I'm Ellen Nguyen, a content creator, writer, author, podcast host, and currently a Director in Financial Services based in London. This newsletter is my space to explore and express depth, including personal essays written entirely by me, no AI. But I do use it as a thinking partner that helps critique my writing.
In my early 20s, before meeting my husband, heartbreak had a shape. It was the same shape every time: anxious attachment and fear of abandonment intensely activated, feeling like the whole world came crashing down and no one would ever want me again, sending walls of emotional texts that went unanswered, and desperately holding on until the shame was too much to bear. Then it was the process of picking up my pieces and finding the next ego fix. And the cycle would continue.
Falling apart, again and again, in my early 20s was inevitable.
The cycle grew its own legs because if I had stopped, I would have had to face the fact that all my pieces were held together by flimsy Band-Aids - instant gratification, avoidance and escapism. There was nothing solid to lean on. Nothing mine. Nothing that didn’t need an external source of validation. I was in London mostly on my own, on a work visa. I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t take good care of myself. My eating and sleep schedules were all messed up. Childhood traumas followed me like an obsessed ghost, and I didn’t know how to make it stop.
I kept attaching myself to people incapable of seeing my value. I’d fall so hard that at times I was scared I’d ruined my life forever. The last time it happened, just before I finally healed and eventually came to an epiphany I’m going to tell you about - cut through to my bones, soul, and spirit, and I didn’t want another one again. I couldn’t afford to. So I stopped. I actually stopped. At 25, I just stood there and stared at the blank space in front of me, letting the fear, anxiety, and existential dread wash over me. Well, it didn’t kill me. Instead, it led to a life-changing journey of reclaiming and building myself, brick by brick.
Fast forward to today, I’m 31 now. I’m through to the other side. Life still happened and tried to knock me off my feet again - as life does, but there was no more falling as such. Like, in 2020, when I found out my dad wasn’t who I thought he was through a stranger’s Facebook profile photo (more on this later), I didn’t fall apart. Sure, I cried a lot. For days on end, and years of unfinished therapy later. But I had my husband then. After I’d spent two days on calls with my two sisters, I turned around and saw food and flowers next to me. A comforting hug was just a few steps away when I needed it. My family situation was unbelievable, but I was safe. I wasn’t alone. My pain was witnessed and shared. I didn’t have to piece myself together because I wasn’t broken. I knew who I was then, and I could talk about what happened to my loved ones or my therapist.
Then, over the past year, it felt like I’d stepped into a new era when I took the job offer to be a Director at a big company, a role that is highly plugged in. Something fundamentally shifted in me around this time. Maybe it was turning 30; maybe it was the brain being fully developed; maybe it was an accumulative effect of building security for myself. I’d become a lot calmer, more grounded and self-possessed. When any storm arrived, I didn’t feel the need to run. I looked at it directly and declared war. Then I mobilised my resources and solidified myself further while letting myself feel what I needed to feel.
You have to attach to yourself and your life before you can enjoy healthy attachments to others.
I handle stress and pressure by building support pillars that can absorb them naturally. I enjoy and add value to others by affirming and grounding myself first. Through a deepened relationship with my husband. Going to therapy. Signing up for an improv course and performing it on stage. Training 3 times a week at the gym. Eating whole foods. Walking 10K steps a day. Being the fittest I’ve ever been. Reading books. Publishing a book. Filming my podcast. Spending time with people who genuinely uplift me. Posting authentically on my social media, making sense of my journey. Writing again, no AI, like this newsletter. Travelling solo. Getting to know myself intimately. Giving myself compassion and love. Feeling me again.
There’s something deeply satisfying and enriching about taking care of yourself physically through lifestyle changes and daily commitments. And now I wonder how I could have gone so long without it. Of course, I would have fallen apart completely in my early 20s. I had nothing but doubts. And these doubts were there because I’d seen no evidence of me doing anything good for myself, not even physical care. I had no internal sources of joy and self-worth to keep me going and intact when shiny strangers dropped me like a hot potato - my sense of self went with them and their withdrawal of attention and affection. I couldn’t see value in me and my life. I didn’t know how much it would take. Now I see it clearly.
You don’t wait to find yourself or become your best self. You build your identity and the structure of a life that allows you to be your best self, and you start now. In fact, the younger you build your self-affirming support pillars, the better. It has to ground you so firmly that when someone tells you you’re no good, you don’t doubt yourself; instead, you can say confidently to their face, no, you’re wrong, I know I’m good, and stand by it. You generate value and energy for you to enjoy, by being you, doing things you love, right where you are. And you can make yourself feel better again at any time.
But it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t let yourself fall.
Truthfully, I don’t know if I would have been able to do what I do now when I was younger. Building the pillars can feel uneventful or even boring. It’s a long, strategic process that requires consistency and commitment. You have to be ready for it. And when you’re in your early 20s, you’re all over the place. You often fear you’re not doing enough and slowing down might feel like death. You’re hungry, you’re seeking, you’re seizing every opportunity. It was also quite a peculiar circumstance I had. Moving to a new country meant there were no support pillars by default - no family, no childhood friend circle, no familiar places. There was nothing to guide me or shield me. I was fumbling in the dark, fully exposed.
Dating and relationships at that age felt exciting and accessible - it’s a world of dopamine. It seemed deceptively casual and inconsequential. But the psychological impact was immense. They held up a mirror and, luckily, it was how I got to know myself, built emotional and psychological resilience and arrived here. I needed it. But I’m glad I knew when to stop and throw a net to catch myself mid fall. I was done with using dating and relationships for self-discovery and was ready to approach it with intention. I turned it into my strongest pillar.
At 31, with these sturdy pillars in place, I realise you can get a lot more out of life, especially as someone who loves feeling all the feels. You can indulge in the high and ride out the low while being able to recalibrate relatively quickly in a healthy way. You stop panicking. You’re more in control of your actions. You can contain the damage and extract the learning. When I look back, I have no regrets. I knew I did what I needed to do given where I was. I struck a balance between exposing myself for self-knowledge and growth (and perhaps even self-indulgence) and using the data to solidify myself and build a life that is increasingly aligned and right for me - it becomes an efficient loop system. There’s no trophy for this work, no highlight on CV. But the real reward is a life that is truly mine and a self that I express fully, see deeply, intimately.
Thank you for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comment section. It would mean a lot to me.
If you enjoy my writing, feel free to check out my book about healing:
