Issue Nº1: Sofia Calma -Magazine-
A place to stay ✨
An editorial introduction
Welcome to Sofia Calma.
This is a space created to be a refuge and, if you need it, a quiet form of company.
Here, you are safe.
You are not being measured. You are not being judged. Nothing is expected from you.
This magazine was born with a simple hope:
that somewhere between these words, something in you might soften.
That a small part of the people who read it may begin to heal. Not all at once, not perfectly, but gently.
You don’t need to agree with everything written here. You don’t need to recognize yourself on every page.
But I invite you to notice the sections where something resonates,
where a sentence lingers,
where a feeling feels familiar.
This is not a one-way space.
You are welcome to respond, to share your thoughts in the comments, to speak if you wish or to remain quiet if that feels safer.
Presence looks different for everyone.
If this magazine feels like a place you’d like to return to, you’re invited to subscribe and stay for the next issues.
They will arrive slowly, with care, each one written with the same intention:
to offer calm, honesty, and room to breathe.
Why Sofia Calma?
Sofia Calma was born from an emptiness I’ve carried for many years.
Since adolescence, I’ve lived through several episodes of depression. There were times when I couldn’t find meaning in staying alive. Times when continuing felt heavier than letting go. But I stayed. And today, quietly but sincerely, I can say this:
I want to keep living. I want to keep choosing life, even when it feels fragile.
Reaching this place took more strength than I ever thought I had.
I’ve lived moments I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
Still, I don’t regret them.
Every relapse taught me something.
I am still learning, about myself, about others, about patience.
This space exists because of that learning.
Who am I?
I come from the sea.
Not metaphorically, but truly.
I was born on an island, surrounded by sand and salt, and I’ve lived my whole life listening to the same horizon.
The sea has always been my language.
When words fail me, I swim.
When my thoughts become too loud, I enter the water and let it hold me.
It slows my breathing.
It reminds my body that it knows how to stay afloat.
I live in the mountains now, in a small village, but the sea is never far from me.
I return to it often, almost every week, because it is therapeutic, because it remembers me.
I was born in autumn, and I’ve loved it ever since.
There is something about falling leaves, quieter days, and softer light that feels honest to who I am.
I write because I need to.
I write to make sense of what hurts,
to give shape to what feels heavy,
to leave traces of meaning where there was once silence.
I believe in God. Not in certainty, not in rigid answers, but in a presence that walks with me through doubt,
through waiting,
through the slow work of healing.
I am shy.
I am affectionate.
I am attentive.
For a long time, I couldn’t say anything kind about myself.
Depression took that language away from me.
Now, slowly, it is returning.
I say these things
and this time, I believe them.
This is who I am.
Like the sea:
sometimes calm,
sometimes overwhelming,
always returning.
What is this magazine?
Sofia Calma Magazine is a refuge.
A place to soften your shoulders.
To rest your thoughts.
To arrive as you are.
This is not a space for urgency or performance.
It’s a space for recovery, faith, and gentle living.
For those who are healing.
For those who are tired.
For those who are still finding their way.
When depression grows heavy, I stop writing.
I stop doing almost everything.
This magazine exists to remind me,and perhaps you,
that returning is always allowed.
You don’t need to be strong here.
You don’t need to be productive.
You just need to stay.
This magazine is made of different spaces: some reflective, some practical, some quiet.
You don’t need to read everything.
You don’t need to follow an order.
Move through this space the way you would move through a place you trust:
enter what feels right,
stay where something resonates,
leave what doesn’t.
And with that, we begin.
📨 Editor’s Letter
“A short, honest reflection of the week as it was.”
If therapy were a pair of jeans, are you still trying different ones… or have you already found the space where you can finally move freely?
This week, I want to speak about therapy and why it matters so much when living with depression.
For me, therapy has never been a luxury or an extra.
It has been part of my treatment.
Just as important as medication, support from loved ones, and daily care.
I’ve always thought that looking for a psychologist is a bit like going to buy a pair of jeans.
You don’t walk into a shop and pick the first pair you see.
You try different styles, different fits, different textures.
Some feel too tight. Others don’t feel like you.
Until one day, you find the pair that feels comfortable enough to move in.
Therapy is the same.
There are many professionals out there, and that’s a good thing.
But not every therapist will be right for you and that’s okay.
Sometimes it takes time. Sometimes it takes patience.
Sometimes it takes disappointment.
If the first one doesn’t feel right, it doesn’t mean therapy doesn’t work.
It simply means you haven’t found your therapist yet. The one who makes you feel safe, listened to, and respected.
Therapy is not about being fixed.
It’s about being accompanied.
About having a space where you don’t have to explain why you feel the way you feel.
