… but then you realize you have $300 to your name and your car payment is due… so you eat only on set and steal extra snacks from crafty. It’s that part that makes it hard to enjoy the magic because a part of you is still trying to survive in reality. The lack of balance.

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Cleaning for the Home: I clean to clear my mind and I honestly love to live in a space that looks like a museum/hotel at all times. I’m insane because I have a toddler and a dog and a bunny and live in the woods and have a dirt road but refuse to have dust in my house… but enough of my OCD and more on what products I use to have my house smell like a spa. I’ve used Koala Eco for EVERYTHING for a couple of years now. Non toxic and heavenly. The floor cleaner is a must, the bathroom cleaner smells like eucalyptus and the laundry detergent will remove ALL the stains while somehow smelling like a walk in a dewy meadow of Australia. Just buy the whole line and you’ll thank me later. Click this link and shop directly to my favs SHOP HERE

Dinnerware/Glassware/Vases: Everything in my home is from Fable. Beautiful, sustainable, long lasting, and timeless ceramics. Hand finished and a show stopper. These are our plates… all of our dinnerware… we have the flatware as well. The glasses WOW!!! They DON’T BREAK!! They use this technology that makes the super thin sexy glassware somehow 2 times tougher than competitors. My toddler drinks out of them they fall on the wood floor all the time…it’s magic or sorcery but somehow I have adult sexy glassware that can survive toddler highchairs. Try it. ( I mean it’s still glass you can break it… but you need to really try… like drop it in your sink hard or something) SHOP HERE BEST EVERYTHING FOR THE TABLE

PLAY KIT FOR KIDS: There are hundreds of little table and chairs for kids on the market. I LOVE the one we have from Lalo ( best little set ). I wipe it down every day, we eat on it, craft on it, god knows how much paint and glue and glitter it has been abused by… and still… looks brand new! I just use a little dry eraser on it for the bigger paint and whatever marker marks and poof … and its white guys! The chairs are sturdy and I sit with Ondine in them all the time… buy it here… chair and table set . Lastly, it looks elevated in your space so you don’t want to hide it. It’s an esthetically pleasing kids table which is rare.

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HAIR: If you’r following me on IG you’ve seen how much my hair has grown. Even I am amazed. After having Ondine and then life and stress most of my hair fell out and then was VERY slow to grow back. Click here to see all of the products I use daily to have lioness hair now Grow you hair. It’s mostly the Najeau Haircare line because it treats your scalp and that’s what needs to be happy and healthy for new hair. It’s the soil to the crop. You can watch the founders REELs on IG here and learn about the science of scalp care… and also how to really wash your hair without stripping your scalp ( I had no clue for 38 years of my life).

VITAMINS AND SUPPLEMENTS: The two main brands I use are Perelel and Vida Glow. These are my hair suppleness, collagen, multi vitamin, hormone support, hydration and protein. Once I find what works, in in alignment with my standards, and has science behind it… I’m in for life. Shop them all here

For more links and what you’d like to shop please message me and I’ll be sure to add it to my next post

In my adult life I’ve had 3 pregnancies; 2 of which were pregnancy losses, the last one was my healthy daughter Ondine. As any woman who has experience pregnancy loss knows… these miracle change you… forever. They stay with you no matter the amount of years pass. They just are.

When I found out I was pregnant with Ondine I was terrified. I had been on antibiotics and was scared that I could have caused her harm. I panicked. With 2 pregnancy losses already I didn’t know if I could handle another one. With time and positive doctors visits I finally settled into “ being pregnant” and feeling more secure in the process. At about 20 weeks or so my husband booked me a float session at a spa. It’s one of those no gravity chamber where you float in 6 inches of warm water and an obscene amount of salt… it’s a way to help you relax and almost be in a womb like state. I wanted to go and meditate… to see if I could “ connect” and “ talk” to Ondine. In my past pregnancies I had an almost out of body connection with the miracles inside of me. I felt that we could communicate and have this deep exchange… I felt them but I could hear them too. With Ondine I couldn’t. I tried. I meditated. I prayed. I did my yoga and chants and nothing. She stayed quiet.

