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“It is almost impossible to plan anything in advance,” says Orest*, a young man from Sumy oblast, a region in northeastern Ukraine.
Much of the region sits within 50 km of the frontline, and for four months last year it was the site of daily attacks. Within the first half of 2025, some 86,000 residents were ordered to evacuate to safer areas of the country. Vasyl*, another Sumy resident, describes the uncertainty that has come to define life for Ukrainians in the wake of these attacks: “You go to bed not knowing if you get up.”
Sumy isn’t the only oblast facing this level of uncertainty. As the full-scale conflict in Ukraine enters its fifth year, a prevailing sense of insecurity has become a constant, pervasive, and deep-seated condition that shapes day-to-day life for a country of over 34 million people.
Together with partners Welthungerhilfe, Peaceful Heaven of Kharkiv, Angels of Salvation, Help Group, and League of Modern Women, Concern has published “Living with Uncertainty,” a new report on how communities— particularly those close to the frontlines — are experiencing and navigating this condition.
What emerged from 145 interviews conducted with Ukrainians living between 20 and 95 km from the frontlines is a picture of both individual exhaustion and collective, community resilience, both of which need to be addressed for both the short and long-term survival of these communities. “Everyone is already tired,” adds Vasyl. “Everyone carries their own problems alone.”
“Everyone is already tired. Everyone carries their own problems alone.”
Insecurity and exhaustion are the new normal
This exhaustion is felt across the whole of Ukraine, which spans over 1,300 km at its widest point from east to west, with air aids, power outages, and civilian casualties felt in each of the country’s 24 oblasts. What began as extraordinary circumstances in early 2022 has now become normalised by millions of people trying to live their lives despite these conditions.
Despite the universality of this conflict for Ukrainians, the insecurity and exhaustion are felt most acutely in communities closest to the frontlines. In areas within 100 km of active hostilities, insecurity is not an intermittent disruption. It’s a continuous feature of daily life. Families organise both everyday routines and major decisions around expected alarms, strikes, and further damage to infrastructure. This has only got worse in the last four years.
“We can say with certainty that life has not become easier,” says Nazar*, another man from Sumy. The “hostile shelling of energy infrastructure has led to even more power outages. We are all suffering from this.”
“Everything flies over us”
The interviews conducted for “Living with Uncertainty” took place across Sumy, Kherson, and Mykolaiv oblasts—all three close to the frontlines and with varying degrees of stability.
The situation was described as the most tense in Kherson, where the feeling of insecurity was tied to most acute, survival-related terms, and in Mykolaiv, where this level of stress has become anticipatory and structural.
“Everything flies over us,” says Oksana*, a young woman from Mykolaiv. “Drones reach us more often now,” says Maryana*, a resident of Kherson. “Residents are afraid to go outside.”
The stress goes beyond proximity to fighting, with survival also tied to unexploded mines and other ordnance, military presence, damage to infrastructure, and the availability of protective services like shelters and warning systems.
“There are mines,” adds Andriy*, another resident of Mykolaiv. “Animals run, stumble on the mines, explosions occur, and fires start.” In 2025, Andriy adds, “there were 181 fires precisely for this reason.”
“Drones reach us more often now. Residents are afraid to go outside.”
Futures put on hold
While life goes on to a major extent in other parts of Ukraine, the closer communities are to the frontlines, the harder it is to keep up — even for communities that don’t feel an immediate threat of violence. “We’re a border area,” says Alina*, a young woman from Sumy who describes a sense of fragile stability in the region. “It’s scary to open a business, to do repairs, even scary to have children.”
Families report living in a perpetual state of high-alert: ready to evacuate at a moment’s notice, maintaining contingency plans in case they are suddenly displaced or separated, and hesitant to make decisions that could be seen as risky or irreversible, such as the ones Alina describes.
“There is a constant feeling of instability,” notes Olena* from Mykolaiv. “We might want to start something of our own, but we may end up having to evacuate.” Overall in 2025, more than 150,000 civilians were evacuated by the Ukrainian government or humanitarian organisations (many others fled on their own). In 2026, the UN estimates that as many as half a million people may be evacuated or newly-displaced from the frontline zone.
“The increased danger has shifted residents’ focus from long-term plans to preparations for evacuation,” says Taras*, a resident of Kherson. Many families have left the regions preemptively, leaving those who remain feeling left behind (especially the elderly and disabled, who are often the last to leave). Yet those who remain are also caught between the desire to leave and the newfound uncertainties that come from living in displacement, including affordable housing and available work.
