Growing Pains and Glowing Up: A Glow-Up Journey After Depression and Heartbreak

There’s a side of the glow-up no one talks about—the quiet kind, the gritty kind, the kind that happens in the shadows when no one’s watching. This is the story of becoming—not just more beautiful, but more whole—after heartbreak, depression, and a season that nearly swallowed me. ✿

The growing pains of glowing up

No one tells you that glowing up can hurt. It’s not all bubble baths and solo dates in the city. It’s not the perfect morning routine, iced matcha and a manicure, or an Instagram-worthy life with sunsets over Manhattan and a closet full of designer clothes.

It’s hard—sometimes excruciating. Progress is slow. Motivation eludes. There are days you want to give up entirely. But you keep going, because the alternative is losing yourself—and somewhere deep inside, you still believe the woman you’re becoming is worth fighting for.

For me, the process of becoming—of reclaiming my beauty, my voice, my power after heartbreak, depression, and spiritual devastation—has been one of the hardest battles of my life. This glow-up isn’t about surface-level aesthetics. It’s about survival. It’s about piecing myself back together after losing my confidence, my radiance, and the sense of self I once held so tightly.

At first, I started glowing up for all the wrong reasons.

I just wanted to feel pretty again. I missed the confidence I had when my skin was clear, when the mirror didn’t feel like an enemy. I wanted the glow I worked so hard for to come back—literally and metaphorically. But lately, my reasons have shifted.

I’m 30 now. And while I know it’s not old, it feels like a turning point. I wasted so much of my twenties trying to survive, stuck in cycles I couldn’t see clearly until now, though the wreckage still gets clouded by shame and regret. I’m trying to live differently. I don’t want to let the rest of my youth slip through my fingers. Back then, I never thought about time. Never really understood how short and sacred life is. But something about heartbreak, illness, and watching the years stack up changes you. You start to feel the urgency. You start to realize your dreams won’t chase themselves.

After my breakup, everything unraveled. My mental health collapsed. My joy vanished. I lost the essence of who I was. My ex-boyfriend had already chipped away at me, but it was what came after that nearly broke me. The aftermath was like walking through smoke—nothing felt solid. My skin changed. My glow faded. My personality hardened into something brittle and unfamiliar. No amount of rest could soothe the ache in my bones. And the hobbies that once brought me joy began to feel like reminders of the person I used to be, someone I wasn’t sure I’d find again.

Then one day, I decided to go to the gym again. At the time, just going outside felt monumental. I had spent so long in isolation that I was inching toward agoraphobia. It was late February, and I had been in bed for weeks—watching YouTube, going through the motions, feeling no real ambition for my life. I had just turned 30. I was depressed, directionless, and unsure how to navigate a new decade that was supposed to feel like a beginning.

Then I cleaned my apartment for the first time in months.
Then I opened my laptop and started writing for my blog again.
The hardest part was starting. It took everything I had left—every nerve, every shred of willpower—to get back up.

But I did.

At first, it was just to feel like myself again. To recapture the glow I had lost. That glow that once came from dewy skin and a quiet confidence. As if clear skin and carefully chosen outfits could rebuild the parts of me that had cracked under the weight of grief.

How to Stay Consistent on Your Glow-Up Journey When Motivation Fades

I’ve been going to the gym consistently for almost three months now, and there have been plenty of days when staying home and watching YouTube felt far more appealing than doing chest presses or walking on the treadmill. There were days I skipped—sometimes several in a row. Yet, I chose not to give in to the resistance and give up altogether.

Some days, I breeze through my workout ritual—catching the bus, walking through the mall, getting my daily exercise, and coming home feeling refreshed. But on others, it takes every nerve in my body just to move.

Getting out of bed is hard enough—let alone leaving the house, pushing through a workout, and pretending I feel strong when I don’t.

One more rep.

One more motivational playlist.

One more mile on the treadmill.

Some days, that’s the fight—and finishing the workout feels like winning my life back inch by inch.

This is the fight in every part of my life. The nights when the temptation to fall asleep battles my desire to keep my skincare ritual. The days when I choose to eat, even when I’d rather not. The afternoons I wrestle to focus and write for my blog instead of losing another hour to scrolling Reddit. The moments when I want to give up and collapse into the depression—but choose to stand up anyway.
Even if it’s just to wash my face, make a meal, or write one honest sentence, these small habits are how I’m rebuilding my life from the inside out.

