A year ago, Tatyana Neustroyeva asked Pyotr Kolyadin, a couple that would become a tragic couple, if they wanted to get married. They replied in unison: “Yes aEUR”, she said no.
They hadn’t spoken about it. They had been together for almost two years and were married for 40. Tatyana considered marriage archaic. Pyotr, on the other hand, was keen to have the time and place right.
On February 24, Russian troops invaded Ukraine. The couple couldn’t breath, felt like they were in a fog and had one clear thought: They should marry now.
Pyotr states that “to me, we face a world apocalypse.” He says that this anchor is like a compass you can throw forward to see if it pulls you out. It’s like an island of order in chaos.
They noticed aEUR on social media and local news that many other couples were holding quick, rushed ceremonies. Articles in St. Petersburg noted that there were long lines for quick-track registration. Some 9,000 couples were married in Moscow in April, a 12-year-old record.
William Hiebert, a Chicago marriage counselor and general secretary for the International Family Therapy Association, says that “the more people believe whatever is coming could seriously disrupt their lives, the more likely they will make relationship decisions.”
Hiebert highlights other major disasters that have sparked waves of weddings such as the well-studied 1989 hurricane Hugo, Japan’s 2011 tsunami and the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic.
Psychologists say that people seek closure when there is uncertainty and fear. This happens by sealing their love.
Hiebert says that “it’s kind of trying to grab the time and put it at a standstill”, “an attempt to manage what little you have control over.”
For Russian couples, the war against Ukraine was a catalyst to marriage for psychological and practical reasons.
After two years of being together, Kirill Gorodnii met Katya, his wife. They were searching for a Moscow apartment to share when Russia invaded Ukraine.
Kirill, 27, says that “the first day of war, we were stunned.” “The second day was terrifying. We decided to leave for another place on the third day of war.
The Kremlin continues to insist that its attacks against Ukraine are a “special army operation.” New laws threaten to put a decade behind bars for protests calling it a war. Kirill and Katya finally discussed marriage aEUR” at one point in the event that one of them was arrested.
Kirill says, “So that the spouse can have visits.” He said it was a sad joke, but not really a joke.
Others mention the rumors that Russia’s military might mobilize all males in a national draft. Tatyana mentioned in passing that wives have more access to hospitals visitation, financial support aEUR”, military hotlines, and financial support aEUR” than their girlfriends.
Kirill and Katya were among the tens of thousands fleeing Russia to Georgia and Armenia. Katya’s Russian employer closed its Russian office and offered her a job in Dubai. Kirill could only live there as her husband.
They were both eager to get married in Tbilisi, the Georgian capital. They met some friends on the way to register and were then recruited as witnesses. Six people joined them for dinner to celebrate their surprise matrimony. Kirill said it was a perfect marriage considering the circumstances.
Tatyana and Pyotr didn’t plan on inviting anyone to their surprise wedding. As these things go, friends discovered and the event began to sprout its usual accouterments, Pyotr said.
The couple selected a location to register for Tuesday night via a city portal: it was, incidentally, St. Petersburg’s most historic and palatial wedding hall. The ornate ceilings were surrounded by ancient marble. They married under the soaring ceilings.
Tatyana states, “I think we’re coping using the help of love.” “Amidst despair, disorder, and discord, we’ll still know that we are a loved one,” Tatyana says.
