Years were spent alone in my room due to depression where i didnt know it was depression, so help wasnt seeked. Attempted and anxiety disorder started n took very long to recover, so i was in the room again for years. Now that I’m out of my room and functional to a certain extent, people are just unforgiving from both ends young and old. Just wanna do youthful things cuz i never experienced that but there will be ageism. Im still young but not that young anymore and dont have much to show for my career which is another issue in the working world. Theres a certain expectation of achievements at my age which i unds that i will take longer to achieve because of my setbacks n i have no interests in having children since mental illnesses can be passed on. So its like i was in hell, got out of it and now dropped into a new hell. I feel safe in my lane but people are unforgiving.
Hii @user1138, thank you for sharing that. There’s so much depth and quiet strength in what you’ve written even if it doesn’t feel like strength to you right now.
You’ve survived a kind of invisible war, years of depression, anxiety, isolation, and slowly crawling your way out of a place most people wouldn’t survive. And now that you’re finally able to show up again, it’s like the world expects you to act as if you were never gone. That’s incredibly unfair, and I’m so sorry you’re facing this kind of judgment from both strangers and maybe even people close to you.
Wanting to do “youthful” things now isn’t childish—it’s healing. You’re reclaiming pieces of life that were stolen from you by circumstances you never even asked for. You’re not late, you’re just walking a different path, and it’s valid. It makes so much sense that you’re feeling caught between “finally living” and “never measuring up.” But honestly? The fact that you’re still trying, still dreaming, still here that is something to show for.
The world needs more compassion for those who’ve had to fight just to exist. You deserve to live without being haunted by other people’s timelines, expectations, or ignorance. And just to let you know, I’m proud of you. Not for being “better” or “successful,” but for surviving, for getting out of that room, and for still holding on to who you are. You’ve already done something remarkable. And you’re not alone here 
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Dear @user1138
Thank you for reaching out and sharing this. What you’ve gone through shows immense strength, even if it may not feel that way. You’ve survived something hard — years of isolation, depression, anxiety, and pain — and you’re still here, still trying, still pushing forward. That takes more courage and determination than most people realise or acknowledge. On top of that I have noticed you regularly encourage other users on this platform by sharing your experiences. Thank you for that effort.
It’s understandable to feel like you’re catching up on lost time, and it’s frustrating when the world doesn’t make room for your journey — when people are quick to judge or dismiss what they don’t understand. But just stepping out of that room and starting to rebuild is already a powerful victory. Please don’t underestimate how far you’ve come.
You’re right — healing and rebuilding a life after setbacks takes time. It’s okay to take small steps, to move at your own pace, and to redefine what success means for you. Youth isn’t a number; it’s a mindset, and you absolutely deserve to experience joy, freedom, and discovery, no matter your age or where you’re starting from.
Please keep at it as you undergo this immense journey to rebuild, surrounded by more naysayers than supporters. You’re in the middle of a tough chapter, one that still holds the possibility of meaning, growth, and peace. You’ve already proven you can survive darkness. Now it’s about building a life that feels right for you, even if others don’t understand.
Keep going — one step, one breath, one moment at a time. You’re not alone. Keep reaching out here whenever needed.
Hey @user1138. Thank you for being so open about this even when it’s difficult. I can feel how deeply you’ve thought about your journey, and how much you’ve had to hold on your own.
You’ve been through years of silent survival. Of pain that didn’t have a name at first. Of slowly recovering and trying to rebuild while carrying the weight of things that most people can’t see. That in itself is extraordinary. That kind of invisible healing takes real strength.
And now that you’re ready to live again, the world is suddenly full of expectations, about age, timelines, careers, “where you should be by now.” It’s so unfair that we’re made to feel like we’ve missed the boat, when truthfully, some of us were just fighting to stay afloat.
It makes complete sense that you want to do things you missed out on. That’s not immaturity, that’s a part of you reaching out for what was once denied. And you deserve to say yes to those things. Whether it’s joyful, playful, creative, experimental, your version of youth doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s.
It’s okay if your dreams look a little different now. It’s okay if you’re still figuring out what joy looks like in this next chapter. But you deserve that joy, no matter your age, resume or relationship status.
You’re not defined by lost years. You’re defined by what you choose to do with the ones ahead of you.
There’s not expiry date on joy. There’s no age limit on discovery. You didn’t “miss your chance.” You are here now. And that now is real, and worthy.
And one more thing: not wanting children because you’re thinking consciously about mental illness is not fear. It’s care, it’s clarity, and it’s your choice. It does not make you less than. It means you’re thoughtful, aware, and trying to shape a life that make sense to you.
You’re not broken for taking longer.
You’re not behind for surviving.
Maybe the question now isn’t “How do I catch up?” but rather “What does my version of a meaningful life look like from here?”
I wonder… if you could give yourself permission to explore something this year, just for you, what would it be?
You’re not alone here. And you’re doing better than you think 