I’m starting to realize that maybe the resistance to self-discipline never really goes away. Maybe it’s not a sign that something’s wrong—but that I’m heading in the right direction. Resistance, I’m learning, comes with the territory. It’s part of growth. Part of becoming. And glowing up—truly glowing up—isn’t easy. It requires consistency, patience, and showing up long before you see results.

There are days I wonder if it will ever get easier. If one morning I’ll wake up and the dread will be gone, the doubt quieted, the weight lifted. But I don’t wait for that day to come. I act anyway. Even when I don’t feel like it. Even when life piles on, when I’m tired, uninspired, and unsure if any of it will matter. I act not because I’m certain, but because I refuse to stay where I was.

Brick by brick, day by day, I’m rebuilding my life—and in the process, rediscovering a version of myself who’s not just healing, but stronger and more resilient than the woman I used to be.

Why Creating a Daily Rituals Can Support Your Mental Health and Glow-Up Goals

Redefining routines for mental health has been a saving grace. I don’t call them routines anymore—I call them rituals for self-care. Routines feel dull, obligatory. Rituals feel sacred, like small acts of devotion to the woman I’m becoming.

My rituals are the things I return to—not because they’re magical, but because they ground me and remind me how I want to feel. I don’t follow them perfectly. Some days I skip them entirely. Other days, life interrupts and pulls me off course. But no matter what, I come back—because returning imperfectly is still better than disappearing entirely.

•   Washing my face at night, even when I’m exhausted
•   Going to the gym, even if my feet drag on the way there
•   Making myself a healthy breakfast instead of skipping the meal
•   Putting on eyeliner for confidence whenever I feel daring
•   Writing for my blog, even if no one sees it
•   Painting when my inner critic torments me with doubt
•   Getting dressed at home like I have somewhere to go—even if it’s just the living room
•   Making a nourishing dinner when I can’t be bothered to cook or wash dishes after

None of these things are glamorous. But they tether me to something real. They remind me that I’m trying. That I haven’t given up. Every tiny habit builds momentum—slowly, quietly, until one day you realize you’re no longer surviving, you’re becoming.

My rituals add a natural rhythm to my day—steadying me, softening the edges. They’ve been the best thing I’ve done for myself since the depression hit last fall.

Mornings start quietly: writing for my blog with coffee and a protein smoothie in hand.
By 1 p.m., I’m at the gym—moving through each set like a woman on a mission.
I wash my face in the locker room afterward, smoothing on snail mucin and moisturizing cream like armor made of silk.

Dinner usually comes around 6:30.
I chop carrots and shred chicken to the sound of YouTube videos,
the golden hour sun spilling across the counter like something sacred.

I eat with a seltzer in hand, followed by a slow walk around the neighborhood.
Then it’s my night skincare ritual—
the final exhale of the day—
before falling asleep to the comfort of another video playing softly in the dark.

Without my rituals, I don’t think this glow-up would be possible. Maybe it could happen another way—but not like this. Not as gently. Not as real. There’s a consistency that feels sustainable.

Glowing up in your 30s can feel like an emotional roller coaster—sometimes with more lows than highs. The milestones are thrilling, yes, but the setbacks can be crushing. What makes it bearable—what makes it beautiful—are my rituals. They steady me. They soften the fall. They remind me that becoming your best self isn’t always loud or visible. Sometimes, it’s quiet. Sometimes, it’s just choosing not to give up.

And somewhere along the way, in the middle of all that resistance, I started catching glimpses of her—the woman I’m becoming.

Becoming Her: Healing, Self-Discovery, and Becoming The Woman Of My Dreams

I don’t know exactly who I’m becoming, but I catch glimpses of her throughout my day. She’s the woman who shows up to the gym even during depression. The one who moves through her sets despite the anxiety, despite wanting to go home. She’s learning patience with her reflection—letting go of the urge to rush the process, finding peace in the journey instead. She’s the woman who still paints, even when fear whispers that it’s not good enough. She paints anyways because the act of creating feels like coming home. She writes for her blog, even when no one’s watching—showing up for her dream before there’s even an audience. She moves in silence now, releasing the need to be seen. She dresses up again, practices self-care, wears makeup because she loves it, tends to her haircare routine after months of neglect. She gets up every morning and meets the day, pushing through the demands, the detours, and the resistance that still feels like walking through a storm.

