Sometimes a new chapter doesn’t begin with a victory, but with a decision. A decision to leave something behind, because staying simply isn’t an option anymore. That was my moment last year.

I stood at a crossroads. Everything familiar suddenly felt empty or painful. My relationship was over, my grandma — my biggest supporter — had passed away. My parents lived far away. And in the silence that remained, I knew: I have to change something or I will lose myself.

So I moved. To a different place. To an old house that needs a lot of work. But also: a house with potential. A place where I want to learn how to breathe again. A place that is mine. And someday — I hope — a home.

I’ve done a lot myself and still do. But sometimes ‘alone’ isn’t enough. Especially when you’re recovering from something invisible but all-consuming: depression, anxiety, feeling lost. That’s why I’m writing this. Because I believe we sometimes need to carry each other, even if just a little.

About Me

When I was 21, I was officially diagnosed with mild depression. I don’t even remember what made me realize what I felt was different. It was a bit like back in school: I could never read the blackboard properly and thought that was normal, that everyone had that problem. Even when I sat at the front, sometimes I could barely read it. Then I got glasses — and wow, that’s when I really saw the world.

When I first went to therapy, I thought it was nonsense. She wanted to talk about my childhood, how my parents were, if I had a good childhood. What was the point of digging into the past? I went three times and then stopped. Mental health wasn’t talked about much back then. I saw it like a cold — it would pass on its own.

The years went by. Sometimes I felt good, then worse again. It was like a rollercoaster that never stops — and I don’t even like rollercoasters. When I was 27, things got bad. Then came the realization it probably wouldn’t just go away. I always thought people who thought about suicide were exaggerating — but suddenly I thought about it too. Why did I find life so terrible? Why did I see no purpose?

I made an appointment with the doctor again, got referred, and met a kind woman. She asked questions, we talked about what I wanted to talk about, she taught me how to handle feelings like anger, sadness, stress. That helped. I felt healed. And for a while, things went well.

Until I was 31. I had a good relationship, three years by then. Everything seemed right. We talked about marriage, kids, a house. Or at least, I did. I was so in love I didn’t see he was out almost every night, that he did nothing around the house. Eventually I broke up. Looking back it was worse: long phone calls, smoking weed, cheating.

I did everything: groceries, cleaning, cooking, working full time. He did nothing. But I was blind. I wanted to believe things were better, that my depression was over. But the worst was yet to come. I got panic attacks, stress, became sad, angry, cried. Why was I still here? I thought about the bridge, about the knife, about the end. But I never hurt myself.

I called the doctor, got antidepressants, and started therapy again. A nice man who tried his best, but many things he couldn’t explain. Because honestly, who has a boyfriend who goes to the Philippines to run a resort and ignores you completely? My parents didn’t offer much support either — they had moved and lived an hour away.

That same year my grandma died. My dearest grandma, my biggest fan, and I was hers. I took my meds and went on autopilot. I still don’t know how I survived that period.

Now I’m 33, and a switch flipped. I don’t want to think life is pointless anymore. That I have to wait till it’s over. Last year I decided to pack my things and move. Away from memories, from sadness. I bought an old house, a home with little love, but it’s mine. A place for new memories.

It’s not yet a home, but I want to make it one. I want to be a support for others with depression. To show it can be different. That people care. Sometimes you have to take a deep leap.

I’m looking for a new job, new friends, and want to start my own business. The most important thing: I want to make a difference for people with mental health struggles. An ambassador, a friend, a beacon.

The road is long, and I could use some help along the way.

Building Hope and a Home Together

I believe small gestures can make the biggest difference. A listening ear, a friend who’s there — but also financial support to gradually turn my new house into a home where I can find peace and strength.

If you can spare something, even a small amount, it would mean the world to me. It means I can take better care of myself. That I get space to heal, to grow, and to realize my dream: not just a place to live, but a home where I can also support others struggling with mental health.

Your contribution, however small, is a beacon on my path. And if you can’t take that step right now, I completely understand. Just reading my story means a lot and helps me move forward.

Thank you for taking the time to listen.

With love and hope.