The Art of Becoming: Notes from the Edge of 30

Hi, I’m Chelsea - a PhD student based in London, researching the Health and Well-Being of Musicians. My hope is to help create a world where creatives, especially those from marginalised backgrounds, feel seen, understood, and supported.

I’m not entirely sure where to begin. There’s still so much I’m figuring out about myself and how to navigate life. But with the eve of my 30th birthday here, it feels like the perfect moment to pause, breathe, and look back before stepping into a decade that feels like a blank canvas.

Growing up, I romanticised my 20s. I always imagined myself in a big city, creating art, living freely, and having fun - very Emily in Paris, I know. And somehow, life delivered exactly that. My 20s were full and rich: split between London and Trinidad, surrounded by people from every walk of life, travelling, studying, soaking up my dark-academia era (PhD still pending!). I honestly don’t know how I managed to stay in education this long - it was never something my artsy, daydream-filled brain envisioned for itself. But with time, I’ve realised that even though this path wasn’t what I expected, it seems to be the one I was meant to walk. That’s where I’m sitting now: still dreaming of being an artist, but also at peace with the idea that if my life leads me to research or teaching, I wouldn’t mind. It feels…quietly fulfilling. Peaceful, even.

Now, as magical as my 20s looked - the kind of stories you’d expect to see in a film - there was so much more happening beneath the surface. I went into that decade expecting adventure, but I could’ve never predicted the string of heartbreaks, the deep loneliness of moving from rental to rental searching for a place that felt like home, or the quiet grief of letting go of almost everyone I knew from “back home” in Trinidad. And then came the AuDHD diagnosis - a turning point that didn’t fix everything, but finally helped me make sense of so much of it. Or at least, enough of it to breathe a little easier.
I’ve always been incredibly sensitive, but I learned to mask it - to appear calm, put together, unfazed. When people describe me that way, it still surprises me because so much of my life has been shaped by internal chaos, anxiety, and survival mode. But that’s the thing about masking… it hides more than we realise.

Entering my 30s, I’m still learning how to hold this diagnosis with compassion.
I spend my days researching well-being for creatives, yet I’m still making peace with words like neurodivergence or anxiety when they apply to me. I’ve been through enough breakdowns to know the importance of mental health, yet it’s hard to believe you’re deserving of support when you’ve spent your whole life thinking you’re “the problem.” I’m working on that - and I’m hoping all the therapy and self-study of my 20s will help carry me through this next decade.

When people ask what helps me now that I have this diagnosis, the honest answer is: I’m still figuring it out. There isn’t one magic practice or routine. What’s helped me most is simply learning that it’s okay to listen to my body - and to do things in a way that actually makes sense to me. So much self-help advice out there isn’t designed for neurodivergent minds. And if we’re not careful, following it blindly can do more harm than good. It doesn’t consider our motivations, our strengths, our sensitivity, or the things that genuinely bring us joy. I’m slowly educating myself more about neurodivergence, and I’d recommend that to anyone who’s ever felt like a fish out of water in their own life. I’ve always felt like that - like I needed to try twice as hard to belong, because if I didn’t, no one would understand me. It’s exhausting. That’s why support, whether it’s from a mental-health professional or simply access to better information, can be so grounding. Anything that brings clarity takes a little bit of weight off your shoulders - and that can make all the difference.

Seek clarity before you judge yourself.

When you’ve been misunderstood for most of your life, self-judgement becomes instinct. But you deserve softness. You deserve patience. I heard someone say, “Sometimes you don’t need to change anything - sometimes you just need to get clear on your story.” And that stayed with me. Because sometimes the true shift isn’t about becoming someone new - it’s about finally standing on your own side. To anyone reading this - whether you’re neurodivergent, an artist, non-binary, chronically ill, or simply moving through a heavy season - I’m sending you love. May you feel supported, seen, and reminded that you’re not doing life wrong. You’re just doing it in your way. And honestly… congratulations for making it this far. In a world that asks so much of you, the fact that you’re still here, still trying, still hoping - that’s strength. That’s resilience.

Here’s to clarity, gentleness, and becoming more of yourself. Here’s to a softer, brighter, better chapter ahead.