When I was approaching 30, I had all these big expectations in my head. Thirty was supposed to be the golden year—the one where everything fell into place, the one I’d always look back on and say that was it, that was when I really came into myself. I imagined confidence, clarity, and a sense of finally being settled into who I was meant to be.

Instead, 30 ended up breaking me down in ways I didn’t see coming.

I don’t need to spell it all out, but there were hard moments. Losses that left me feeling hollow. Health struggles that made me question my strength. A sense of watching the life I’d carefully pictured slip through my fingers no matter how tightly I tried to hold on. There were days I felt like I was just moving through the motions, carrying around a version of myself that didn’t feel quite whole anymore. For a long time, I thought I’d wasted my milestone year.

But here I am, 31. And strangely enough, I feel lighter. Not because everything is perfect—far from it—but because I’ve realized that life doesn’t wait for “perfect.” Growth doesn’t happen in polished moments. It happens in the cracks, in the rebuilding, in the quiet choices you make to keep moving forward. And even through the chaos, one thing I’m deeply grateful for is that my mental health—something I’ve often braced myself to struggle with—remained steady, almost surprisingly so. That stability has been an anchor when so much else felt uncertain.

This year feels different. I’m laying foundations that feel steadier than before, creating a space in my life that feels solid and true. I’m opening myself up to new connections, new possibilities, and new versions of love—whatever shape they may take. I’m making room for joy again, even in small ways, and learning that strength can look a lot like softness, too.

For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m stepping into empowerment rather than just chasing it. There’s a calmness in me now, a quiet confidence that I earned the hard way.

31 isn’t about the big expectations I once had—it’s about resilience, courage, and a kind of quiet strength I didn’t know I was capable of. I’m walking into this chapter with scars, yes. But also with clearer eyes, a steadier heart, and a home— with some luck, both literal and metaphorical—that I’m finally building for myself.

Here’s to 31. Not the year I planned, but maybe, just maybe, the year I’ve been waiting for.

Hang in there.

Ellen on the Edge x

Every blog post I have posted in the past couple of years has started with the fact that I have not posted in a while. I am sad I haven’t, but I have always said I know when it’s right and wont ever force my writing. I write when I need to, I have never bought into the posting once a week. It doesn’t achieve anything, and as I have said before, this has always been for me; with an added bonus that it sometimes resonates with people.

I suppose I am posting right now because I am struggling a bit. My life has changed dramatically recently. Everything I had planned for my future has suddenly changed. It was a choice that I made, and one that didn’t come easy, but nevertheless one that I made for myself.

It’s funny how life can change in an instant, without any warning. One moment, you’re in a routine, comfortable, and almost certain about the path you’re on, and the next, it feels like that path splits in two. And suddenly, you’re standing at a crossroads, unsure of what to do next. That’s how it felt when I found myself needing to let go of something I never thought I would have to.

I always imagined when I was in my teens, that by the time I hit 30, I’d have it all figured out. My career would be solid, I’d be financially stable, and I’d be living in my own place, probably with a few plants and a cozy sofa, married and have children. But life doesn’t always go according to plan. I have a stable career. But financially stable is something I have never been, I can barely keep my cheese plant alive, my sofa is in a storage container, and marriage and children now feel like a long way off. So basically, I found myself, a few months ago, packing up my stuff and moving back home to my parents’ house.

Let’s be clear: I never expected to be in this situation. It feels like a plot twist in my adulting story. But as I’ve settled in, I’ve realized that this move doesn’t mean I’ve failed—it’s just another chapter in my journey. Moving back home has been a mix of surprising perks and difficult adjustments. I am extremely lucky to have parents that are unbelievably forgiving and so supportive.

I don’t have a neat conclusion to this short story about what’s been going on with me, because, honestly, I’m still figuring it out. But I’ve come to realize that life, is constantly shifting, evolving. It’s okay to not have it all figured out. I’m learning to trust myself in this new space, to embrace the unknown, and to understand that it’s okay to let go of something that doesn’t align with who you are anymore.

In time, I’m hopeful that the things I let go of will make space for new growth, new experiences, and new connections—things I can’t even begin to imagine yet. But for now, I’m learning to sit with the discomfort, to honor the journey, and to trust that change, however difficult, is often the very thing that leads us toward the life we’re meant to live.

If you feel this, I am sorry, but also, we got this. You got this.

Hang in there. 

Ellen on the Edge xx