What I Learned After a Mental Breakdown at 28

At 28, I hit a wall.

It wasn’t a small setback or a temporary dip in my life. A complete, unstoppable plunge into a darkness within me that I had never experienced. I prided myself on maintaining the appearance of being okay. I was the one who could manage the pressures of life, but then my strength ran out.

It started quietly.

Missed calls. Unread texts piling up. I stopped responding to invitations because talking to people felt overwhelming. My calendar turned into a list of promises I could no longer keep. Exhaustion greeted me every morning, even before I closed my eyes the night before. My body was constantly in pain and I couldn’t figure out what was causing it. I found it impossible to fall asleep at night and equally difficult to get out of bed each morning. I wasn’t just burned out. I was coming undone, one delicate strand at a time.

People noticed. People started to worry about me and my well-being. I lied. I told everyone I was merely tired, even when my body screamed otherwise. I found it simpler to lie than share the real reason. I couldn’t pinpoint the cause, but I knew something was off.

That morning stands out in my memory as one I’ll never forget.

I remained seated on the floor of my apartment for three entire hours. Not crying. Not thinking. Just… staring. The light moved so slowly, like the scenes in a confusing film, yet I was helpless to stop it. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t pretend anymore.

That’s when I knew: this wasn’t stress. This wasn’t a bad week.
This was a breakdown.

It almost shattered me, but it also opened my eyes.
I discovered a lot when everything came crashing down.

1. You Can’t Outrun Yourself

I perfected the art of avoiding my feelings by filling every moment with something else. I convinced myself that working tirelessly would prevent me from being overwhelmed by the underlying sadness I had carried for a long time.

But pain waits. The more you try to ignore it, the more it screams for your attention.

I had never properly dealt with things like unresolved grief, continuous self-judgment and always putting others first. I believed I was leaving those parts of myself in the past. I wasn’t. I managed to keep them hidden for so long, but they eventually weighed me down and brought me to my knees.

Looking straight at who I had been all along left me feeling vulnerable and afraid. Being alone with myself allowed the process of healing to start. I had to stop running. I had to face the things within me I had tried to run away from for so long.

2. Rest Isn’t a Reward. It’s a Requirement.

I had been raised to equate personal value with how much I achieved. Rest became something reserved for those who couldn’t keep up or achieved it only after nearly exhausting themselves. Rest was a treat I could only enjoy after a long stretch of work. I showed how busy I was as a sign of my importance.

Yet our bodies work according to their own laws, not the expectations of an exhausting lifestyle.

It flutters in your awareness softly, showing up in the form of a nagging headache or a sleepless night. Then it gets louder. You feel irritable, numb, disconnected. If you refuse to heed the warning signs, your body will eventually force you to pay attention. My body finally broke down after years of pushing myself too hard.

Rest has become as necessary as food for me.
Because it’s not optional. It’s essential.

3. One of the Bravest Things You Can Do Is Reach Out for Support

I believed that independence was something to be proud of. I believed that needing help was a sign of failure as an independent person.

However, I’ve discovered the opposite to be the case.

Asking for help took tremendous courage and strength. I texted a friend and told them I thought it was time to ask for support. She came by as soon as I reached out. She didn’t make me feel guilty or try to fix me. She was simply there for me. I started therapy shortly after. I was scared. I didn’t know how to express what I was going through. I kept going to therapy and with time, I started understanding what was going on inside me.

Healing didn’t happen overnight. Asking for help helped me begin to return to my true self.

4. Setting Boundaries Is a Way to Love and Care for Yourself

I was a chronic yes-sayer. I was afraid others might be let down if I didn’t agree to everything they asked of me. I didn’t want others to think I was being challenging or self-centered. I agreed to everything asked of me, even when it went against my own wishes. I actually believed I was doing the right thing. In reality, what I was doing was betraying myself.

Each time I agreed to something that went against what I needed, I was inadvertently denying myself the chance to nourish my health and happiness.

Saying “no” didn’t mean I’d turn into a cold or unwelcoming person. I was learning to value what I could and couldn’t give. Setting limits for myself felt like loving myself. I was amazed to find that everything kept running smoothly as I started setting and keeping my boundaries.

5. Healing Isn’t Linear

Some days, I feel lighter, more hopeful and full of energy. Some days, it feels like my stress and sadness are returning. I used to believe that feeling low meant I must be doing something wrong. I was convinced that being healed meant reaching a final destination.

The journey of healing isn’t straightforward.

It’s messy. It’s nonlinear. Progress is often uneven, with steps forward, steps back and moments to the side. The key is to keep coming back for yourself. You keep making decisions that help you heal, even when it feels impossible. Especially when it’s hard.

When the darkness returns, I feel calm and steady. I sit with it. I breathe through it. I remind myself: This is all part of the journey.


Final Thoughts

Whatever you may be going through right now, I want you to know:
You’re not broken. You’re human.

It’s perfectly normal to need to step back, take a break or ask for support. It takes courage to hit your limit and ask for help. Breakdowns sometimes lead us to our greatest personal transformations. Mine did.

That day, when I gave up and sank to the floor, I believed I was losing everything.
But it wasn’t.
That was when I started living a slower, more genuine life. A life I can finally be proud of.

I wish you keep this in mind as you go through your own journey:
The light comes back. It finds you one moment and then another, like small sparks.
There are moments, even simple ones, that reassure you of your presence. You’re still here. And that matters.