two years away from turning 30
What if I fall into a depressive episode again?
If life were only about breathing, we would never feel the magic of stopping.
Iāve learned to observe my inner world more closely and to recognize what happens when Iām not well.
The solitude we often praise in daily life, framing it as independence or freedom, can quietly turn fragile when it becomes fertile ground for negative thoughts. Everything around me begins to lose meaning. My emotions destabilize, and I find myself acting in ways I donāt recognize. Later, when calm and emotional balance return, I look back and feel disconnected from those reactions (sometimes even ashamed of them) as if they came from a place I couldnāt control.
And it doesnāt stop there. Apathy becomes a constant. It settles into the smallest moments, triggering guilt, lack of motivation, sadnessā¦ feelings that appear suddenly and linger far longer than Iād wish, quietly taking over my emotional landscape.
Being so close to turning 30 hasnāt made me sadder. It has made me more aware.
I know the signs too well now. The moment I start sinking, the point where sadness stops being fleeting and becomes deep. Having been through depression sharpened my gaze: I observe more, I listen more, I take care of myself earlier. I donāt live in fear of the future, but I do live with a different kind of attentiveness. Perhaps itās not about reaching 30 untouched, but about arriving present, knowing when to pause, when to ask for help, and when to return to myself.
And turning 30 is no small thing.
You step into a new decade, leaving behind your luminous twenties, so full of youth. Internal clocks start ticking, turning into quiet checklists that (no matter how much you resist) end up defining your rhythm, your worth, your potential.
Have you studied enough? Do you have a good job? A place of your own? A partner? Children? A nice car? Do you travel? Are you happy?
The list is endless. A silent clock measures whether youāre on time or not, whether youāre doing life ārightā. And thatās what you project. Thatās what I feel.
The pressure to fulfill desires is imposed simply because itās time, because otherwise the train might pass you by.
Which train? The train of opportunities, supposedly scheduled by age.
A race no one signs up for, yet everyone runsā¦because no one wants to be left behind.
And so insecurity, fear, and the constant anxiety of rejection settle into everyday life, whether you invite them or not.
It isnāt easy to let go of everything weāre taught from childhood. Life moves so fast that we hardly notice which patterns weāve accepted as truth.
But do we really need to rush?
Do we really need to do what everyone else is doing to feel valid?
What if we chose to go against it?
What if we broke the patterns guiding us?
What if the train was never missed?
What if it simply never stopped at the station we were told it would?
Perhaps opportunities donāt arrive according to age, but according to the state of the soul.
Perhaps there isnāt a single correct route, nor a ticket that validates who we are or how much weāre worth.
Maybe running doesnāt bring us any closer.
And maybe slowing down (even if it makes us dizzy) is the only way to see clearly.
Not everything that arrives late arrives wrong.
Not everything that deviates is lost.
Sometimes, leaving the path is the only way to find yourself.
Maybe thatās why being so close to 30 feels so heavy. Because itās not just that time feels fast, itās that if we stop for too long, something important might leave without us.
The fear isnāt ageing.
The fear is falling again just as the train seems to be passing.
Itās the thought that if sadness returns and traps us, weāll be left standing on the platform, watching life move forward while weāre simply trying to survive.
No one talks about how unfair that is:
having to fight to be well while the world demands you arrive on time.
Meet deadlines. Fulfill dreams. Live up to expectationsā¦when sometimes the only thing you can manage is to breathe and not sink.
And then the clock grows heavier.
Each year feels like a countdown, not only towards 30, but towards everything you fear you wonāt live if depression decides to sit beside you again.
Perhaps weāre not afraid of missing opportunities, but of missing them because life becomes too much.
Afraid that sadness will steal our rhythm, that it will leave us behind just as everything seemed about to begin.
And still, Iām here.
Afraid, yes.
Watching trains pass, trying to believe that arriving late doesnāt always mean arriving wrong and that taking care of myself is also a way (quiet, imperfect) of not losing everything.
Letter to my 30-year-old self
There is so little time left before I meet you.
I never imagined time would pass so quickly, that it would rush towards you with such speed. When I was twenty, people used to tell me how fast life goesā¦ but I never truly believed them. I was never fully aware that this is how it works: that each year, almost by magic, seems to move faster than the last.
The worst part is that we canāt reverse time, as if it were a kind of trick weāre pushed into without being asked, like a book youāre forced to finish.
Iām afraid, you know.
Afraid of who we will become together.
I donāt know if Iām ready.
There are so many things that scare me. Many of my fears donāt even have names yet because I still donāt know how to recognise them clearly - but others have never been more obvious.
What are we going to do?
What will we do if we lose ourselves again?