Self-love is more than chasing aesthetics. It’s more than the perfect outfit, flawless skin, or a life curated for Instagram. It’s becoming a version of myself who fell apart—and still came back together, stronger than before. It’s becoming the woman who rises, even when life tries to keep her down. The one who rebuilds with tenderness. Who dares to believe she still has a future, even when the past nearly swallowed her whole. Depression couldn’t keep her down and neither could the breakup that almost destroyed everything.

I catch glimpses of her—and I’m learning to appreciate those glimpses, even when they’re brief. Even when they flicker and fade. Even when I’m sitting in darkness or crying my eyes out with a sheet mask on. I want to sit with the feeling of becoming, to let those moments of confidence, clarity, and softness sink in. I want to feel what it’s like to be her… until I am her. Not all at once. Not perfectly. But piece by piece, day by day. She’s waiting for me in the future—and with each step, I move toward her. No matter how slowly. No matter how imperfectly.

Resisting the Urge to Quit: Real Talk on Slow Progress and Discipline

I’m learning that the glow up journey is about choosing to stay with yourself when it would be easier to walk away—to love yourself through the failures, and to keep moving forward even when quitting feels like the better option.

Some mornings, I wake up and want to give up before my feet even touch the floor. I get to the gym, push through the first set, and feel the urge to leave before I finish the second. I catch a glimpse of my reflection—skin healing from tretinoin purge—and the discouragement threatens to unravel me. That’s the part influencers don’t show you: the days when motivation dries up like a well in drought, when fitness discipline feels like dragging your soul uphill, and when showing up doesn’t look like much—but costs everything.

There was one day in early April—midway through a set of glute bridges, music blasting in my headphones, motivation nowhere to be found—when I froze. My body felt heavy. My mind even heavier. The voices in my head screamed for me to quit. Brain fog rolled in like a stormcloud. So I did. I left the gym and sat on a bench in the mall’s lower mezzanine for ten full minutes, torn between going home or going back. Eventually, I stood up. I went back. I crawled through the rest of the workout, each rep a battle—but I finished it. I showed up anyway. And that counted more than I realized at the time.

That moment stays with me. Because when I feel discouraged now, I try to remember how far I’ve come—not in dramatic milestones, but in quiet, unphotographed moments like that one. The days I showed up when I didn’t want to. The nights I kept my skincare routine even while half-asleep. The workouts for mental health I did with a heavy heart and shaking limbs. It’s easy to forget those small victories when all you can see are your flaws. It’s easy to chase the next benchmark and overlook the beauty in slow progress that can’t be measured.

So I remind myself: this is the journey. And the journey is a gift.

I don’t have to—I get to.

That shift in language has been life-changing. When results from glowing up are slow, when other people seem to glide through life effortlessly, when comparison creeps in and gratitude slips away, I try to return to my own path. Because my path, as winding and cracked as it may be, is sacred. The setbacks, the detours, the relapses—they shape me just as much as the triumphs do.

Glowing up after depression isn’t always graceful. It’s not just soft light and skincare and curated style. Sometimes it’s gritty. Sometimes it’s ugly. Sometimes it’s getting up off the floor with nothing but hope and stubbornness. But after heartbreak, after surviving what was meant to take me out—glowing up becomes less of a trend and more of a lifeline.

What It Really Means to Glow Up Mentally and Emotionally

Maybe the glow-up isn’t a destination at all. Maybe it’s a series of quiet choices—to keep going, to keep becoming, to keep loving the woman you’re still learning how to be. Maybe the real glow-up isn’t about flawless skin or a perfectly curated wardrobe. Maybe it’s about emotional resilience, self-love in your 30s, and learning how to glow up mentally—especially on the days you feel anything but beautiful.

The woman in the mirror isn’t perfect. She never will be.
But she’s still here. Still trying. Still healing.
And I’m beginning to understand—that’s more than enough.