“There is a constant feeling of instability. We might want to start something of our own, but we may end up having to evacuate.”
“Life immediately becomes complicated”
Even short-term plans are affected by these circumstances: School, work, and social engagements are organised anticipating alarms and strikes. Cleaning, cooking, and other household routines are done with the knowledge that power could be lost without warning.
“The lights can be turned off at any moment due to shelling,” adds Alina from Sumy. “It’s very disruptive; it’s inconvenient to cook, it’s difficult to take care of the children, and work is at a standstill. You sit in the dark for several hours and literally adjust your whole day to these outages.
“Life immediately becomes complicated…and a generator is a luxury, because it’s expensive, and fuel isn’t cheap either.”
“Prices have risen, income hasn’t changed”
In addition to the threats of violence and evacuation, money is another key source of stress and uncertainty. “People need work and some stability,” says Vasyl from Sumy, noting both a lack of steady employment opportunities (especially for internally-displaced Ukrainians) and rising costs against sinking incomes.
Key goods are physically available, markets are functional, and most basic services exist. However, availability doesn’t translate to access for many Ukrainians. The lack of work for the displaced and a contracting economy has worsened the affordability gap. “Almost nothing has changed, except that living has become much more expensive,” says Alina. “People are not living; they are surviving.”
“Prices have risen, income hasn’t changed,” adds Vasyl.
“There is no core left to hold onto”
“It is hardest for people in the villages,” says Vasyl. While Sumy, Kherson, and Mykolaiv each have major regional capitals, these areas also include large swaths of rural villages where families are more isolated and rely more on agriculture for their livelihoods and survival.
At the beginning of the full-scale conflict, gardens, farms, and livestock were originally assets. They provided a backup and some self-sufficiency against inflation and market closures. However, after four years, the value these assets offered is also eroding as families struggle to afford seeds, livestock feed, and transport costs—as well as basics like healthcare and education. “Right now, having livestock is a luxury,” says Marta*, a rural resident of Kherson.
Humanitarian assessments have shown that rural families are among those with higher unmet needs and even less resilience than others in the region, with greater restrictions on humanitarian access, limited infrastructure, fewer economic opportunities, limited information about the current security situation, and greater burdens of care within families and communities.
“There is no unity in our community,” concludes Nataliya*, who lives in rural Sumy. “There is no core left to hold onto.”
“Right now, having livestock is a luxury.”
Stress and stigma
Taken together, these factors have a collective and cumulative effect on the psychological well-being of individuals, families, and entire communities.
Many of the people interviewed for “Living with Uncertainty” reported feelings of constant tension, anticipatory anxiety, emotional fatigue, and moral frustration. Their fear is often accompanied by anger towards institutions, grief for community erosion, and frustration over futures that feel “blocked.”
All of this deepens the sense of community erosion. It also deepens the sense of uncertainty, with many Ukrainians feeling insecure physically, but also socially, morally, and in relation to others.
Concern, as part of the Joint Emergency Response in Ukraine (JERU) has been working with partners to deliver psychosocial support for adults and children alike, but amid funding cuts and increasing need, it’s impossible to provide coverage everywhere it’s needed. In some cases, seeking psychological help, even through group meetings, is also stigmatised.
While essential, psychosocial support can also only do so much to mitigate the current climate of uncertainty. As one psychologist working with JERU, Lilia, explains: “We cannot completely eliminate this state of high anxiety, but over time we can learn to physiologically handle it.”
Where do we go next?
In his introduction to the UN’s 2026 Humanitarian Needs and Response Plan for Ukraine, Humanitarian Coordinator Matthias Schmale writes: “We must avoid romanticising ‘resilience.’ Ukrainians have shown extraordinary courage, but they should not be expected to endure the unendurable without consistent, principled support.”
As we’ve seen, over time adaptation to conflict in Ukraine has turned into normalisation — that doesn’t signal resilience so much as it signals exhaustion. This also highlights the need for assistance that is not only consistent and principled, but designed to meet the specific needs of communities.
That assistance is also only effective if it remains accessible and sustained over time. “Support us so that we can not just survive, but thrive,” says Alina. “We want opportunities, not just help.”
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*This article draws on anonymised interviews conducted in the Kherson, Mykolaiv, and Sumy regions of Ukraine. The original report identifies interviewees only by age range, gender, and region. For readability, this article assigns pseudonyms to these speakers. In some cases, a named speaker represents a composite of multiple interviewees sharing the same demographic identifiers. All quotations are drawn verbatim from the original report, which can be read here.
