As Ukraine braces for its fourth winter since the full-scale Russian invasion began, the country’s battered communities are once again facing a season of hardship marked by relentless attacks, widespread power outages, and plunging temperatures. The situation, already dire after nearly five years of conflict, has grown more precarious as fresh strikes on energy infrastructure leave millions uncertain about whether they will have heat, electricity, or even clean water in the months ahead. Humanitarian agencies warn that this winter could be the most challenging yet, with intensified bombardments, worsening access constraints, and growing funding gaps all threatening to leave hundreds of thousands without adequate support.
“There are several key concerns. First, the ongoing military strikes continue to have a direct and deadly impact on civilians. Just last night, four civilians were killed in Dnipro and dozens were injured. This kind of impact is constant,” Matthias Schmale, the United Nations Resident and Humanitarian Coordinator in Ukraine, told UN News earlier this week. Schmale’s words echo the grim reality for countless Ukrainians, particularly as the cold sets in and attacks on critical infrastructure mount.
The cumulative toll of the war is now starkly visible, not just in the devastation of cities and towns but also in the psychological exhaustion gripping the nation. Schmale noted, “I see this during my travels across the country – people are becoming increasingly tired and weary, and more uncertain about their future.” The scale of recent infrastructure damage is unprecedented. Last winter, repairs managed to keep pace and the weather was milder than expected. This year, however, the destruction has been more severe, and forecasts predict a colder winter, creating what Schmale described as a “potentially much more difficult” season ahead.
The impact of these attacks is perhaps most acutely felt by the most vulnerable. Low-income families living in high-rise apartment buildings, especially those in poorly constructed housing, face the chilling prospect of being trapped without heat or water. At least half a million people reside within 20 kilometers of the front lines, many of them elderly or with limited mobility. Internally displaced people (IDPs), whose numbers continue to grow as evacuations from frontline communities persist, are also at heightened risk. As of late 2025, fewer than 200,000 people remain in the government-controlled part of Donetsk region, with local authorities fearing that at least half may be forced to leave this winter.
Displacement occurs in waves rather than a steady stream. According to Schmale, “There was a significant wave in August, and we are seeing new movements again now.” The number of IDPs is not rising as dramatically as in 2022, but it is steadily increasing, with each new attack or power outage pushing more families from their homes.
Yet, despite the dangers, many Ukrainians remain steadfast in their communities. The reasons are complex and deeply personal. “For some, it is deep attachment to their land and home – their families have lived there for generations. Others simply lack alternatives,” Schmale explained. Some who fled found life elsewhere unsustainable and returned home, despite the risks. “There is also a strong sense of endurance and defiance. Some say, ‘We have survived four years; we will survive another year.’ Others believe they must stay to honor those who have lost their lives defending the country.”
Winter conditions make humanitarian operations on the ground even more hazardous. Snow and ice render roads treacherous, and shifting front lines can suddenly cut off entire communities. The World Food Programme estimates that at least 50,000 people they previously reached are now inaccessible due to fighting. “This severely constrains our ability to deliver life-saving aid,” Schmale said. Humanitarian convoys delivering food, water, hygiene items, and heating supplies face increasing risks as they attempt to reach those most in need.
Cooperation with local authorities remains crucial. “Ukraine is not a failed state. It remains a functioning state that continues to deliver services under extraordinarily difficult circumstances,” Schmale emphasized. The government, including local authorities, is primarily responsible for the safety and well-being of its citizens, while the UN and more than 400 NGOs—many Ukrainian—work to fill the most critical gaps. The current winter plan aims to reach 1.7 million people, focusing on those near the front lines and in rural areas. Assistance includes cash for heating supplies, warm clothing, and essential non-food items.
However, the relief effort is facing a significant funding shortfall. The winter appeal requested $278 million, but as of early December only about 65 percent had been raised. “We have been able to do a lot with what we received, but funding gaps mean many people are still waiting for assistance, particularly cash and solid fuel for heating,” Schmale warned. If additional support does not arrive, many may be forced to relocate within Ukraine or even leave the country in search of warmth and water. “If we reach the nightmare scenario of people stuck in high-rise buildings without utilities, population movement will be inevitable. Our ability to prevent that depends entirely on funding.”
The gravity of the situation is underscored by harrowing scenes witnessed across Ukraine. In November 2025, the town of Ternopil was devastated by an early-morning Russian missile attack, killing more than 35 people, including children, and reducing an apartment building to a jagged shell. According to NPR, “The building’s jagged bricks stood against the empty sky. I saw clothes had been blown into the trees.” Even amid such sorrow, daily life persists. NPR’s correspondent described seeing Ukrainians heading to church on a snowy Sunday morning, a testament to their resilience and determination to continue living, despite the war’s relentless toll.
“There are countless stories that show both the strength of the Ukrainian people and the heavy psychological toll of war,” Schmale reflected. He recounted meeting a humanitarian worker in Kharkiv whose children narrowly escaped a kindergarten bombing, only for her to return hours later to help with the cleanup. In Kherson, a city under constant bombardment, he visited a modern underground maternity ward where new life is delivered in the shadow of destruction. And in Mykolaiv, he met an older man who rebuilt his home and garden after occupation, only to break down in grief over a lost brother. “In one moment, you see resilience; in the next, immense grief. That contrast defines Ukraine today.”
Amid the hardship, there are flickers of hope and moments of quiet defiance. As a U.S.-backed peace proposal—widely seen as favoring Russian interests—came to light around the same time as the Ternopil attack, Ukrainians continued their routines, seeking solace in faith and community. The sadness of war is ever-present, but so too is a spirit that refuses to be extinguished.
As winter deepens and the war grinds on, the fate of millions hangs in the balance, dependent on continued international support and the remarkable resilience of a people determined to endure.