By Paul Adams
Diplomatic Correspondent, in Kyiv
As the golden hues of autumn give way to the sharp, biting chill of an approaching winter, a profound sense of anxiety has descended upon the Ukrainian capital. For the residents of Kyiv, the changing seasons serve as a grim reminder of the challenges that lie ahead. The city, which has withstood over two years of relentless conflict, is once again preparing for the dual threat of intensifying Russian missile and drone strikes and the severe, life-threatening temperatures of a Ukrainian winter.
For many families, the prospect of navigating another season of darkness and cold is becoming increasingly untenable. The memories of last winter—marked by prolonged, sub-zero temperatures and widespread, state-mandated power cuts caused by the systemic destruction of the national power grid—remain fresh and painful. For those with young children, the decision to stay or leave has shifted from a hypothetical debate to an urgent, life-altering necessity.
Mariia Shostak, a mother of two, is among those currently packing her life into suitcases. Her small flat in Kyiv, once a place of comfort, now feels like a site of vulnerability. "It was a very difficult winter last year in Kyiv," she says, reflecting on the months spent huddled in the cold. "There were some days and weeks that were unbearable. I started thinking I’m not going through another winter like this."
The tipping point for many, including Mariia, was not the cold itself, but the renewed ferocity of the aerial campaign against the city. Since late August, the intensity of Russian attacks has reached a new, terrifying cadence. "Everything changed in late August and the beginning of September, when Kyiv started being attacked around the clock," she explains. "Earlier, the drones and missiles were intercepted somewhere on the outskirts. Now it was happening in the centre, right above our heads."
The psychological toll of living under a constant barrage of strikes is immense. Kyiv Mayor Vitaly Klitschko has described the situation as "very dramatic," noting that the recent strikes on critical infrastructure, including power plants, petrol stations, and bridges spanning the Dnipro River, are "tearing Kyiv apart."
For Mariia, the safety of her four-year-old son, Artur, and her two-year-old daughter, Kira, is the primary concern. Both children were born after the full-scale invasion in February 2022, and they have known only a life defined by sirens and the necessity of hiding. Seeking an escape from the danger, Mariia has made the difficult decision to take her children abroad for the winter. They are heading to Hurghada, on Egypt’s Red Sea coast. It is a pragmatic choice, she notes—warmer and significantly more affordable than relocating to Western Europe. "I don’t feel safe in Ukraine in any way," she admits.
A Growing Trend of Uncertainty
Mariia is far from alone in her sentiment. While many residents remain committed to staying, a significant portion of the population is quietly evaluating their options. According to a September survey conducted by the research firm Gradus, the mood among the public is one of profound uncertainty. The data reveals that 40% of Ukrainians are actively considering relocation should their living conditions continue to deteriorate. While 35% remain firm in their decision to stay and 25% remain undecided, the figures underscore the precarious nature of daily life.
Evgeniya Blyznyuk, the founder and CEO of Gradus, notes that the concerns of the populace have evolved significantly since the previous winter. "People are thinking about a combination of stress factors," she explains. "It’s not just about electricity and blackouts like last winter. The Russians are targeting big logistics centres, which means that the population is worrying about products, about food during the winter."
The fear is no longer just about the absence of heat or light; it is about the potential for a broader breakdown in the supply chains that sustain the city. This anxiety is particularly acute for parents who witnessed their children struggle through the hardships of the previous year.
Iryna, who asked that her surname be withheld, recalls the terrifying reality of life in her apartment block on the outskirts of the city. Last winter, her three-year-old daughter, Polina, suffered immensely as temperatures inside their home plummeted to near-freezing for weeks at a time. "Being here with a little child that is sick all the time was not OK," Iryna says.
The situation for their family worsened dramatically this year. Two separate missile attacks have left their home scarred and their daughter traumatized. In early June, the first explosion shattered the windows of their 10-storey apartment block. While they attempted to repair the damage, a second blast a month later—occurring near the base of the building—sent a wave of earth and debris into their living space, rendering it uninhabitable.
The physical damage to the building was eventually addressed, but the psychological impact on young Polina has been devastating. She now suffers from extreme anxiety, which manifests in uncontrollable shaking, vomiting, and bouts of incontinence. "Now we have this neurological problem with her, so that’s the reason we’re thinking about leaving," Iryna says. "There are new symptoms after each shelling." With her husband currently serving in the army, Iryna is exploring the possibility of working remotely from Poland, weighing the necessity of safety against the pain of displacement.
Finding Solace in the Countryside
For those who are unable or unwilling to leave the country entirely, the solution often involves retreating to the relative quiet of the Ukrainian countryside. Olena Konoplia is one such resident who has sought a different kind of safety. After weeks of careful searching, she secured a small, modest cottage in a village roughly two hours outside of Kyiv.
"I decided the better option would be a little village without any factories, any warehouses, and any railway stations," Olena explains. She chose the location with a singular goal: to avoid any site that could potentially be deemed a target by the Russian military.
On a recent visit to her new home, she was seen overseeing the installation of a new door and stocking the property for the long months ahead. She has taken precautions against the inevitable power outages, stocking a large pile of firewood in an adjacent barn and installing high-speed internet to facilitate her work for a Kyiv-based charitable foundation. In keeping with local traditions, a priest has already visited the cottage to offer a blessing.
For Olena, the move is already paying dividends for her mental health. "After several nights here, when I can sleep, just sleep, without any explosions, without any sirens, I feel better," she says. "I can work, write my articles, I feel good." Her elderly mother, who resides in a particularly vulnerable district of the capital, is expected to join her soon, escaping the daily risk that has become the hallmark of city life.
Preparing for a Hard Winter
Despite the growing pressures to leave, authorities are working to fortify the city against the coming winter. Plans are underway to offer refuge to the most vulnerable citizens—the elderly and mothers with small children—in converted sanatoriums and rehabilitation centers located in the forested outskirts of the capital.
Infrastructure efforts are also ongoing. Over the past 18 months, a network of approximately 15 small-scale power plants has been established throughout the city. These plants are housed in fortified bunkers and protected by heavy steel cages designed to withstand drone strikes. Each facility is intended to provide a critical lifeline of heat and electricity to hundreds of high-rise apartment blocks.
However, the warnings from energy providers regarding scheduled power cuts and the reports of sporadic shortages in supermarkets keep the tension high. Experts like Evgeniya Blyznyuk caution against assuming a mass exodus, noting that most people are deeply reluctant to leave their livelihoods behind or disrupt their children’s education.
"They will postpone it until conditions become really unliveable," Blyznyuk observes. For the millions who remain, the coming winter will be another test of endurance—a testament to the resilience of a city that, despite the relentless assault, continues to hold its ground.