Here I was 20 weeks pregnant floating in this salt water chamber in the perfect temperature, with little fake stars over me, with spa music and nothing literally nothing to distract me… and still Ondine was silent. I tried meditating to connect to her… I just got a dial tone… she wasn't interested. I started laughing at min 45 of my 60 because it was clear that this kid was going to do whatever she wanted when she wanted. No amount of persuasion would get her to change her mind. I found it funny and fitting that I would have such a stubborn and independent child. Right at that moment when I let go of “ trying” I heard her. Clear as day and the only and I mean ONLY time she connected to me while I was carrying her she said “ mom, don’t worry we are good”.

Like an Italian mobster. “ we good” simple and to the point. In that moment I laughed even harder. Ok, Ondine Ok. I get it. You want me to lay off and leave you alone. You’re happy and chilling in your little comfy water bubble and you don’t need me in your space bothering you with my need to feel connected and secure. It’s like she was saying “ Calm down, I’m already here, I’m safe and not going anywhere. We are good. Relax”.

I quickly got out of the float bath and got dressed. I called my husband and told him about the only “ download” I got and explained how funny I thought it was. How these little people are just that… individual little people doing their own thing on their own time.

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Which brings me to the other night. I was putting Ondine down ( she’s three years old now) to sleep and she was in my bed ( we co-sleep). I turned to her and gently moved the hair from her eyes and she smiled. This mischievous smile I adore so much… she will break hearts… I think she will be famous for it.

I smiled back and said “ do you want to know something Ondine?”

she said “ yes mama”

“ Do you know I wished for you for a long long time? You are my wish come true.”

She responded by looking at me with such a serious expression on her face. She was really taking this in and trying to find her words. Then with certainty she said:

“ mama I wish for you too”.

and this is the point in the evening where I had to hold back tears as the meaning of what she had just shared healed my heart in any of it’s cracks and weaknesses.

“ mama I wish for you too” will now be some of the most powerful words in my memory bank. The connection I was looking for when pregnant … she just shared it on her own time and in her own way.

I can’t believe I get the privilege of getting to know this little human. Parenthood and motherhood is something else. It is pure magic.

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• little me casually holding animal furs that what would become hats my mother would sow and sell on the black market

Let’s pick up from where we left off shall we. My mother had just gotten back from visiting my father in the United States on a tourist visa. It had been almost 2 years at this point since I had seen him… and rarely heard his voice. He was a distant memory and someone I no longer felt connected to although still longed for like all children do. Our farm, which my drunk uncle managed to decimate in the 2 months my mother was gone, was back to functioning. The moonshine my mother made from spoiled honey and our dead bees managed to cover the expenses of gasoline, diesel, hay, potatoes, and labor. ( Yes, I’ll write a post on how to make it a little later because we should all have random survival skills in the back of our minds just in case).

At this time my mother started selling things. The tractor, the cow, the chickens, and eventually the house. Little by little my universe of safety and childhood wonder was sold for a future I was promised would be better. My little mind couldn’t understand what could possibly be better than the woods and ponds in my backyard. How selling the cow would mean I would have a better education and opportunity. I loved that cow. ( my parents had sold their wedding bands to buy a cow once my brother was born… because milk, cheese, yogurt, and butter are more valued than gold… my parents never bought new bands) I loved my little wild life.

• here are a few of the pictures I have of my childhood: my mother holding a hawk, my mom holding me in probably 1988 with her taxidermy on display, and my brother and I on our horse in the village.

