About aging

When I was 18 years old, my mother told me: “My son, you’ve reached your peak. From now on, it’s downhill!”

Mom wasn’t entirely wrong. Professionally, my life went uphill; personally, downhill. But it took 15 years to bring my personal life uphill. Contrary to all predictions, I did not go downhill.

I was always a quiet child and teenager, diligent with my responsibilities, obedient to rules. Few options were given to me; I was always guided to do things and believed I should obey. Over 10 years of swimming, studying English and Spanish, changing schools at my parents’ discretion. Yes, a “white people problem,” I admit. There were advantages to being obedient: unlike the rest of my family, I grew a bit more, acquired language skills my siblings never developed. But it wasn’t easy. I was a depressed child and teenager, and only today do I realize it.

My first academic choice was which college to attend. But there were rules: I could only take the entrance exam at a public university, up to 600 km from my parents’ city. When I shared my first choice — Public Relations — I heard from my mother: “Forget it, that doesn’t make money.” Back then, we still used the printed Guia do Estudante to choose courses. I looked at them, discarded one by one, and my rational side took over. The next viable option was Law, but despite being a good student, I was never very dedicated; passing a public university was unlikely, and the job market seemed difficult. The next choice became Economics. My grades were sufficient, and the job market looked promising. Who, at 17, chooses college based on the job market?

And so life went on. I hated most of college; almost every semester I wanted to quit, but I continued under the argument that “the allowance would be cut.” In my final year, I got into a trainee program; professional life delighted me — and less than six months later, I received my first anxiety disorder diagnosis. A year later, depression; soon after, insomnia; until I reached a diagnosis of treatment-resistant depression, which I still manage today.

I am grateful to the gods of medicine and pharmaceutical labs for all the medications I’ve taken — and there have been many. I am not ashamed, not even a bit. I am grateful to the many psychoanalysts who crossed my path, especially my penultimate one, who worked with me for two years, four times a week.

But, as I said, for a long time, my personal life was downhill. Medications and psychoanalysis were my crutch against existential and worldly pain.

Turning 30 came. For most, it may not be a milestone; for me, it was. I wanted to achieve more, travel more, do more. White hairs began to appear, glasses became indispensable. I tried to disguise the signs of aging, and I will continue to try as long as I can.

A little over a year ago, I felt a snap: those countless psychoanalysis sessions began to make sense. For the first time in my adult life, I felt fulfilled, able to direct my life without needing to please, without following family or external patterns.

I felt the liberation of being who I am: full of flaws, qualities, and possibilities. I made difficult decisions, improbable choices, and faced life in its full, raw, naked form. I met people I would never have encountered on the obvious path, for better or worse. I simply allowed myself. It has been beautiful, rewarding, vulnerable, and challenging.

Not every day is glamorous. But I’ve learned to recognize my limits, desires, moments of selfishness, and to see others in their insecurity. It’s fantastic to perceive ourselves as equals, so small we are.

As clichéd as it may seem, I feel like I live my 20s late, but with the wisdom that turning 30 provides, with lightness, and with the sense that the war has been won.

“One of the hardest things about healing is that the version of yourself you created to survive the war is someone you need to abandon. The version you needed to survive is not the one you can follow now. You must leave it behind. The battle may continue, but that person cannot go with you.”

Florianópolis/SC/BR, May 7th, 2024