This was one of the details that stood out in the latest report by the Samaritans of Singapore, which revealed that 314 people in Singapore took their own lives in 2024.
Numbers can rise and fall year to year, but adults aged 30 to 39 now make up almost a quarter of all suicides here. That can’t be explained by population growth alone. It reflects how heavy life can feel in this middle decade.
We like to imagine the 30s as a “prime” decade. Careers should be secure and growing, families are forming, health is still on our side. For many, this image does not match reality. Instead, the 30s can feel like a decade of colliding responsibilities.
Helplines
Mental well-being
National helpline: 1771 (24 hours) / 6669-1771 (via WhatsApp)
Samaritans of Singapore: 1-767 (24 hours) / 9151-1767 (24 hours CareText via WhatsApp)
Singapore Association for Mental Health: 1800-283-7019
Silver Ribbon Singapore: 6386-1928
Chat, Centre of Excellence for Youth Mental Health: 6493-6500/1
Women’s Helpline (Aware): 1800-777-5555 (weekdays, 10am to 6pm)
The Seniors Helpline: 1800-555-5555 (weekdays, 9am to 5pm)
Counselling
Touchline (Counselling): 1800-377-2252
Touch Care Line (for caregivers): 6804-6555
Counselling and Care Centre: 6536-6366
We Care Community Services: 3165-8017
Shan You Counselling Centre: 6741-9293
Clarity Singapore: 6757-7990
Online resources
mindline.sg/fsmh
eC2.sg
tinklefriend.sg
chat.mentalhealth.sg
carey.carecorner.org.sg (for those aged 13 to 25)
limitless.sg/talk (for those aged 12 to 25)
shanyou.org.sg
The private worlds of the 30s
A man wakes up, puts on his office clothes and boards the MRT as usual. He lost his job months ago but has not told his spouse. He spends the day in a library, scrolling through job ads, rehearsing imaginary interviews and wondering how much longer he can keep up the act.
A mother leaves work on time each day to fetch her children from childcare. She smiles at the gate, chats with other parents, and goes home to cook, feed, bathe and coax the kids to bed. She is also caring for her father-in-law with dementia. After the house is quiet, she sits on the kitchen floor and cries, convinced that she cannot keep going.
A person picks up the spouse’s phone and sees a string of messages confirming a relationship with someone else. The next day, it’s about going through the motions – nods in meetings, replies to e-mails, and forcing a smile when colleagues ask about family. That night, the person spends an hour in the carpark, staring at the dark dashboard, unsure how to walk back into a life that now feels like a lie.
These stories are not rare. They are lived silently in homes across the island. Suicide often seems sudden to outsiders, but it is usually the final impulsive chapter of a long, quiet, heart-wrenching battle.
Work is often the sharpest edge. The 30s are often the years of chasing promotions, trying to stay relevant in a fast-changing economy or bracing yourself for layoffs. Some push through long hours while quietly fearing stagnation.
Finances loom large. Mortgages and car loans need to be paid. Some are supporting younger children while also facing the cost of ageing parents. Others are still recovering from failed ventures or unexpected debts.
Relationships add their own weight. Marriage, divorce or the heartbreak of a long-term relationship ending can leave deep scars. Parenthood, if it comes, is a blessing that often arrives with exhaustion.
Men and women in their 30s carry the same heavy load, though often in different ways.
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Men, women, and the ways we cope
Of the 314 suicides in 2024, 202 were men. This pattern is seen worldwide: Men die by suicide more often, though women attempt more frequently. Psychiatrists call this the “gender paradox” of suicide.
Men in Singapore are still raised in a culture that prizes self-reliance. The unspoken lesson is to solve problems alone, to protect one’s pride and avoid appearing weak.
Many hesitate to tell a friend or family member how much they are struggling. Even when someone notices, they often say “I’m fine”, because admitting despair feels like failure. When a man does attempt suicide, he is more likely to use a lethal method. A single impulsive act, often fuelled by shame or alcohol, can be fatal.
