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Editor’s note: This story is part of As Equals, CNN's ongoing series on gender inequality. For information about how the series is funded and more, check out our FAQs.
Kyiv, Ukraine (CNN) — Ukraine has a large population of older people — one in four of its residents is over the age of 60 — and most of them are women. Some lived through World War II as children, only to see their lives disrupted again in 2014 when Russia annexed Crimea and the conflict in eastern Ukraine began.
When Russia then launched its full-scale invasion last February, many of these women were unable or unwilling to leave. Of the 4.8 million Ukrainians who have registered in other European countries as refugees since the war began, most are younger women and children.
Older women stayed in Ukraine and largely remain invisible to the outside world, despite their experience, wisdom, and resilience.
Here are some of their stories, edited for clarity and brevity.
Valentina Romanova
Valentina Romanova is a 93-year-old Holocaust survivor who lives in an assisted-living home in Kyiv. Along with other residents, she was evacuated to western Ukraine for a few months last year but has since returned. Her mother and many friends and neighbors were among the more than 33,000 Jews murdered by SS units and German police at Babyn Yar, a ravine in Kyiv.
I am old, I've lived my age. Youth is what is important now. Unfortunately, a lot do not see any perspectives. Children at least do not understand what is waiting for them — all the difficulties, all the rebuilding and reconstruction. I feel sorry for the younger generation.
What we had to go through after World War II is just flowers in comparison with the consequences of this war. Such destruction!
We used to live in the city center, near the Golden Gate. There was a German Consulate across the street. Every other day a chubby man would go out and hang a flag with a Nazi sign on it and we children would throw rocks at him. There were four of us from the same yard — two boys and two girls of the same age.
“We have already lived through a war. We are all from Kyiv, we can manage.”
My mother was killed in 1941 in Babyn Yar. I did not know about this; my father only told me when I came back to Kyiv in 1944. My father sent my mother to stay with his mother, but they were Ukrainians and my mother, as a Jew, was endangering the whole family for hiding her. So she left for the city to stay with her friend. I was told they were hiding together in some shed and caught a cold. I was told she died of pneumonia. They did not tell me the truth for a very long time.
I knew all the neighbors from our building personally. Unfortunately, most of them were killed in Babyn Yar. One of the boys we were throwing rocks with, Shura, he and his family survived.
When Kyiv was being bombed, I was evacuated. I was 11 years old. It was sudden — I was taken from a summer camp, while I was wearing my slippers, and grabbed my suitcase. While we were crossing the Dnipro river the bridge was being bombed. We managed to cross the bridge, but they shot at the train windows with machine guns. Grandma told us to hide under the bench. It was a town train with wooden benches. We did not understand what was happening. We were laughing and did not want to hide. Someone closed the window with a red pillow and others were screaming that the red pillow would be a target.
When we reached Kharkiv, it was clear the bombing might last more than two weeks. Chelyabinsk agreed to accept the whole train of evacuees and that's where I lived until I came back to Kyiv in the spring of 1944.
When the war started last year, we were offered an evacuation. But all of the residents were against the idea. Nobody wanted to leave. Regardless of the shelling, regardless of everything, we wanted to stay in Kyiv. I was born in the Kyiv region and have lived all my life in Kyiv city.
We have already lived through a war. We are all from Kyiv, we can manage. No water? We know where the wells are. No food? We are not afraid to starve. We did not want to leave. But the home administration said they couldn’t do it. Either we leave all together or we go live with our friends or relatives. But most of us didn't have anyone to go to. So we left.
Klara Ushakova
Klara Ushakova, 74, lives in Kyiv, her eighth city since she and her family were forced to flee their home in Donetsk in 2014. They spent time living in Berdyansk, Uzhgorod, and Kramatorsk before settling in Mariupol in 2016. When Russian troops invaded Mariupol last March, she had to flee again.
I really loved Mariupol, it was much better than Donetsk. I was not sorry to move to Mariupol, not sorry at all. It was such a beautiful city. Clean and tidy. I really miss it. We lived in Mariupol for six years and four months.
I miss my friends the most.
I have a friend, Krystyna, she was my neighbor. She always brought me fresh produce. I would bake for her. I would bake pizza and biscuits and pastries and she’d give me her produce. Butter, chicken, rabbits, eggs, everything. She was feeding me so much that I was embarrassed. Sometimes I wouldn’t open the door when she came with the produce, and she’d just hang the bag on our door handle.
Living was easier in Mariupol. Our people in Donetsk, I can't say I hated them, but when I saw them go to the 2014 referendum (held by pro-Russian separatists on splitting from Kyiv) yelling "Russia!” I couldn't have good feelings towards them, and I hate them now. I hate them now.
I don't remember the date the explosions started. We came out onto the landing, and my husband said: “Look!” And I saw nine tanks with the letter Z standing by our apartment block. A white letter Z.
“There was no shelter. There was no one to put the fire out.”
We were really scared. It was as if they were watching someone.
