I quit my job to travel the world. About 18 months later, I realized living abroad isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

At the end of 2022, after a year of living together, my boyfriend broke up with me. I’d built my life around him, even taking a marketing job in Colorado to move in together. I was shattered.

I was stuck at a job I wasn’t excited about and found myself with nowhere to go. I knew I needed a change, but I wasn’t sure what that could look like.

Shortly after the breakup, I called my best friend Megan, an English teacher in Madrid. We’d always dreamed of backpacking together, but the timing had never worked out — until now.

She had the summer off, and I was suddenly untethered. So, I saved every penny, quit my job, and set off for Madrid in June 2023.

At first, the trip was everything I could have dreamed of

The first few months were magical, as my “Eat, Pray, Love” fantasy came to life.

We spent our days savoring tapas in Madrid, biking through Copenhagen, and hiking the Path of the Gods on the Amalfi Coast.

I rarely thought about the breakup, but when I did, the pain was buried beneath the next breathtaking view or plate of paella.

After Europe, we headed to Asia — meditating with monks in Thailand, riding mopeds through Vietnam’s mountains, and dancing with strangers in Japanese nightclubs.

Eventually, though, Megan returned to Europe, and I stayed behind in Taiwan to live with relatives.

I ended up staying another six months to take care of my sick grandma. She was in need of constant attention, and I was determined to help support my family and soak in what could be our last moments together.

Although I was grateful to be of service, caretaking was emotionally draining. It was clear that I was no longer on summer vacation — I was drowning in diapers and desperation.

In February 2024, I left Taiwan, ready to end my journey abroad, and bought a plane ticket from Bangkok to Chicago. I wanted to make one final stop at Koh Phangan, a small island in Thailand, to visit a friend. From there, I’d fly back home.

Arriving on the island was a whirlwind. Every day, I met backpackers on the beach, swam in the sea, and wrote in coffee shops. For the first time in a while, I felt free, confident, and joyful.

Daily activities included singing with friends, savoring mango sticky rice, and dancing in the jungle. I ended up falling in love with the lifestyle. I flew back home only to pack up my stuff and move back to Koh Phangan.

However, money quickly became tight. I picked up odd jobs — verifying votes for the Associated Press and even acting as an extra on “The White Lotus.”

I tried to become a freelance travel writer as a means to support myself but I had no idea where to start. Soon, I felt burnt out and was spending more time on Netflix than at the beach.

As my income dwindled, so did my mental health. I felt like a failure, unable to accomplish my big dreams of living abroad. By fall, I sank into a depression, worsened by watching tourists relaxing on their dream getaways. I was a ghost of the person I was when I first arrived.

By winter, I finally accepted that the adventure had run its course. On Christmas Eve 2024, I landed at O’Hare Airport, where my parents picked me up for a cozy night of board games and karaoke.

Coming back home was healing for me

What began as an escape from heartache became a transformative 18-month journey.

I reconnected with family, made friends around the world, and found a new sense of independence. Moving back home was a culture shock — but it gave me space to process everything I’d been through.

At times, I felt embarrassed for coming back, but as my mental health improved, I realized it was for the best.

I found a stable job, rebuilt a support network — from old and new connections — and developed a routine that integrates everything I learned: meditating, writing, dancing, and practicing yoga.

At home, I’ve found joy in the comfort of everyday life — in quiet walks with my parents, picnics with my best friends, and working on my writing every day. I thrive when I have a stable routine filled with moments of creativity.

I’ll never stop traveling, but instead of constantly moving, I now take shorter trips. It’s nice to enjoy each destination without the stress of a daily grind.

Now, after a few months of being settled, I’m in a much better place for growth than I ever was on the road. And little by little, I’m facing the grief I once tried to outrun.

The post I quit my job to travel the world. About 18 months later, I realized living abroad isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. appeared first on Business Insider.