After 2 big breakups, I sold my stuff and moved to Rome. It didn’t fix my problems, but I found a new version of myself.

• By 30, I’d been through two failed long-term relationships and hit rock bottom. So, I moved to Rome.
• Once the thrill of a new life wore off, I realized I couldn’t run from my problems by moving.
• The experience made me stronger, and I found an independent version of myself I’d never known.

I spent most of my 20s committed to building a life I thought would last.

I’d grown up in the late ’80s and ’90s, peak Disney-princess era, certain I’d have the complete fantasy: the husband, the house, and maybe a baby or two by that age.

Instead, I marked my 30th birthday with two failed long-term relationships. The life I pictured had vanished, boxes checked then overturned … or never checked at all.

As I hit rock bottom, I realized I could stay there or climb out by doing a complete upheaval of my life. So, I sold or gave away nearly everything I owned that couldn’t fit inside two suitcases.

Then, I booked a one-way ticket from the US to Rome, convinced that a new city and lots of gelato could fix all the parts of me that felt broken.

The thrilling rush of a new life didn’t last

I’m embarrassed to admit I arrived with an “Eat, Pray, Love” fantasy. I pictured my problems dissolving one bowl of pasta at a time.

And for that first summer, life almost matched the movie in my head: pizza every day without gaining a pound, long afternoons at the beach, evenings swept up in new friendships and the thrill of a city that truly did seem like a postcard.

But as summer turned to fall, the novelty thinned. Friends returned to their routines. I spent more time alone: mornings in cafés with a cappuccino and cornetto, solo walks through dimly lit piazzas, and long hours at my international teaching job.

With the distractions of my old life gone and the rush of a new one fading, the questions I’d been avoiding caught up with me: Who was I without a partner? Why had I jumped from one relationship to the next without ever learning to be alone?

Being thousands of miles from the familiar left me with no escape routes, no friends to call on a whim, and no routines to hide inside.

I realized it wasn’t just heartbreak I’d been trying to run from. I’d been avoiding the ache of an absent father, a deep lack of self-worth, and a constant need for approval to fill the void where self-love should have been.

In the end, Rome couldn’t rescue me, erase my past, or solve all my issues — but it could give me the space, clarity, and the courage to focus on myself.

Moving didn’t fix my problems, but it helped me meet a new version of myself

“Wherever you go, there you are” is a saying that usually comes as a warning, a reminder that you can’t outrun yourself or your problems, no matter how far you travel.

During my time abroad, though, I learned it can also be a promise.

In a new place, you might meet parts of yourself you’ve never seen before, ones that only emerge once you’ve stepped outside the patterns of your old life.

Obviously, my struggles followed me to Italy, but so did a version of myself I’d never met, and it took moving abroad to finally find her.

In Rome, I met the woman who could navigate a foreign city alone, fumble through a new language, and find her place in a crowded piazza without needing anyone beside her.

I learned to love myself; to sit at a café and feel perfectly content with nothing but a plate of cacio e pepe, an Aperol spritz, and my own company.

Finally, I realized I had the power to choose what came next.

Italy wouldn’t be my forever home, but my time there pushed me to build a life as a devoted solo traveler, open to whatever place calls me. After all, wherever I go, there I am.

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