I was being asked… forced to grow up even faster. To process change and information far more advanced than I was. I now know that once that house was sold my childhood ended. We packed what we could carry and said goodbye moving back to our grandmothers apartment in Moscow. Now it was go time. I could feel the quick energy in all of my mother’s movements. Change was coming and it was coming fast. She found my brother and I an English tutor. I would go to this woman’s apartment at night and she taught me “ thank you, goodbye, please and can I have more” all in British English. I remember being confused and dizzy with information. I was learning English all while being instructed to not be heard speaking it outside my home and with no one but my family. It would have been seen as “ suspicious”. I was taken to the dentist by my mom to fix my underbite quickly and effectively since “ where we are going you need to have the best shot at getting ahead so we will make sure you are pretty before we get there”. All I remember is the communist green paint that covered all official buildings at the time ( it’s like whatever surplus of green paint the country had after WWII and they just painted all official buildings with it… once you see it you can’t unsee it) peeling off the walls from years of layers. The halls were dark and I was about to get 4 of my permanent molars removed to force my jaw into the right position ( a technique that is very barbaric and most dentist would NEVER do it today). I was told to relax and count to 10 as they put me under with laughing gas… I remember saying out loud “ I want to see Mickey Mouse” as I fell into my drug induced sleep. I woke up to panicked doctors and my mother face blank as a sheet. Apparently I was allergic to this form of sleeping gas and they had complications with me waking up. I couldn’t catch my breath and kept vomiting. My mother was terrified that she had made the wrong choice but I pulled through. A month later I could smile with a “ proper smile” and her plan of me “fitting in” worked. Soon after my mother pulled my brother and I into the living room at my grandmothers apartment and sat us down. She said that tomorrow night when everyone is sleeping a car will come and we will all very quietly load up our things and leave. That we could not say goodbye to anyone and that no-one could know where we were going. She said to not talk and simply follow her in the airport. We packed our 3 pieces of luggage and waited for the next day.

I woke up and walked to school like any normal day holding my grandfathers hand…each step was a small death of the life I knew. I knew that this would be the last time I would pass my favorite ice cream shop and my favorite bread stand. The last time I would feel the comfort and safety of my grandfathers hand wrapped around mine… guiding me to my next step.

• I don’t have many pictures of my grandfather as at the time they were all film and hard to develop in the USSR but this one I cherish. He’s holding my mom when she was toddler.

I was panicking inside … this is the first time I felt anxiety that made my heart freeze but my mind race. I felt so much but knew I couldn’t show signs of anything “ out of the normal”. Looking back I’m in awe of the self control I had. The ability to not cry, not talk to anyone, to “ pretend”. I know my childhood and Communism made me an actor. I know that’s why I never had formal training I just was… I take direction well and was literally made to shape shift for safety reasons. I play characters from a survivalist kind of place… I simply become with no friction. It’s a wild way to perform… when I was younger I would get lost in characters… before I build up a solid foundation of identity. Some people call it method …. I wasn’t method… I was something else…. boundary less acting. Survival acting.

We all ate dinner together that night and my grandparents didn’t say much. My grandmother survived the Siege of Leningrad; the deadliest siege in history when the Nazis held Leningrad ( now Saint Petersburg) hostage for 872 days but the city never fell. It killed more than 1.5 million citizens out of the 3.5 million population. Starvation, freezing temperatures, disease, and even cannibalism are common stories. My grandmother was a child and somehow survived on a potato and piece of bread a day ( made of saw dust, glue, and whatever they could blend into a paste). Her body was covered in tiny scars from where the first bombs fell and shrapnel decorated her limbs. She used to say “ I wish I was a painter, because I can see all of the faces of the ones around me when the bombs fell, maybe if I could paint them their loved ones would know where they perished”. By the time she was 10 she had lived through unimaginable horrors, somehow survived, and was ALWAYS the happiest person in the room. She held me close that night and kissed me. Her eyes twinkling like a star on a foggy night. My grandfather hugged me close and I took in as much of his smell as I could. He smelled like shoe polish, after shave, a cigarette and a shot of vodka … with just a hint of sardines. Like a sailor. Like home. He let a tear slip out of his good eye ( his other eye was glass … he lost it to cancer… when he died I kept his glass eye for good luck). At 3 am a car came and we very quietly slipped out of the building. Me, mom, my brother and our 4 dogs plus 3 pieces of luggage. That was it. No goodbyes… no certainty if I would ever see my grandparents again… or speak my own language publicly… just the cold night, a new outfit, and a new country.

We arrived at the international airport. My mother told us to sit with the luggage and not move or say anything. We did just that. She checked in our luggage and the dogs. My brother and I sat like frozen little mice… not knowing what step to take next. We had never seen an airport before or planes. We had never been on a plane nor did we know anyone who had ever left the country… defiantly not WEST. All I knew of America was Mickey Mouse ( ironic that Disney is my longest employer) Coca Cola, and the roads were paved with gold… whatever that meant.