Women carry a different burden. Many juggle work with caregiving for children and parents. They may face postnatal depression, the loneliness of single parenting, or the slow erosion of confidence from an emotionally abusive relationship.
Women tend to reach out for help earlier, confiding in friends, siblings or colleagues. But reaching out does not always mean receiving support. Social networks can be thin, and not every story of struggle is met with understanding.
The stressors themselves are often similar: work insecurity, financial strain, relationship breakdowns and the exhaustion of caregiving. What differs is how pain is expressed, how it is hidden and how society responds.
Spotting people at risk in their 30s is hard. Life at this stage is busy, compartmentalised and often lonely. Adults can hide distress behind routines. Social circles shrink as university friends drift away and colleagues remain at the level of casual banter.
The early signs are subtle, and detection relies on small acts of noticing. But many of us hesitate to ask twice if someone is okay. Sometimes we do not want to intrude. Sometimes we fear the answer.
Prevention must happen where adults live and work
Often, prevention is spoken of in the context of crisis lines. But if we want to save lives in this age group, we need to reach people where they spend their time: mainly workplaces and community spaces. It is about building human connection and a net of layers before a crisis hits.
The first layer is awareness.
We need campaigns showing that suicide can happen to ordinary men and women in their 30s, and that seeking help is an act of strength, not shame. They should also show real stories in familiar local settings, such as coffee shops, gyms and offices, which could help people see themselves and their loved ones in the message.
Awareness opens the door to prevention.
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In the UK, Norwich City Football Club released a short film for World Mental Health Day. It followed two male friends through a football season.
One seemed withdrawn and lonely, the other cheerful and outgoing. Viewers assumed the quiet man would die by suicide. In the final scene, it was the smiling friend who took his life.
The film went viral, with more than 300 million views and thousands reaching out to Samaritans for help. Its strength lay in meeting men where they were: in a football culture they understood, while dismantling stereotypes about who might be at risk.
The second layer is workplaces, where adults spend most of their time.
Workplaces are a natural front line. Managers are often the first to notice absenteeism, slipping performance or withdrawal. Companies can create safer environments by:
• Training managers to recognise distress and respond without judgment;
• Offering confidential counselling through Employee Assistance Programmes (EAPs);
• Normalising mental health days and check-ins; and
• Encouraging peer support, so colleagues quietly look out for one another.
Men, in particular, benefit when emotional conversations are normalised in settings they already trust. Women may find support in parenting or caregiving networks, but many still need spaces where they can admit burnout without shame.
Managers can learn to spot withdrawal or sudden changes, respond with empathy and connect staff to support like counselling or EAPs.
The third layer is community support. Parenting groups, gyms, alumni networks and neighbourhood activities can be lifelines, especially when they make space for honest conversations. Men often need encouragement to talk; women need safe, non-judgmental spaces to share burnout and emotional pain.
The fourth layer is people themselves.
Friends, siblings and colleagues are often the first to notice someone slipping away. Simple skills, like asking if someone is okay, listening without judgment and knowing where to guide them, can save lives.
The net must include professional and crisis services like the Samaritans, general practitioners and mental health professionals. When the other layers guide someone to this level early, the chance of survival rises sharply.
A quiet call to action
The reality is that a net like this is not built overnight.
It is stitched together by thousands of small human actions: a manager who checks in, a neighbour who asks twice, a friend who offers to accompany someone to counselling. These layers of connection, repeated across society, keep people tethered to life.
Even as suicides among people in their 30s rise, there is hope. Behind every number is a life that can still be saved, and prevention does not belong to experts alone. It belongs to all of us.
We cannot assume someone else will step in. A culture where it is safe to speak up, and where reaching out is seen as courage, can save lives.
If we notice, if we ask, and if we care enough to act, we become part of the net that keeps people tethered to life.
No one should have to carry the weight of their 30s, or any stage of life, alone. Together, we can make sure they do not.
Dr Jared Ng is a psychiatrist in private practice and a board member of Samaritans of Singapore, where he supports community efforts in suicide prevention.
Gasper Tan is chief executive of Samaritans of Singapore, leading its crisis support, volunteer network and public education initiatives.
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