For nearly three years after Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine, 27-year-old Daria navigated the constant threat of shelling in her Kyiv apartment with quiet resolve. Even during the heaviest nighttime bombardment campaigns, she could sleep through distant explosions, following the common Ukrainian safety guideline of the “two-wall rule” that keeps civilians separated from potential incoming fire by two structural barriers.
This summer, however, everything changed. After months of ramping up the frequency and deadliness of strikes targeting the Ukrainian capital, the unrelenting pressure of new Russian tactics has pushed even the most resilient residents to reconsider their decision to stay in the city.
Official data underscores the severity of the escalated campaign: in the first 10 days of July alone, Russian forces launched dozens of ballistic missiles across three major waves of attacks, killing nearly 60 civilians, according to government figures. Additional large-scale strikes hit the capital through August and September. A BBC Verify analysis of official data confirms Kyiv is now facing more daily air raid alerts than at any point since the 2022 full-scale invasion began.
The turning point for Daria came during a May overnight attack, when she and her boyfriend huddled in the corridor of their ninth-floor apartment watching a boxing match as explosions shook the building, slamming windows open and shut with the force of blast waves. When the match ended, there was nothing left to distract her from the fear she had been suppressing. “That’s when I realised I was really scared,” she recalled.
At first, she planned to simply use a nearby bomb shelter during future attacks. But that plan fell apart in June, after a young mother was killed while running to a Kyiv shelter during an alert. Days later, Daria moved permanently to her family’s country home 30 kilometers outside the capital in Romankiv. She still commutes four hours round-trip daily to her defense-sector job in Kyiv, but has spent only one night in the city since leaving.
Daria’s experience is far from unique. Many Kyiv residents who had grown accustomed to the rhythm of occasional drone and missile strikes told the BBC the renewed intensity of attacks has forced them to completely rearrange their daily routines.
The biggest shift has come from a change in Russian military tactics. Previously, Ukraine’s air defense network and military intelligence could detect most large-scale attacks in advance, giving residents time to reach shelters, leave the city, or take other precautions. That changed this summer: Russia now relies far less on easily detectable aircraft and far more on high-speed ballistic missiles, which give almost no advance warning. In many recent attacks, air raid alerts have sounded only minutes before impact, or even at the same time as the first explosions.
Daria notes that even though her nearest shelter is visible from her still-rented Kyiv apartment, it takes 10 minutes to reach on foot. During a ballistic missile attack, she might have four minutes of warning or less. That narrow window made leaving the only viable option. A trip abroad earlier this summer, where she saw civilians living normal, unthreatened lives, reinforced her decision.
For many elderly and disabled residents, however, leaving Kyiv is not a choice. Sixty-two-year-old Olha Vlasova lives in a seventh-floor Kyiv apartment with her 98-year-old mother, Nadia Tsybina, who is confined to bed. Despite her advanced age, Nadia stays closely engaged with global and local news, following everything from former U.S. President Donald Trump’s policy positions to anti-corruption protests in Kyiv, and has even learned to distinguish between intercepted missiles and those that hit their target by the sound of explosions.
This summer, she says she has heard far fewer interceptions, a trend that has left her frustrated. “It’s upsetting when there’s nothing to shoot them down with,” she said. “I can hear them firing with whatever they’ve got, rifles, machine guns.”
Because Nadia cannot travel to a community shelter during attacks, Olha has adapted their apartment for safety: the moment an air raid siren sounds, she covers her mother with a protective blanket, pushes a mattress against the window to block flying glass, and shelters in a wardrobe that puts two walls between her and the outside. Nadia keeps a pillow over her face for extra protection, while Olha stays awake all night monitoring news updates.
“They come in, they bomb us,” Nadia described the relentless cycle. “You haven’t even had time to fall asleep, and there’s another alert. They come again, they shoot them down again. And it goes on all night. People don’t sleep, and then they walk around like zombies.”
The surge in daytime attacks has disrupted every part of public life in Kyiv, from education to transportation to commerce. When the new academic year began in early September, dozens of air raid alerts disrupted the first week of classes, forcing many children to stay home and others to spend entire school days in school basements. Kyiv Mayor Vitali Klitschko confirmed two children were injured in strikes on August 31, and a September 17 attack left 20 people injured, including two children aged 10 and 12.
When sirens sound, commercial activity comes to a halt: shopping centers close, and above-ground metro stations suspend service, cutting off public transit links between Kyiv’s Left and Right Banks across the Dnieper River for hours at a time. City officials have introduced new metro operating protocols during alerts to ease the disruption, but the impact on daily life remains severe.
For Olha, the transit disruptions mean she rarely sees her eight-year-old granddaughter, who lives on the opposite side of the river. If her granddaughter visits, there is no guarantee she will be able to get home once services are suspended, and the alternative taxi rides cost as much as 1,000 Ukrainian hryvnias – equal to $22, or roughly one-eighth of Ukraine’s monthly minimum wage.
Olha shares the Ukrainian government’s frustration with the slow pace of additional air defense support from Western allies. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy has repeatedly appealed to partner nations for more interceptor missiles and air defense systems, a call Olha echoes with blunt clarity. “They wait, thinking: ‘What if we get attacked?’” she said of Western backers. “It’s like refusing to give medicine to a cancer patient because you’re saying, ‘What if I get sick one day?’ Well, maybe you won’t. Give it away before it expires.”
In another neighborhood, 37-year-old mother of two Natalia Bushkovska spends every night preparing for three possible emergency scenarios. Plan A is to set up bedding in the hallway, behind two interior walls; Plan B is to move to the building’s shared common corridor; Plan C is to evacuate to the building’s basement. Even in the basement, she does not feel fully safe.
“I keep a backpack with essential items,” she explained. “There’s a tourniquet for severe bleeding. I also keep a whistle, just in case. If the worst happens, rescuers will be able to find us under the rubble.” Her nine-year-old daughter carries her own emergency bag, stocked with toys, lip balm, and a personal tourniquet – both of her children have already completed first-aid training to use the equipment.
Natalia says the constant cycle of alerts and explosions is emotionally and physically draining. While her 12-year-old son can often sleep through attacks, she and her daughter wake up to every siren. “Because of the attacks, I don’t get enough sleep,” she said. “Now, in the fifth year of the war, I find it increasingly difficult to bounce back after nights like these. The growing intensity of the strikes is taking a psychological toll across the whole city. People are exhausted. They don’t have enough time to recover.”