We approached the visa check in area and my mother handed her passport to the authority. In Russia you have 2 passports; one internal and one external. The internal one is what gives you citizen benefits etc and the external is for travel. We as children didn't have our own internal passports yet ( you get that at 18) and were written in our mothers. The women in charge of checking us in requested both of my mother’s passports. She stamped her external one containing our visas to America which allowed us to travel and become resident of the US. She then took my mother internal passport which gave us Russian citizens rights like health care etc and tore in half in front of her face and called her a “ traitor”. With that action this visa control personal severed our connection to my homeland as an internal citizen. Now, when if we ever came back, we would be guests not residents. It was a cruel unnessesary brutality to place on my mother and her two little children. We boarded our flight and my mother quickly fell asleep. She has motion sickness and took sleeping aids to not throw up. My brother and I ran around the plane and kept asking for CocaCola and saying “ thank you please”. The flight had American flight attendants and no one spoke Russian well enough to wrangle us kids. That and we were sleep deprived and hyper off all the free soda. Again, my memory is full of blank spaces as the mind is a beautiful thing and protects us from what can hurt. I remember landing in Dallas and everyone clapped on the plane and sang out loud “ oooraaaa” which is the Russian battle cry for victory. We had made it. We were in the United States of America. I don’t remember getting off the plane, going to get luggage, getting our dogs, anything. I remember I was hot. I left Russia in a brand new pink jumper and sweatpants combo and was now sweating in Dallas. Somewhere down a hall a man took my fingerprints made me smile for a picture and I was handed a card. My new form of identification. I was a permanent resident an “ permanent alien” as they said. I felt like an alien. We walked through some sliding doors and the heat hit me. When I opened my eyes a man was there ready to greet us. He ran up to me. Hugged me and kissed me… but I didn’t recognize him. He scared me with his enthusiasm and affection… he was my father and I had forgotten all that he was. His smell, his strength, the way his voice sounded. He was a stranger I knew I had to love, a man I respected for his work ethic, and a relationship I would never rebuild. He gave me a necklace and some earrings and we took a picture. The first picture of me in the United States and the first time we were seen as a family for 2.5 years.

Welcome to America my father said. Then we got into a little Nissan and he drove us to McDonalds for our first meal in the country of the brave and free.

more to come…

( me as a baby on a bear rug; my father shot the bear and my mother made the rug)

My name is Olesya Rulin but it’s really not. My full name is Olesya Yurivna Rulina which only Russian speaking people can say correctly. It’s written with an O and pronounced with an A. Not even my husband can pronounce it… but my little 3 year old daughter can which makes me so proud. It’s a strange thing to go most of your life with an adopted version of your name… so much so that when I’m in my homeland I get shocked to hear it out loud and react like a deer in headlights.

I was born in a little village, four hours by car, outside of Moscow Russia in 1986. The Cold War wasn’t over yet and the Berlin Wall still stood… just to paint you a picture of my first years of life… and make myself sound old although I’m only 39. I think that’s what happens when a single lifetime manages to stretch over not only technological advancement but also historical growth on a global scale; somehow you feel much older than you are. It’s like the filaments of change stick to you and somehow they oxidize your DNA… I feel old… mentally… sometimes these stories… my story it too much for me to hold… this is where you come in dear reader. In sharing with you I feel lighter; telling my story allows it to live somewhere else outside of me. Thank god. Anyway I digress.

Back to my little village. It was tiny and consisted of 12 houses or so. No gas or indoor plumbing but we did have electricity.

( fun fact: my mother and I now own 6 houses in my village and she still lives there 6 months of the year. It took her 15 years but she purchased 450 acres of forest that surrounds the village and made it a nature preserve because she could and she’s a badass like that. This story will be a separate post later stay tuned.)

( mama and mini me with all of the foxes my dad trapped; ready to be made into hats)

My mother was only 21 when she had me and had already given me an older brother at the ripe age of 19. She is a licensed forest ranger and graduated with the “ red diploma” which during the USSR meant that you were “ the best of the best of the nation”. She can trap any wild animal, skin any animal, prepare meals out of thin air, run a farm, milk cows, hunt with dogs, ride horses bareback, make babies, tend to a wood burning oven and heat source, raise chickens, and chop wood all before noon. I’ll have a whole series on my mother soon including her knowledge of the world: mushroom foraging, how to survive in the woods, how to skin, how to beekeeper, how to make moonshine, how to preserve vegetables and much much more so just subscribe and get ready to be in love with Nataliya ( of course my mothers name is Nataliya).

