I’d always heard that your 30s are better than your 20s – that you become more confident, more grounded, and finally start finding your path in life. Well, earlier this month, I turned 30… and it was the worst birthday I’ve ever had – one I won’t forget anytime soon. Just days before, a dream I’d carried for years came crashing down. My plan to move to Tunø, the dream I’d poured everything into, was suddenly and irreversibly gone. This wasn’t how I imagined the start of a new decade.
There’s a lot that could be said about what happened on the island – and plenty already has been. Stories have been twisted, and lies and rumours have spread like wildfire. So I want to tell my side. Not because I owe it to anyone, but because I owe it to myself. For closure. For clarity. For peace of mind.
In January, I signed a contract to become the new grocer on Tunø. The plan was to take over the shop on April 1st, and the two months that followed were a whirlwind of preparation. Before I signed, I had three meetings with the board that manages the property I was going to lease. They met me with encouragement, support, and what felt like genuine excitement. Despite the building being in rough condition – with revolting bathrooms, faulty sockets, punctured windows, damaged shop equipment, fire and safety hazards, and generally poor cleanliness – I was reassured, multiple times, that everything would be fixed and ready in time.
I believed them. I trusted their word. So I signed the contract and started investing in my future – laying the groundwork for the business, reaching out to vendors, setting up agreements, and buying furniture for both the private living space and the café area. I wasn’t just starting a business; I was building a life.
I always knew it would be a tough job – especially doing it alone, when every previous leaseholder had been part of a couple. But I told myself I could handle it. With the board’s support and my family behind me, I believed I’d be okay. And honestly, I still think I would’ve been… if only I hadn’t trusted the wrong people. I’ve always been a little naive, open-hearted to a fault. And unfortunately, some people saw that not as something to respect, but as something to exploit – or at least, they tried.
Amid all the planning and preparation, a quiet unease began to creep in. Weeks passed, and the repairs that had been promised never started. I followed up again and again, trying to stay patient, trying to hold onto hope. I wanted to believe they’d keep their word. I needed to believe it.
Everything fell apart on March 30th.
I had come to the island for a final move-in inspection, unaware of what was waiting for me. After two intense months of preparation, I felt nothing but excitement. I was happy, proud and fulfilled. I had upheld every part of my end of the agreement.
But the moment I stepped inside the building, my heart sank. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Nothing had been done. Not a single room had been cleaned. And aside from one floor and some of the punctured windows being replaced, the property was untouched. All the promises, all the reassurances – they had meant nothing.
I was supposed to bring over my furniture just five days later, but the private living space wasn’t even fit for mice (though they had clearly made themselves at home). I raised my concerns to the board immediately and tried to find a way forward. The shop was meant to open twelve days later, but looking around, I knew it was impossible. The condition of the property made it unsafe, unhygienic, and completely unworkable – especially for a business that would be selling food. The mouse infestation alone should’ve been enough to halt everything.
I suggested pushing the opening date to May to give us time to make the necessary repairs. But the board wouldn’t hear of it. They insisted the shop had to open for Easter, no matter what. Instead of meeting me halfway, they offered a “solution”: I could skip the deposit of around 40,000 DKK – in exchange for taking on all the repairs myself. We’re talking about a building over 300 square metres, with structural, sanitary, and electrical issues everywhere. Fixing it would’ve cost hundreds of thousands of DKK and taken me months – maybe years – not to mention the impossibility of doing all that while simultaneously trying to run a grocery store. Honestly, they might as well have laughed in my face.
After a lot of soul-searching, I came to a difficult conclusion: I couldn’t go through with leasing the grocery store after all. I felt betrayed. Any trust I once had in the board had gone right out the same punctured windows they’d promised to fix. Still, I wasn’t ready to give up completely. I proposed a compromise – if the board created a company to lease and manage the store themselves, I would run it as an employee. I still wanted to be the island’s grocer, to serve the community, but I couldn’t shoulder the financial burden of a deteriorating property plagued with mice and managed by a board that had proven unreliable and unwilling to take responsibility. Unfortunately, that solution didn’t work out. The board wasn’t interested in taking on the responsibility they’d tried so hard to push onto me.
So, I knew what I had to do to protect myself from further stress and emotional and financial harm. As painful, humiliating, and heartbreaking as it was, I walked away. I gave it up entirely. I lost a lot – money, time, energy. But what cut deepest was losing faith in my ability to read people. That trust I’d always placed in others so freely… now came with a cost I never expected.
Now, I find myself once again trying to navigate the uncertainty of what comes next. It feels like an identity crisis – I’m not sure who I am anymore, or who I want to be. The island I had dreamed of since childhood, the place I thought I’d grow old in, now feels completely out of reach.
The way some islanders treated me after word spread that I wouldn’t be the grocer left me feeling exiled – cast out without anyone bothering to ask for my side of the story. I stayed a little while longer, still clinging to the hope that maybe, somehow, I could make it work. I was even offered another job on the island. But nothing felt right. No matter where I went, I felt eyes on me – judging, questioning, assuming. My dream was slipping through my fingers, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I knew I had to leave. I needed space – to gain perspective, to breathe, to begin healing. Not just from the loss of a dream, but from the loss of myself.
With the love and support of my family and friends, I slowly began to find my footing again. I still mourn the island, that version of my future I was so certain of. But more than anything, I feel relief that I got out when I did. Looking back, it’s clear that I would’ve been completely alone – left to carry the weight of every responsibility, even those the board had once promised to handle.
A few days ago, the board announced they’d found a couple to take over the grocery store. Naturally, the islanders felt relieved – and honestly, so did I. The future of the grocery store was secured, and with that, I could finally start letting go of all the “what ifs” that had been circling in my mind. But along with that relief came a fresh wave of grief. The pain of loss, the sting of betrayal – it all came rushing back. From a distance, I watched as the board asked for volunteers to help clean and prepare the property for the new couple’s arrival. They even shared that professionals had been brought in to fix up the private residence. Reading that felt like a punch to the gut. The same support I had begged for was now given freely to someone else.
Still, I’m truly glad a solution was found quickly – for the sake of the island, and for myself. Closure, however bittersweet, is still closure.
And as it happened, the very same day I heard the news, I made a decision about my own next step. I booked a cabin in the middle of nowhere in Sweden for the entire month of May. It’s quiet, tucked away in nature, and I plan to spend the month doing everything I’ve put off for too long: writing articles I’ve been sitting on, taking long walks with Minnie, reading, painting, eating well, sleeping deeply – just resting my tired mind and body. I think it’s exactly what I need to begin healing while I figure out what to do with my life.
I still don’t know what the future holds for me. The life I had envisioned on Tunø, the one I was building, blew up in my face. But no matter what, the island will always be a part of me. It’s a love that lingers, one that I fear may never fade. So, I will visit, but I doubt I’ll ever consider making it home again.
Now, I have to find a new place for my heart to settle, somewhere Minnie and I can truly thrive. I think I’m going to take the rest of this year to figure out what’s next, to really listen to what I need and want. By the end of the year, I hope to have a clearer idea of where I’m heading, but who knows? This whole experience has shown me how little we can control in life, how uncertain everything really is.
But maybe – just maybe – my 30s will be the decade where I finally find my path. I’m holding onto that hope, even if I don’t have all the answers just yet.
♬…Oh, I’m just a girl trying to find a place in this world…♬
– Taylor Swift, my eternal inspiration
Leave a Comment