We could hear someone running up the stairs, some military men. Maybe they were Azov fighters, I don't know. I couldn't tell who was who. They went up to the ninth floor, and they must have fired on the tank that stood next to the building. The tank blew up, and part of the building caught fire. A piece of the turret flew into my neighbor Krystyna's kitchen.
Everything was blown apart, from the ninth floor to the ground. Everything. There was thick smoke from the fire. We put on masks and ran down, but there was gunfire in the street. There was no shelter. There was no one to put the fire out. No fire trucks, nothing. No water. That's it. Where could we go? We watched the tank burn down and went back home.
When we fled, we spent three days in Berdiansk. In the sports center there, we all had to register. Filtration. I said, “Hello, I am old, my husband is ill, can we please leave. I cannot leave my husband alone.”
We were told to go to the evacuation buses. We got on the buses, but they were not allowed to leave. We were waiting and waiting and waiting. And nothing was happening. And then, on the third day, the driver said we could finally go, and we started moving towards Zaporizhzhia.
There were 22 Russian checkpoints along the route.
Hanna Serhiienko
Hanna Serhiienko, 65, lives in a small village about two hours south of Kyiv, where her house acts as a hub for local volunteers making camouflage nets for the front lines.
The war did not start a year ago. It started in 2014. I was retired but still working and I didn’t know how to help. I could not go to the front lines. Then I saw people weaving camouflage nets on TV. So, I found like-minded people, quit my job and on December 9, 2014 we started weaving.
When I sent a photo of the first net we made to the volunteers in Odesa, they said, ‘This is not a net, this is a carpet!’ It was way too dense.
When the full-scale invasion started, I posted on Facebook calling my neighbors to come and join the weaving. And they did! The children are really enjoying it.
We try to mimic nature. There are no single-colored blocks or straight lines in nature.
I grew up in the Bulgarian district in the Odesa region. Bulgarians settled there during the Russian-Turkish war. Everybody speaks Bulgarian there. When we went to school, they taught us Russian. The first time I heard Ukrainian was in high school. In my first assignment, I made 140 mistakes!
I’ll never forget my Bulgarian roots, but I was born and raised in Ukraine, I live in Ukraine. So, I usually say we are Bulgarian-Ukrainian.
In winter, when we are weaving, we do “dirty snow” colors. It’s not fully white, but rather with some blotches. Now, it's not spring yet and there's no grass, so we use grey and black and a little bit of green in some spots. In April there will be more green and we will add some colors. And then starting from July, and this was different last year compared to before, because we wove for Kherson, which is different from Donbas, we will use yellow and brown colors. And then for September and October it's yellow and red, like the leaves.
Every time we weave the winter camouflage nets, I think “I hope this will be the last time we make them.” Each season, we are hoping that we are making this season for the last time and will never have to do it again. But unfortunately, for all these years, we've been coming back again.
Valentina Tokariova
Valentina Tokariova, 85, was born in Russia. She moved to Ukraine as a young woman and lived in Donbas in eastern Ukraine for 60 years, until the war started there in 2014. She fled to Kyiv and has been living there ever since.
I spend a lot of time on my computer. I like to watch TV and videos on YouTube. Since the war started, I mostly watch political videos. Lots of news and interviews and experts talking about the situation. I believe we will be victorious. Whatever happens, we will be victorious. You can’t come into a foreign land and take everything, it doesn’t make sense.
I am Russian by birth, born in Novosibirsk. So, in my head, I still don’t understand how this happened and how there can be a war. I thought it was impossible.
I came to Donbas in 1962. I was 23 and I followed a young man. He is not worth telling you about. We lived together for seven years and then he abandoned me and our son.
For 60 years, I’ve been living in Ukraine. I worked my whole life for Ukraine, this is my family, my home, this is my country. I am Ukrainian now. I consider Ukrainian culture my own.
I lived in Donetsk and I had lots of friends there, some of whom I’ve been friends with for 60 years. In 2014, some of my friends left to live with their children in Kyiv region. And they were telling me: “We worry for you. Just come here, don’t be stupid.” So I did.
“I still don’t understand how this happened and how there can be a war. I thought it was impossible.”
In Donetsk, many people speak in Surzhyk (a mixture of Ukrainian and another language, often Russian). I always felt comfortable there.
We’d get together with the neighbors in my country house and we would dance and have a good time together no matter what language people spoke. The whole settlement is gone now, burnt to the ground. I had a nice garden, lots of plants. Especially the garlic, it was growing so well there.
My son passed away more than 10 years ago. I was very depressed when he died. I thought I’d never make it through. My friends helped me and little by little, I got better. Every mother thinks her son is handsome, but my son was very handsome. He liked sports, he liked cycling and to play table tennis with me. We were evenly matched.
He died before the war started. He was very ill, I was taking care of him. He was scheduled for an operation, but he died before he could have it. I buried him in Donetsk and now I can’t even go to visit his grave.
Nadiya Lutsenko
Nadiya Lutsenko, 83, is a former teacher of Ukrainian language from Donbas. She was forced to flee her home in 2014 and then again in 2022. She loves Ukrainian literature and keeps up to date with contemporary authors. She now lives with her sister in Kyiv.