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My father she met while in University and in her words he was the best man there… one she knew had work ethic and talent. They fell in love quickly and the rest is my history. I don’t have a relationship with him anymore and haven’t in many- many years and for good reason but that doesn't mean I don’t appreciate his artistry and the good character traits he gave me. I believe that just because we are born into a family doesn’t mean we have to stay where we are planted. We are not trees… we can uproot.

( this is me at 30 years old in my village next to the best well… the cleanest water)

My parents loved nature and both had a political dislike of Communism. They chose professions where they could live off the land away from the system. In the seasons, with animal, is where they both thrived and where I found my true home. I was born knowing that the woods and all of her mystery is where I belong. My only pure childhood memories come from my village. Running wild in fields of blooming linen with my mother covered in dew, drinking warm milk from a mug my mother handed me as she milked our cow, having a pet crane for a season, swimming in ponds and creeks, stealing vegetables from our neighbors gardens, collecting eggs from my favorite chickens in the hay loft, and so many more. If there was hardship my mother didn’t show it… I only knew pure love and devotion until shit hit the fan around 1991 and Communism fell. Prior to 1991 I didn't know lack or poverty because in my child’s mind we had so much. We had a car, a house, a horse, chickens, so much land to run around on, and every New Years I would get a clementine. Somehow it never dawned on me that our country didn't have things regularly… like toilet paper and sugar… denim… good socks. It was waves of supplies but we always had art, the ballet, and culture. That was free or almost free to the public and I remember my mother taking us to every cultural event possible by train. My life felt very well rounded as a child.

( My brother and I at the Russian circus… yes that’s a live bear)

Now looking back I see how hard it was for my mother and the endless battles she endured and won in order for me to believe in my “ dream like” childhood. She washed my cloth diapers by hand in the frozen creek all winter. Dressed in her thick coat with wool sock on her hand and then rubber gloves she would break the ice and wash my poop and pee in the creek while it was 20 degrees outside. EVERYDAY of the winter! The clothes would freeze into solid sheets and she would have to bring them inside and have them drip dry by tending to the “ pechka” all night ( this is a wood burning stove in the heart of all village houses that heats the home and you can cook on it as well). The wool socks I wore she knitted. The fur coat I wore to the ballet at 5 years old she sowed from foxes my father trapped… the fur hat too. The honey we ate came from her 30 bee hives and milk I drank came from her waking at 4am to milk the cow before I got up. Everything came from her. The magic was my mother and she paid the price with her youth. It’s not a sad story it’s just her story and I find it miraculous. She’s a saint … one that can drink you under the table while looking with Audrey Hepburn.

( the Queen, my mother Nataliya)

( This is right before my father vanished and the only picture I have of us as a family)

In 1990 my mother saw a fortune teller that told her by the time she turned 30 year old her whole life would change in ways she couldn’t imagine. In 1991 Communism fell. BOOM. POW. WOWZA.

My father was an excellent tracker, I’m sure he still is. Some people are not meant to be around people but nature. Surrounded by animals he became soft and kind. He was able to function and feel understood. Although he and my mother lived off the grid away from the system somehow his talented reputation still followed him. I know he tracked big game for the Communist party members ( everyone was in the party let’s be clear) like moose and bear. When elite party members wanted to go hunting they would call on his services ( not literally call we didn’t have a phone but a couple of villages down there was one and he would ride over in his Ural, that’s a Soviet sidecar motorcycle, and use it) and book him for a hunting trip. When the government fell he was linked to officials and one day he vanished. I don’t remember my father leaving… I don’t remember him saying goodbye. He was just gone. Isn’t the mind a beautiful thing… it protects us from information that we can’t handle at the time. I could ask my mom but these kind of questions are hard memories for her to recall and honestly she deserves happiness and bliss vs me satisfying blank holes of my memory. Sometimes it’s kinder to protect the peace of the ones you love. Sometime after he vanished I was told that he was in a different country… one that we would all go to soon… but I could NEVER tell anyone about our plans. This country was called America and it was far away. I would probably never see my grandparents again and I would have to learn English. Everything would be different but we could be a family again. For 26 month my mother stood in government lines trying to get us visas out of the country. The details of this also escape me. What I remember is having to move in with my grandparent outside of Moscow to a little apartment. I missed the woods, my cow, the freedom of being a wild child. I didn’t understand why I had to go to school during the day and eat oatmeal and only have 1 hour outside of recess. I hated sitting at a desk, only having a designated time to draw or play, having to sleep in a little bed in a room full of other kids. I had to be quiet and couldn’t crow like a rooster at play time. I got into fights and my poor mother had to come in a have talks with the principal. I was miserable and confused. My older brother adjusted better to the city life… has always been more of a calm observant type vs me the wild one. Or maybe he just internalized it… like a a good big brother would.