And when you find that space, it can slowly, very slowly, change everything.
🌫️ The quiet thought: STAYING
“A brief, intimate reflection to accompany the week.”
Has there ever been a time when staying felt small and ordinary, yet quietly saved you?
There were moments when staying didn’t feel brave.
It felt small.
Ordinary.
Almost invisible.
Staying didn’t feel like hope.
It felt like getting through the next hour.
The next day.
The next breath.
And yet, staying was the most radical thing I could do.
Staying meant choosing life without knowing what it would give me back.
It meant trusting that something, even something very small, could still grow.
Sometimes we don’t stay because we’re strong.
We stay because we’re tired, and leaving would take even more strength.
And sometimes, staying is enough.
🌱 Living gently
“Small, human habits to help you get through the day.”
What is one small, gentle habit that helps you stay when the day feels heavy?
Living gently is not about doing more.
It’s about doing what helps you stay.
Here are a few habits that have helped me on difficult days:
Listening to music🎶
Music speaks directly to the body.
It can calm the nervous system, regulate breathing, and give shape to emotions that feel too big to name.
Some days, music helps me feel lighter.
Other days, it helps me cry, and crying is also healing.
Try listening to one or two songs a day.
Even if you don’t feel like it.
Even if the songs are sad.
Let the music meet you exactly where you are.
Going for a walk🚶♀️
Let fresh air touch your face every day.
Walking, even for just 15 minutes, helps the body release tension and the mind slow down.
It doesn’t need to be fast.
It doesn’t need to be productive.
For me, walking is also a way of reconnecting with God.
There is something sacred about moving slowly through the world, noticing trees, light, and silence.
You don’t need a destination.
You don’t need motivation.
Just step outside.
This small habit can make a real difference when living with depression.
Writing✒️
Write even if it doesn’t make sense.
Even if it’s messy.
Even if all you can write is sadness.
You don’t need beautiful sentences.
You don’t need clarity.
You don’t need to show it to anyone.
Writing helps release thoughts that get stuck inside the mind.
It creates space.
And sometimes, space is the first step towards breathing again.
Write for yourself.
Write without judgment.
Write because you’re still here.
🕊️ Faith & softly
“Faith without rigidity. Doubts, questions, and prayer.”
Meditating can feel a lot like praying but in silence.
It’s about sitting with what is, without rushing to change it.
About being present with your doubts, your fears, and your unanswered questions.
Faith doesn’t always feel strong.
Sometimes it feels fragile.
Sometimes it feels confusing.
I often ask myself questions like these:
What does faith look like when I don’t feel hopeful?
Can I still believe when I don’t understand?
Is it okay to feel angry, tired, or distant from God?
I don’t always have answers.
But I’ve learned that faith doesn’t disappear because of questions.
Sometimes, questions are where faith begins.
“The Lord is close to the broken-hearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
— Psalm 34:18
🌊 Words & water
“A literary space for poetry, fragments, letters, and quieter texts.”
The sea and poetry have given me light in moments of darkness.
When words felt impossible, I read poems.
When my body felt too heavy to exist, I went to the sea.
There is something deeply healing about water.
Its rhythm.
Its patience.
Its refusal to rush.
The sea doesn’t ask you to explain yourself.
It doesn’t expect anything from you.
It simply exists and allows you to exist beside it.
Poetry does the same.
Poems don’t demand solutions.
They allow contradiction, emotion, and silence.
They give language to what feels unsayable.
In my darkest moments, poetry reminded me that I wasn’t alone.
That others had felt this before.
That sadness has a voice, and I didn’t have to invent it myself.
If you are going through a depressive process, I gently recommend this:
read poetry.
And if you can, go to the sea.
Sit near it.
Walk alongside it.
Let it hold you.
Sometimes light doesn’t arrive as an answer but as a presence that stays.
🧭From other shores (available from Issue Nº2)
A space to share and honour other voices.
Articles, reflections, or writers that have moved me.
If you’re a writer and would like to participate in this section, you’re welcome to reach out to me privately.
If you’ve read this far, thank you for staying.
If something in this magazine resonated with you,
if you recognised yourself in even one sentence,
that makes me deeply happy.
If any word here helped you, even a little,
it truly fills my heart.
You’re warmly invited to leave your thoughts or reflections in the comments.
And if you feel you need a safe space,
someone to listen without judgement,
you’re also welcome to write to me privately.
You don’t have to carry everything alone.
If this feels like a place you’d like to return to,
you’re welcome to subscribe so you don’t miss the next issues.
💕 Sofía
Beautiful! 💖🙏
This is such a beautiful and welcoming space. Thank you for creating a refuge where we can feel safe and not judged. Looking forward to reading more issues🙏🏼♥️