Life has changed so much that I just see a dead end.
Until recently, I lived in the Bakhmut district of Donetsk region. I had to leave in 2014 after the first events in the Donetsk region. For some time, I lived in Kamianets-Podilskyi with my sister and then I came back and lived in Donbas. I was hoping that somehow life would get better.
In 2022, there were troops there, guarding, protecting us, but it didn't work out.
When the Russians invaded our village, they destroyed the entire place. I was already 82 years old and thought I would live out my life there. I buried my son and my husband in the village. Their graves were destroyed. I didn't even take the childhood photos of my son and family with me. I have nothing. I do not regret losing my property or anything, but I wish I had those photos.
I was caught in the blast wave when our house in Donbas was bombed. Our village was shelled for two weeks and we were sitting under the explosions and my ears were blocked. I got some treatment, but nothing helped. I still can't hear very well, and I have headaches.
I was born during World War II. I was a child of the war against fascism and now I am a grandmother of the war against Ruscism. We Ukrainians liberated Europe together with the Russians. My father took part in the liberation and died in Poland, leaving my mother on her own with four children. He died, but we survived.
“I buried my son and my husband in the village. Their graves were destroyed.”
I worked for 50 years at a school as a Ukrainian language teacher. I like Ukrainian literature from the period before the 1917 revolution. Marko Vovchok and other authors. The language is very beautiful there. Among contemporary Ukrainian authors, I like Vasyl Skliar. His Ukrainian language is just wonderful.
But to explore Ukrainian literature one should, of course, start with “Kobzar” by (Taras) Shevchenko. I like what Shevchenko writes and how he writes. It has a real soul. I remember Shevchenko's words at night: "It is dawning, the edge of the sky is burning, a nightingale in a dark grove meets the sun, the wind is blowing softly."
Lidia Terepniova
Lidia Mikhailovna Terepniova, 74, is a volunteer at the Halom Jewish Community Center in Kyiv. During the first months of the invasion, she was coordinating humanitarian aid distribution among the center's clients. Her son has emigrated to Israel, but she wants to stay home, where all her friends are.
My dad was born and raised in Kyiv, in Podil. He was a soldier liberating Kharkiv when he saw my mom and fell in love with her. They got married there. So I was born in Kharkiv but we moved to Kyiv in 1950.
It was a very difficult time after the war. Everything had to be started from scratch. You needed new spoons, new tablecloth, new everything! My father was very handy, so he would build furniture himself.
We lived in the Pechersk residential district, but my mom was working in Podil. So, every day I would ride a tram with my mom all the way from Pechersk to Podil, which took more than an hour one way. I liked it back then. But then 30 years later I couldn't stand the trams anymore, I was getting sick of them.
When I was 13 or 14 years old, my parents arranged a birthday party for me, because I complained it was boring at school. My mum said: "Well no one is going to entertain you, unless you do it yourself.” So I invited my friends over. They loved it. We danced a lot and listened to music.
“If there's a joy, you can share it. If there's a sorrow, it's easier to get through it all together.”
I'm still in touch with my classmates. We either gather at my place or at another classmate's house. We talk about our children and our school days. My two best friends were very smart but very naughty back then. They always got straight As, but this one time they got a B for behavior. We still remember that and laugh about it sometimes!
Seven years ago, I began volunteering at the Halom center. I would call people and invite them to visit. When the war started, I was calling people and asking if they needed anything: food, medicines, services and so on. A lot of people from here evacuated and left and now they are calling all the time and asking how we are and what's happening in the center. They miss the community a lot.
We have “Dance and Meet” club on Fridays, although we already know each other well.
All my friends are here. I talk to them every day. I simply could not leave! The fact that I am not alone helps me to get through. We are helping each other. If there's a joy, you can share it. If there's a sorrow, it's easier to get through it all together.
Nadia Krasnozhon
Nadia Krasnozhon, 87, is a Ukrainian poet and a former political activist. She was a member of Narodnyi Rukh, the first opposition party in Soviet Ukraine, and took part in the 1990 pro-independence protest campaign known as Revolution on Granite. She returned to the site of the protests — Kyiv’s Maidan Nezalezhnosti, or Independence Square — in 2004 for the Orange Revolution and again in 2014 during the Revolution of Dignity. She lives in a small village about an hour east of Kyiv and is working on a new poetry collection focused on the war with Russia.
I was born in this village, and I’ve lived here my whole life. It used to be called Yadlivka before Communists renamed it Peremoha (Ukrainian for “Victory”).
During World War II, the Germans kicked everybody out of the village and burnt it. Everyone was taken to Brovary and segregated into groups. Those who were strong and young were taken to Germany. Those who had a lot of kids were sent to Vinnytsia, southwest of Kyiv. The rest were sent north to a concentration camp in Brovary. I was in the third group. We were kept behind barbed wire until Brovary was liberated.
When we asked how Yadlivka was, we were told that the church and roosters were the only ones that survived.