My mother would wake up hours before dawn and get ready for a long day of visa lines. We were sleeping together on the pull out couch in my grandparents living room. I would cry and cling to her hopelessly. I think I was scared that she would vanish like my father. We would get a call from him periodically. Once a month maybe. It would last only 5 min because of how expensive it was at the time. I would hear his voice say “ I love you” and that was it. The phone would be handed to my mother and they would talk logistics as quickly as they could. I forgot what he looked like… who he was really. He left when I was almost 6 and I didn’t see him again until I was 8. Those are crucial years for a child to make memories. He was like an old dream… that I could only recall in bits and pieces. Some of the memories my mind filled in the blanks with stories I made it.

A year into visa lines my mother’s visa was approved for a visit. Us kids had to stay back. I think this part I blacked out on. I don’t remember saying goodbye to my father when he vanished. I don’t think he had the heart to do so. It must have been too hard for him or at least that’s the story I tell myself. My mother on the other hand took the blow. Early one morning she woke me up and said she was leaving to go see my father. I clung to her shirt… begging and crying for her to not leave me. I was terrified. She told me the details. That she would only be gone for 2.5 months. That my grandparents will take care of me. She had given my uncle ( her brother) her savings and he had promised to give my grandparents the cash to help support us when we were gone while he kept our little farm running. I was going to be ok she said. That she would come back for me and my brother. Nothing in my mind let me believe her. Her leaving felt like the whole foundation of my life just fell. She had to pry my hands off of her… one finger at a time. I remember her saying “ that’s enough, be strong” and with tears in her eyes she walked out the door into the dark early morning.

I knew that I couldn’t talk about my parents leaving to anyone. I wasn’t safe. They would be considered traitors to the country and that would leave a negative effect of my grandparents. I was used to the Communist rules and scared of my family getting shipped to Siberia. I didn't tell a soul. The kids at school started calling me an orphan and teased me outside. I would bring a picture in my pocket, that I stole from my grandparents photo album, of my mother and father to prove I had parents. I would show it proudly although I didn’t actually remember the man standing in it. I would sit on the window ledge of my grandparents room and watch the people walk by for hours. This is when I started day dreaming of my mother. Of the country she said was going to be full of opportunities for us. Safety and where Mickey Mouse lived. It was at this time that my guardian angel ( my grandfather Kolia) started showing me film slides. He wanted to instill happiness in me… hope for a different life in the softest way he would. He was a man of few words and bold actions. You knew how much he loved you from the way he held your hand. Every cell of his body was positioned for presence and intent. I have yet to meet anyone that could carry that kind of awareness and love. ( here he is prepping a hand saw to help build our house in Russia)

