Tatiana Svetlova

I work as a Digital Product Leader — you could call it Product Owner — at the headquarters of a large home goods retailer in Delft. I'm responsible for part of the Microsoft platform and other digital solutions for around 20,000 office employees across 36 countries.

Before that, I worked in the Moscow region, in the warehouse of a large household goods retailer. I had a team of 14 people; the warehouse ran 24/7. The standard systems weren't adapted to the Russian reality, so we wrote a lot of software ourselves — junior, middle and senior developers, as much as the budget allowed. My title was team leader. In essence, I was a junior product owner building software from scratch.

When the events of February 2022 began and the business decided to suspend sales, we, the employees, found out from the news. I was in the warehouse, we were still loading orders, and a friend called me to say 'the stores are closing.' It was a shock.

I started writing a list of everyone I had ever worked with — in Russia, Sweden, other countries — and just wrote to people: 'Can we talk? What's going on? Are there any options?' A few days later, my husband announced that he was leaving. I was left without a home, without a clear job and without any support — all at once.

“The company survived COVID and a bunch of crises. We thought we could handle anything. But we couldn't handle the war.”

I started applying everywhere. Three resumes in two languages: business analyst, scrum master, product owner. Everything I really knew how to do. I also took a temporary job at a Russian company for a month — not because it was a dream job, but because I needed something to hold on to: discipline, structure, money.

“I needed to keep myself busy with something so I wouldn't fall apart.”

About 26 applications total, across the world — from Sweden to Indonesia. Each one had a separate resume and cover letter. The hardest part wasn't writing them. It was not knowing what to say when interviewers asked: are you alone or are there two of you? Where will you live? How much money do you need?

“You're going through an interview and at the same time deciding what your life will look like.”

Two years earlier, I had also been searching — and nothing worked. I was trying to stay inside my old boundaries: my home, my husband, my life in Russia. Then — four offers in two months. I realised it wasn't me.

“Don't knock on doors that aren't yours. If it doesn't work out for a long time, you're doing something wrong.”

Several versions of my resume in two languages, for different roles. I saved every job description — the listing disappears, but I needed it to prepare for the interview. Each vacancy had its own resume and cover letter. A lot of work — but otherwise it's a lottery.

“You won't be a star at your first interview. And that's okay.”

I had 100–150 LinkedIn contacts. Networking played a decisive role. Every offer I received came from a place where someone knew me or could recommend me. I helped students and friends prepare their CVs for international jobs — even with only 30 contacts, some of them landed jobs in Germany.

Fear. A feeling that everything was falling apart. A constant sense of anxiety. The 'stop and feel' strategy doesn't work for me. In a crisis, I need to do something.

“I cry, wash my face, put on red lipstick — and move on. Otherwise, I just fall apart.”

I learned that the number of attempts matters. That confidence comes not from words, but from lived experience. If it didn't work out on the tenth try, it doesn't mean it never will.

Don't go to your first interview like it's a life-changing event. Choose a few companies 'for practice.' See where you get lost, where you struggle, and prepare. And if it doesn't work out for a long time — maybe you're just going in the wrong direction.