“No one will sleep again – except those who’ve been sentenced to rest in the earth’s embrace forever.”
That’s how 14-year-old Patritsia remembers a morning that began with birdsong and ended in wreckage after a Russian missile strike.
JOIN US ON TELEGRAM
Follow our coverage of the war on the @Kyivpost_official.
She is one of more than two million children displaced by Russia’s full-scale war in Ukraine, a conflict that the UN says has brought “unimaginable suffering” to the largest generation of war-affected children in Europe since World War II.
Since February 2022, more than 737,000 children have been displaced inside Ukraine, according to a December 2024 UN Report, and another 1.7 million have fled abroad – many without their parents.
And then there are the missing.
“Russia’s security services and criminal investigative agency systematically targeted vulnerable groups of children and transported them to Russia, where regional officials subjected them to re-education and listed children for adoption,” the UN found.
The report describes how Russian security forces targeted children, moved them across the border, and enrolled them in re-education camps or military cadet schools. The Kremlin’s Investigative Committee even set quotas.
They are “creating a direct pipeline into federal security service,” analysts found.
The Yale University-based Humanitarian Research Lab estimated that more than 19,000 Ukrainian children have been transported to Russia and Belarus, of which only 1,236 have returned. That same center is now under threat of losing its US funding, part of a wider rollback of Ukraine-related programs under the administration of US President Donald Trump.
US National Security Advisor Waltz Reportedly Uses Personal Email for Sensitive Work Against Protocols – Media
Other Topics of Interest
US National Security Advisor Waltz Reportedly Uses Personal Email for Sensitive Work Against Protocols – Media
The latest revelation once again put the security practices of top US security officials into question following the Signal scandal.
After bipartisan pushback, the funding was partially restored in late March – but only for a limited time and only for preparation of documentation, according to Reuters. No additional support was provided to groups that are directly rescuing children on the ground.
But for children inside Ukraine, the trauma of war is constant and evolving, regardless of the politics. A child may be safe in one city, only to have to flee again weeks later. One child’s war may be an airstrike. Another’s may be the silence that follows it.
With the help of the Ukrainian Voices of Children charity, Kyiv Post heard from children across the country what the war means to them – and how it’s impacted their lives. The organization, which offers psychological and humanitarian support to children affected by war, says recovery is often fragile and nonlinear.
“I live with the feeling of having inhaled but never exhaled,” said Nadiia Durnytska, a psychologist who leads the foundation’s office in Sumy, about how the war impacts her and the many children she sees struggling on a daily basis.
“As if I’m frozen, waiting for the command that it’s finally safe to breathe out… if that moment ever comes.”
These are the stories of Ukraine’s children, in their own words:
Kira, 11
The funniest and scariest moment of the war for me was when my family and I were escaping from occupied Kherson. We were taking our dog, Junya, with us – he’s a little Dachshund.
Rescuers from the Ukrainian State Emergency Service work outside a residential building partially destroyed after a Russian air strike in Kherson on Feb. 20, 2025. (Photo by Handout / Ukraine Emergency Service / AFP)
Along the road leading out of Kherson, there were Russian soldiers standing everywhere. One of them, wearing a balaclava that covered his face, was walking between the cars, peering inside each one.
That’s when our Junya started barking at him – loudly, fiercely. We were terrified. What if that man in the balaclava shot Junya? I was also really scared for my older brother – he was 18 at the time. The soldiers might have gotten angry because of the barking and taken him away.
Somehow, we managed to calm Junya down. We drove past. And then – only later – we started laughing. For some reason, it was hilarious to remember how our tiny Junya had so bravely stood up to that soldier.
Patritsia, 14
Painted dreams, the quiet songs of birds, the hum of cars on the road – just an ordinary morning idyll. It’s almost nine o’clock; Surely many children are waking up or have already been woken by the sun’s rays, right? But here… here, the houses tremble. The sounds of engines mix with barking. Frightened animals. Frightened people. And then – the thunderous roar of an explosion.
No one is sleeping now. No one will sleep again – except for those who have been sentenced to rest in the earth’s embrace forever.
A Russian strike on the Ukrainian city of Zaporizhzhia on Jan. 8, 2025, killed at least 13 people, Ukrainian officials said, one of the deadliest single air attacks for weeks in the three-year war. (Photo by Handout / Zaporizhzhia Regional Military Administration / AFP)
I remember the three reactions: Run, fight, or freeze. I had the last one.
I sat on my bed, my eyes locked onto the window. Frozen. My mother grabbed me, and in an instant, we were in the hallway – the safest place. The rule of two walls. There were blankets already spread on the floor – this wasn’t the first time.
But then – the whistle of a rocket. A deafening blast. The shockwave. Car alarms. The house across the street was torn into rubble. Shards flying. Windows shattering. More shards. My voice tangled in prayers. Silence.