He would pull of his projector and put in movie slides and read a little booklet of the plot as we watched the pictures change on the wall. One film he would show me daily “ Crimson Sails”. This story was about a little girl Asol who lived in a little village by the sea. Her mother had passed and she lived alone with her fisherman father. They were poor in finances but she felt rich and worthy in love. She grew to be a beautiful young woman and one day when she was mushroom foraging in the woods a mystic came across her path. He told her to be calm and joyful that she was meant for great things. That one day a ship with crimson sails would come to the horizon and on it would be a prince who would love her and take her away. Asol held this story in her heart and believed it fully. As she got older if anyone from the village asked her “ how are you dealing with your hard life” she would just smile and say “ all is well, I’m waiting for my crimson sails and my prince”. She was thought of as mad by the village people for why would this girl believe she would be special. Then one day there was a great storm and a great ship along with its crew and captain had to come to shore in this little village to fix a mast that had broken. The captain furious with the set back of his ship took a walk in the woods to cool off his rage. In his fury he accidentally walked in on Asol taking a nap on some moss. She was foraging and had fallen asleep like an angelic fairy. He saw her and fell in love but didn't wake her. He ran to the village to ask who this young woman was. The villagers all agreed she was beautiful but informed the captain that she was mad and poor. That for years now she claims a mystic told her that “ one day your crimson sails will come and a prince will love you”. The captain heard the story and instead of thinking she was insane fell deeper in love with her self worth and how she believed in magic. He went to a neighboring city where he ordered hundreds of yards of crimson fabric and ordered sails to be made. Once the mast to his ship was fixed he had his crew sail past the horizon where the new crimson sails were put hoisted. Then he did what any man in love does… he made Asols’ dream come true. He sailed into the village ,crimson sails in the wind, to the shock and amazement of all the villagers. No one could believe that this “ mad girls” story was coming true. They yelled “ Asol Asol come see the crimson sails are here”. As the shipped docked all of the onlookers were full of excitement and awe. Disbelief. Then came Asol who calmly walked out of the woods with her foraging basket in hand. She looks directly into the camera and says “ I knew you would come” with calm and ease. No excitement no thrill just calm and grace. It wasn't a surprise for her it was what she expected. She took the captains hand and boarder the ship.

My grandfather would show me this specific movie until I could describe each detail and knew every line. It was his way of making me believe in a better life. He was prepping me to leave our country and everything I knew and without knowing what or how to believe that I was worthy of magic and happiness. By doing this he saved me. He saved my childhood and my ability to dream. He in many ways gave me the gifts of acting… by preserving my childlike wonder.

At the same time, my uncle who was suppose to give my grandparents the money my mother had left him, decided to spend it on alcohol. He never delivered the funds. Instead he drank himself stupid for 2 months and destroyed our farm with neglect. He burnt all of our firewood, ate our entire stock of preserves including the potatoes we had in the cellar, my mother’s 30 bee hives suffocated and died resulted in ruined honey, the cow was knee deep in manure in her stall her milk ducts had mastitis from lack of care, she had no hay, the tractor he had broken, he used all of the diesel. Our heaven was turned to hell and we didn't know.

My brother and I lived off my ration cards my grandparents had. Somehow we stretched what was meant to feed 2 to 4. This time in my life although it was under 3 months is so hard for me to write about … to share. This is when I felt what real hunger feels like and if you know this feeling … you know… it leaves a scar that time cannot heal. It just lives with you forever. I would stand for hours with my grandmother for our weekly bread. Sometimes 4 hours of longer. I would stand with her because if the worker saw you had a child with you sometimes they would give you a little extra on the sly. It wasn’t a starving kind of hunger … it was a polite kind. The kind where you don’t talk about it… you simply, calmly, and slowly eat what you are given and you know not to ask for more. I started eating scraps of dry bread from the bag by grandfather kept for the pigs. I still prefer my bread 2 days old and dry.

Then like magic one day my mother walked in the front door. She was skinny but home. All at once she learned about the lack of money, the food scarcity, and that our farm was destroyed. That poor woman. We went straight to the village to see what we could save. She kicked out her brother and we walked into hell. A 27 year old woman and her 2 small children. No money, no food, no gas, no working tractor, no hay, 30 hives of dead bees, no potatoes, and one cow with mastitis. I honestly have no idea how my mother didn't just collapse. I guess that’s the super hero strength of mothers.

She got to work. She needed diesel of the tractor and hay for the cow. Potatoes and food. Everything. All we had was 30 hives of dead bees. My uncle never opened their little winter doors so they suffocated and died. The honey was all mildew and mold. One thing you can make with spoiled dead bee honey is moonshine. So that’s what she did. She smashed 30 hives worth of honey with the dead bees and all the mildew and made “ mead” or “ honey moonshine”. It is with this mead that she was able to barter for diesel, hay, potatoes, labor. In a few days she had our farm back in order. I don’t know if she slept or ate. Probably not. Somehow she saved us, our cow, or 6 dogs, and all somehow with grace and kindness. She was only 27! I can’t imagine that kind of determination and skill. I simply can’t.

Stay tuned for this next section of this post… how we get to America…

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