“I decided I want my children to inherit a better world”

Tetiana Lytvyn — psychologist, biologist, author, and addiction rehabilitation specialist — on “broken” brains, the long road to recovery, and how motherhood changed everything.

Tetiana Lytvyn was born in Kyiv in 1980 and has spent more than twenty years working at the intersection of psychology, trauma, and addiction — first in Ukraine, then in Poland, and now in the United States, where she presents her rehabilitation program “The Path to Yourself” in collaboration with organizations committed to addressing addiction. She is the founder of the charitable foundation “For the Future of Woman” in Ukraine, and the author of a workbook on addiction, soon to be published in English. Her work has earned her public recognition and state awards in Ukraine. We met at her kitchen table on a Tuesday morning — between a phone consultation and the school pickup.

You have been working with addiction for more than fifteen years. Where did this path begin?

Honestly? It began with loss. I watched people I cared about — intelligent, warm, alive — disappear into addiction. Not physically, not at first. First, they disappeared from themselves. And I kept asking: why can’t they stop? They understand what is happening to them. They hate what is happening to them. I needed to understand that gap between knowing and being able to act. That question became my profession.

And what did you find on the other side of that question?

That willpower is almost entirely the wrong framework. When we talk about addiction as a failure of willpower, we are describing a symptom and calling it a cause. What I found — and what research confirms — is that addiction restructures the brain. The reward system, the prefrontal cortex, the stress response system. It is not that the person doesn’t want to stop. It is that the neural architecture responsible for sustained decision-making is systematically damaged. A brain altered by years of use is genuinely a different brain than the one the person started with.

That sounds almost like a verdict. Is there still room for recovery?

Entirely. The same neuroplasticity that makes the brain vulnerable to addiction makes it capable of healing. That is precisely what inspires me. The brain can recover — dopamine receptors return, the prefrontal cortex restores its function, the body relearns how to produce its own chemistry of relief. But it requires time, safety, structure, and genuine human connection. That last factor matters enormously. Healthy relationships activate the same reward systems that substances hijack. Which means that a person’s environment during recovery is not simply a “nice bonus” — it is, at the deepest level, a therapeutic factor in itself.

You founded the foundation “For the Future of Woman” and developed the program “The Path to Yourself.” What shaped the methodology?

Years of watching what doesn’t work. I saw people complete programs that treated the body — managing withdrawal, stabilizing chemistry — and then return home without any inner change. And, of course, relapse. Because addiction is not only a biochemical problem. Its roots go deeper: into identity, into the stories a person tells themselves, into the emptiness that existed before the substance and will return if nothing fills it. So, the program I developed works on several levels simultaneously — psychological, interpersonal, and yes, spiritual. Not dogmatically. But any honest approach to human suffering must touch on questions of meaning. Why am I alive? Who do I want to become? These are spiritual questions, even when we don’t use religious language.

You speak of spirituality — but carefully. How do you maintain that balance in professional practice?

I hold it lightly and seriously at the same time. I am a person of faith, and I don’t conceal that. But I am also a scientist, trained to work from an evidence base. I have seen spirituality used as a substitute for genuine clinical work — and that is dangerous, because one does not replace the other; it complements it. I believe — and I see this in practice — that lasting recovery is almost always connected to a person finding something worth recovering for. A sense of belonging to something larger than their suffering. That can take many forms. My role is not to impose the form, but to create conditions in which that search becomes possible.

You say you are constantly learning — not only professionally, but personally. What does that mean to you?

It means I am still a student of my own life. I hold two degrees, in psychology and biology. I am currently studying at Gannon University. I read constantly, attend conferences, engage with researchers I don’t always agree with — because growth is born in disagreement. But when I say I am learning, I mean something else too: I am learning to be a wife. I am learning to be a mother. That sounds simple, but it is not. Marriage is a process, not a destination. Parenthood is the most humbling education of my life. I make mistakes often. The difference is that now I try to notice them, understand them, and change. And that is exactly what I ask of the people I work with.

You have three children. Has motherhood changed your relationship to your work?

Completely. Before, this work felt important to me. After my children were born, it became urgent. When you hold a newborn, you understand what is at stake differently. You think: this person will inherit the world I am helping to create — or failing to create.

I remember looking at my eldest daughter and thinking about the families I worked with — mothers in crisis, children growing up inside addiction — and feeling not just professional engagement. It was almost a physical decision: I don’t want my child to grow up in a world where people disappear into addiction because of ignorance or the absence of help.

Yes, that sounds grand. But change is always made of small decisions. I cannot transform the entire system. But I can train specialists. I can create methodologies. I can help one person. And each of those acts is a contribution to the world my children will live in.

You have worked in Ukraine, Poland, and the United States. How has that shaped your perspective?

It gave me clarity about what is universal. Suffering has no passport. The biology of addiction is the same. The pain of a mother is the same in Kyiv, in Poland, and in the United States. What differs is the context — resources, culture, and access to help. That has made me a better specialist.

What would you want people who have never encountered addiction to understand?

That in all likelihood they have — they simply didn’t name it that way. Addiction has many faces. And the person inside it is not a “problem” — it is someone’s life. They had a before, and they can have an after. The brain can recover. I have seen it hundreds of times. That is not optimism — it is a fact.

Tetiana Lytvyn is the founder of the charitable foundation “For the Future of Woman” and a rehabilitation center, the author of the program “The Path to Yourself” and the workbook “No Longer a Prisoner: The Nature of Addiction and the Path to Freedom.” She is a member of the Ukrainian and American Psychological Associations.