How my family lives through Russian attacks

Moscow pounded Kyiv three nights in a row

In the past 72 hours, Russia attacked Ukraine with 799 drones and 60 missiles. The numbers are unprecedented. Never before has Ukraine’s air defence had to repel such large combined attacks for three nights in a row. The main target was Kyiv, home to 3,6 million Ukrainians, including my family.

I’m often asked about my family’s decision-making during the attacks. Do we take shelter each time? Where is the shelter? How do these attacks affect our everyday lives? I decided to answer all of these questions because, honestly, I am too exhausted and sleep-deprived to write anything else. I tried writing my usual weekly news roundup, and failed, because no amount of caffeine can keep your thoughts straight after nights like these. As my family and neighbours crammed into a nearby basement restaurant turned shelter, Kyiv’s air defence repelled what felt like some of the worst ever Russian attacks. We got lucky. At least twenty-five people, including three kids from one family, were baselessly killed.

It may sound absurd, but I’ve always felt relatively safe in Kyiv. The entire Ukrainian government is here, and thus, it’s the most protected place in the country. I live in the center, two miles away from the government quarter and the President’s Office, so the risk of damage here is low. But the attacks are horrifying anyway; no matter how distant, the sound of explosions makes your blood run cold every time.

If Russia attacks with a dozen or so drones during the night, which happens nearly every day, we ususally sleep through it. We always have a mattress stand against our bedroom window, on the theory that it would protect us from glass if the windows shatter from a blast wave or if intercepted weapon debris hits our building. We can tell what’s going on by the sound: air defense missiles make a succession of deep, dull booms, mobile air defense units (a machine gun on a vehicle) make rapid gunfire sounds by hunting down the drones at lower altitudes, and a sharp blast usually means a hit — a munition reached its target or was intercepted. The drones make a buzzing, moped-like sound. We can often hear them fly over our apartment during the night.

When explosions get uncomfortably loud, we move to the corridor, where another smaller mattress always rests against a wall for nights like these. We check the monitoring channels on Telegram to understand the level of threat — how many drones or missiles are coming. Then, my daughter and I usually sleep in the corridor, while my husband stays up to keep an eye and ear out. Very rarely, if it becomes clear that Russia plans to launch a mass combined attack as it did this weekend, we go to the shelter. The closest location to us is a restaurant located in the basement, which opens up during air raids at night to function as a bunker.

Mass attacks are terrifying because the explosions get quite loud, and the debris from intercepted Russian munitions can be destructive. But to be honest, if it wasn’t for our daughter, my husband and I probably wouldn’t bother leaving our bed. Unsurprisingly, our risk tolerance decreased dramatically after having Ava 18 months ago. She is just now getting old enough to feel fear during bombardments. This Friday was the first time she actually woke up from hearing an explosion and was visibly distressed. It breaks my heart to think about having to explain to her soon why people on the other side of the border are trying to kill us.

Aftermath of a Russian attack on Kyiv on May 24, 2025. Photo published by the State Emergency Service of Ukraine.

If everything above horrifies you, consider that what I described is the best-case scenario. Having any shelter, much less a space that’s warm and comfortable, is an enormous luxury. Most Kyivans go to cold subway stations, underground parking lots, or basement storage rooms in their Soviet-era apartment buildings. Many have no shelters nearby at all, opting for a corridor or a bathroom, rooms deeper into their floor plan, away from the windows.

And then there are cities outside of Kyiv: Kharkiv, Sumy, Mykolaiv, Kherson, and others, where the air defence is limited and proximity to the front line is much greater. The Russians pound those cities with glide bombs that are impossible to intercept and hunt down civilians with FPV drones. Millions of people there have nowhere to hide.

As dangerous as all of this is, it is also extremely exhausting. Sleep deprivation is now a national health crisis, impairing every part of people’s lives. And yet, there is always the morning after, when Kyivans emerge from their shelters somehow both tired and as if nothing happened at all. Businesses are running, coffee is flowing, gyms are filling up, and children make their way to school.

Everyone yawns and lives on, because there is simply no other way.