Earthquake, Broken Glass, and the Rule of First Aid: What an Expedition to the Edge of the World Teaches Us

Putting the facts together, I realized something important: a real catastrophe isn’t when tectonic plates shift beneath your feet. After all, you can always choose not to travel to seismically active regions of the country!

A real catastrophe happens inside women leaders who are used to running over broken glass every single day to save everyone around them—except themselves. Let me tell you the whole story from the beginning.

July and August in Kamchatka are always the absolute peak of tourist season. People book tours a year in advance to experience the northern summer. But 2026 turned out to be anomalous: local old-timers say they haven’t seen anything like it in decades. Those who dreamed of sunshine arrived in the middle of a harsh winter. In the mountains, the snow doesn’t melt; it reaches heights of up to two meters. We drive along the roads as if through an endless white tunnel.

And this is the first powerful metaphor the expedition offers. You physically experience what tunnel vision feels like. You see only the narrow corridor in front of you, while everything else is cut off by solid walls.

We set out on a route to Dachnye Springs—a mini Valley of Geysers. We trudge through liquid clay under the deafening roar of escaping steam and water. Fumaroles hiss around us, and above us Mutnovsky volcano breathes in its active phase. (Of course, all of this takes place under the strict supervision of experienced instructor-guides and EMERCOM rescue workers—safety here is unquestionable.)

All around is a solid white haze of fog. The guide waves his hand into the emptiness: “Imagine, this volcano is here, and that one is over there.” And I look at the women who paid a great deal for this premium trip. They are not angry. They laugh, breathe deeply, and sincerely rejoice. Those who in Moscow skeptically eyed the packing list with hats included in July are now saying, “What a wonderful walk we’re having! And it’s hardly even raining.”

Kamchatka teaches the most important skill of a leader: the ability to adapt to what you cannot control.

Because of the bad weather, we ended up with buffer days. We sit in a cozy café playing Machi Koro—a board game about finance and construction. And as a business psychologist, I once again confirm: if you want to know a person, play a game with them. In a simple board game, in just half an hour, people open up like a book. You instantly see how someone acts under stress. Where does learned helplessness kick in? What is their strategy—adult or childlike?

Over tea, very candid women’s conversations begin. And in the background, the same theme echoes everywhere—self-devaluation. One of the participants shares how ashamed she felt about her eight-year-old child. He wasn’t given money for souvenirs, so he braided floss-thread bracelets to sell them. “How can you sell something for 100 rubles when its cost price is 30?” she worried. And I listened and thought: this is amazing! He didn’t accept the refusal, didn’t fall into victimhood—he went out and earned money. That’s pure entrepreneurial energy. But why are we so afraid of this energy in ourselves? Why are we ashamed to name our price? Why does the question arise: “If I can handle everything on my own, why do I even need a man?”

The answer to these questions came in another story. One of the participants shared how she had taken first aid courses with the Red Cross.

The instructor posed a scenario: you are called to help a choking child. You rush over, and in the yard a vicious dog is running loose. What will you do? Many would dash to save the child at any cost. But the instructor said firmly: you do not pass the dog. It is the owners’ responsibility to restrain it. You enter the house only when it is safe. Why? Because you are just as valuable a person. You have your own family. And besides, you have 14 more calls scheduled for today. If the dog mauls you on the very first one, the other 14 people will die without help.

During the exam, they were given a staged scene: in a room there is a person with a severe injury, and broken glass is scattered all over the floor. The women opened the door and, in a state of shock, rushed to the victim straight across the shards. They failed the exam. The instructor stopped them: “You did everything wrong. The first thing you should have done was ground yourselves. Assess the situation. Are you in danger? You cannot walk on broken glass.”

Here lies the deepest truth about women leaders. We are used to saving everyone around us. We are ready to run over broken glass for our business, for our employees, for our families. We are ready to tear the last elastic band from our own pants to make a tourniquet for someone else, without even asking whether there is a proper one nearby. We think we must save the whole world at the cost of ourselves.

But business psychology, like the Red Cross, says the opposite. First—ground yourself. First—assess the situation. First—ensure your own safety.

Because if you shatter yourself in the very first crisis, who will go out on the remaining 14 calls of your life?