Something Weighs on My Heart

In the past, crossing the border and leaving Estonia behind brought a wave of relief. I don’t know why it’s different this time, but I just can’t seem to shake off the feeling of home or breathe in the fresh air of this new chapter.

Maybe it’s because before, we were escaping the harsh winters. Before, it was for our health. Before, we always knew we’d return and continue building our lives. Back then, we had the feeling that Estonia was still where we belonged, and we made plans accordingly.

But this time, everything is different. The reasons for leaving are not the same. First, there’s the whole motocross track situation, where we felt completely betrayed—stabbed in the heart, really. Fine, let it go. Already in the summer, we started working on a homestead at the edge of the forest, dreaming up a unique motorcycle hub for events. We envisioned turning the woods into a park, planning a sauna house, glamping tents. We got excited again, imagining how amazing it could be—something no outsider could destroy because that land belonged to us. The idea received so much positive feedback.

And yet, that dream was crushed before it even began. People from the village showed us a map where, starting at the edge of our field on RMK (State Forest Management Centre) land, a wind farm is planned. Shockingly close to our homestead. How could that ever be a place for peace and connection with nature? Is it even possible to live next to turbines without risking your health? Our enthusiasm evaporated. Our arms dropped. And we realized—we have no future here.

Could we resist? Sure. But at the cost of our family’s emotional wellbeing. And sadly, our nation lacks the unity needed to truly stand together—at least half of Estonia would need to rise up, shoulder to shoulder, to make a real change and hold politicians accountable.

What they’re doing to our land is brutal.

We thought: maybe we’ll sell and buy a new place elsewhere in Estonia. But there’s no longer any certainty. You never know when someone might build a quarry, a wind or solar farm, a railroad or even a military training ground next to you.

Maybe that’s why I’m feeling so triggered out here—because it feels like life itself pushed us away from our homeland, and now I need to make peace with that. This time, even our two older kids seem a bit off. They look at things we brought from our old home, watch the same cartoons they did in Estonia, and keep talking about their memories. It’s tough. It’s hard to fully turn the page.

And honestly, Europe as a whole seems to have lost the plot. Just yesterday, locals in Crete were hiking in protest against planned wind turbines in the mountains, spreading the message that “the mountains must be free.” A few weeks ago, millions of people across Greece gathered in protest against corrupt and irresponsible politicians. Greeks don’t tolerate injustice. They fight to have their voices heard. During the last major protest, even the Athens airport shut down. Taxis drove people to the protest for free. Most institutions were closed.

How could we ever get half of Estonia to rally together like that? To bring the country to a halt and make politicians think? Take responsibility? Even someone like Kovalenko gets torn apart for trying to bring issues to light. When I organized a protest myself, I admit we didn’t have much time to prepare or spread the word—but I still sensed just how incredibly hard it is to get Estonians to stand up for themselves. I’m truly grateful for those who showed up, and so happy to have so many kind and inspiring people in my circle.

But of course, during that organizing process, I also came face to face with betrayal. That’s the most painful part—when you count on someone and they let you down. What would happen if we were in a real crisis and needed to stand united? How many traitors are among us? How many are in power?

I wish I could take a break from thinking about my homeland. But this time, the heaviness won’t let go. I want to fight—but do I have allies? Then again, I want to give up, forget it all, and enjoy life—because life is too short to pour your energy into these issues when you have a family and small children.
Some days I feel one way, other days another. There’s no peace in my heart.

What’s happening in the world cuts deep. It’s hard to find your place when everything is shifting—and not in favor of the people.

Just a stream of thought I wanted to put here on the blog. I’m not encouraging anyone to give up or take action. I just wanted to share what’s been weighing on me while I’m far away from home.

I truly hope I choose to focus on my family and enjoying life—because based on experience, I know your efforts for society often go unrecognized, and you’re quickly forgotten.

So Maria—it’s time to focus on yourself and your quality of life.