We hurriedly threw on our robes, hoping for a call from our relatives, hoping for an internet connection. In vain. No signal after an explosion.
Leaving the apartment, the stairwell was thick with dust and glass – so much glass. Outside, even more.
There were plenty of people in the yard, standing among sharp debris and dirt. The warning came: Moscow’s target hadn’t been hit, and another strike could follow.
Some time, after frantic phone calls with family, we moved to a small patch of land near our house. My blood ran cold. The neighboring residential building was in flames. Fire burst from the windows. And my heart clenched like a shard lodged deep in my chest – not from a movie scene, but from the horror of reality.
The rest is a blur… My brother’s car. The sirens of ambulances. Glass. Ruins. My relatives’ apartment. No appetite. Humanitarian aid. Photos of our apartment – windowless, exposed. Sleepless nights. Panic attacks. Fear of stepping inside. Days at home – nights at my godmother’s. A week. Another. The train station. The train. Another part of the country. A few days. A bus. Another country. A different world.
Oleksandr, 17
Before the full-scale invasion, I lived in a world of illusions. The war had already been going on in the country, but I didn’t really feel it.
So, of course, the day that changed everything was Feb. 24, 2022. And the funniest thing that has happened to me during the war is my friends. Every time I meet up with them, I know it will be filled with jokes and funny stories.
Kostyantyn, 17
Hello, I’d like to answer the question: “What moment changed you forever?”
My name is Kostyantyn, and I’m from the city of Avdiivka, in the Donetsk region.
Almost my entire childhood has been spent in war. I don’t even remember what life was like without explosions, death, and fear. I was only seven years old when this cursed war in Donbas began in 2014. That moment forced me to grow up too quickly. Even before the full-scale invasion, I had already lived for ten years under constant shelling in frontline Avdiivka – without electricity, water, communication, school, or friends.
I want to share a few stories from my “childhood in war.”
I remember how, in the summer, when there was no electricity, fridges and freezers didn’t work. My father came up with the idea of lowering cooked food, milk, and other supplies into a well to keep them from spoiling.
At the very beginning of the war, my parents moved our beds into the basement, where I ended up spending most of my time. Sometimes, when the shelling died down, my mother would let me go outside to get some fresh air. At first, I found it all kind of exciting – something different from our usual life. It felt almost like an adventure. I got to sleep in the basement, a place I had always been curious about because my father kept his tools there. As a boy, I found the sight of soldiers, machine gun fire, and explosions strangely fascinating – though not for long.
A woman pets a dog in the cellar of a damaged residential building where she lives in the frontline town of Avdiivka, Donetsk region, on June 28, 2023, amid the Russian invasion of Ukraine. (Photo by Genya SAVILOV / AFP)
Things only got worse. Winter was the hardest. It would get dark early, and the cold was unbearable. My father installed a small wood-burning stove in the basement, where we cooked food and heated water to brush our teeth and wash our faces.
One of my happiest moments was when we got a generator – it felt like a miracle. My father didn’t start it often because fuel was scarce and expensive, but when he did, it was like paradise. I could watch cartoons, charge my MP3 player, and listen to music for a few hours after the electricity went out again.
During “ceasefires” I even went to school, picked up assignments, and completed them in the basement before bringing them back to my teacher for review.
I remember when a store reopened in town, and my father and I set out to buy food. It was about one and a half to two kilometers from home, so we rode bicycles. Just as we were approaching the store, heavy shelling began. Suddenly, I heard a loud bang and saw a man collapse at a bus stop, screaming in pain. My father ran to help him – he had been wounded in the leg. Dad quickly bandaged his limb to stop the bleeding, while I, terrified, ran into the store to call for help. Thankfully, the man survived. But that moment is burned into my memory.
I must have been about eight years old.
Time passed. The shelling would quiet down for a while, then start again. Schools and stores reopened, and we allowed ourselves to hope – just a little – that maybe, finally, the war would end. But then came Feb. 24, 2022.
Once again, my life changed drastically – only this time, it was far worse. We had to leave our home and abandon everything. And when I say everything, I mean it – my favorite toys, my bicycle, our electronics, our clothes. Everything we owned, we had to leave behind.
But the worst part wasn’t losing our possessions. It was losing my grandmother and nearly losing my grandfather. They refused to leave with us. My grandmother died there, and we couldn’t even give her a proper burial. The military eventually managed to evacuate my grandfather to us, but the stress of everything he endured took its toll. A few weeks after arriving, he had a stroke that left part of his body paralyzed. He hasn’t been able to walk since. He is still with us today.
This was my childhood. It left a deep mark on my health, and I still receive neurological treatment to this day.
Sadly, this war has changed me forever. My life will never be what it could have been. I couldn’t pick just one moment that changed me because it wasn’t just one event – it was time itself. Every moment, every day I spent in war changed me, little by little.
Thank you.