If we feel like we canāt cope with life?
If everything feels hopeless?
What will we do if we donāt manage to fulfil our desire to become a mother, to get married, to travel, to writeā¦all because of our sadness?
What if it comes back? The anxiety, the sleepless nights, the overwhelming exhaustion, the apathy towards everythingā¦
What will happen if we fall again into the grip of depression?
You once promised me you had all the answers to my questions. But you stay silent when I tell you that Iām truly afraid, that Iām genuinely scared. And it isnāt growing older that terrifies me. Itās the fear that my sadness wonāt let me enjoy life the way we deserve.
No matter how much I scream in my dreams, powerless because I canāt see the future, you still donāt seem to grasp how lost I feel or how much terror lives inside me.
I wish I could express all my pain to you with words, but I know I donāt need to. I know you can feel it without me saying anything.
And I know you promise me that everything will be alright. But itās hard for me to trust the future. Itās hard to trust us.
Itās hard to trust who we are and who we will become.
Still, donāt worry.
I will reach you if life allows it, if it lets me. And when I do, I will honour you and admire you more than anyone elseā¦ even if depression doesnāt allow it, even if it becomes my enemy again.
Even if the memories return.
I will fight with them, not against them.
Iāve learned so much just from the image I hold of you. Iāve drawn inspiration from you, guided myself by your presence, by the words I felt you were whispering to me. And I donāt know if Iām mistaken, or if Iām simply foolish for writing you this letter. But what I do know is this: because of you, I am still here today. Because I imagined you walking beside me.
And yes, I am scared. I am afraid of depression. But knowing you are here with me makes it easier. It makes me feel braver. It reminds me that life doesnāt rest solely on my shoulders.
So if one day you doubt me (if you wonder whether I was capable of reaching you) remember this:
I didnāt arrive strong. I arrived alive.
I arrived with fear, with scars, with unanswered questions.
I arrived having fallen but also having risen in ways no one saw.
I arrived because even when I didnāt trust the future, I kept taking one more step.
I donāt know exactly who youāll be when you turn 30, nor whether we will have fulfilled all the dreams that weigh so heavily on me now.
But I do know this: if youāre reading this letter, itās because you didnāt give up when no one was watching.
I donāt ask you to be perfect. I only ask that you donāt abandon yourself. That you keep carrying me with you. That when sadness returns (because sometimes it does) you donāt try to be brave in silence.
Perhaps we wonāt have all the answers.
Perhaps we never will.
But as long as we keep walking together, as long as we keep imagining one another, staying here, even with fear, will already be enough.
words from my future self
do not be afraid, nor in pain
I am here
I have always been
waiting for you, and for us
knowing that even when you couldnāt see me
you trusted me, and you trusted us
and I know you have doubts
that you donāt quite know where youāre going
or where youāll end up
but I am here
holding out my hand to you, waiting with my soul
knowing that together we can carry more
that united we will know how to go further
and that we will not lose ourselves again
Question
Iād like to invite you into a moment of reflection, to pause, just for a minute, and really sit with this question. Iāll be reading you in the comments.
Which train do I feel Iām about to missā¦ and who decided I had to get on it?
The train I feel Iām about to miss is the one that promises arriving on time to a life that doesnāt hurt me.
And I didnāt decide that. It was decided by the calendar, by silent comparisons, by ages marked as milestones, by the learned idea that there is a correct order in which to live.
For a long time, I believed I had to run and get onā¦ even when I was broken, even when the only thing I could manage was to breathe and not sink.
Today, Iām beginning to think differently.
Perhaps that train isnāt missed at all.
Perhaps it simply doesnāt stop at the station I was told it would.
Perhaps my pace isnāt late.
Itās honest.
And perhaps arriving alive, present, and accompanied by myselfā¦ is also arriving on time.
Thank you for being here, and for reading me all the way to the end.
with love, SofĆa š
'No one talks about how unfair that is:
having to fight to be well while the world demands you arrive on time.'
I teared up š„² and the more i read, the more i teared up. We are the same age, just 2 years away from 30 years old. While i cant say i fully understand you (because we're still strangers on the internet hehe), i just want to say i understand your fears, i understand how debilitating and heavy it can be sometimes. But one thing for sure, you're not alone, and I'm so, so proud that you're still here, alive, kicking, and still going. I'm really proud of you and I wish nothing but the best for you and your future š¼
Forget about trains and train stations and 30 is just another silly number. It doesnāt matter. The only thing that matters are the people around you and your knowing to reach out when theyāre needed. One walk at a time sofia and one fine day if you want, build your own train and train station for like minded souls. Stay kind and thanks for sharing such a beautiful piece