The day my divorce papers were finalized, I felt a combination of relief, grief, and a strange sense of possibility. My life in California was suddenly wide open, and I figured the best place to fill that void was somewhere more foreign, more exotic. I’d always had this notion that a tropical island—Bali in particular—was an oasis where problems simply vanished amid coconut trees and yoga retreats.
I was convinced a change of scenery would fix everything: the unrelenting heartbreak, the stress, the sense of failure. So I booked my one-way ticket, packed a suitcase with barely enough clothes to last a week, and flew off to paradise.
But while Bali is beautiful, it’s not a magic cure-all. What it offers in postcard-worthy sunsets, it challenges in unexpected ways. As I quickly learned, no matter how far you fly, you can’t outrun your own mind.
Below, I’ll share some observations and personal reflections on what it’s really like to move abroad to escape heartache—why it’s not as glamorous as you might think, and how to navigate the ups and downs of “starting over” in paradise.
The initial illusion of escape
At first, I was riding a dopamine high. It was all about the newness: the vibrant markets, the colorful ceremonies, the smell of incense drifting through the streets of Ubud. If you’ve ever visited Bali, you know the initial rush I’m talking about—the sense that you’re walking in a dream, with every corner revealing something unknown and intriguing.
Add to that my personal circumstances: I was on the rebound from a broken, toxic marriage, and Bali seemed like the perfect place to forget everything that had happened back in California. Maybe if I kept busy with surf lessons in Canggu and sunrise hikes up Mount Batur, the old pain couldn’t catch me.
This is a classic form of escapism. We think if we shift our external environment dramatically enough, the internal turmoil we’re dealing with will dissolve. But as I quickly discovered, no matter how many mango smoothies you drink on the beach, your personal baggage still tags along. Sometimes you just find new ways to ignore it—until it shows up again in the quiet moments.
Reality beyond the beach
There’s an odd gap between the Bali you see on Instagram and the Bali where you actually end up living. On social media, it’s all infinity pools and villas. In real life, you eventually have to deal with wifi outages, visa extensions, motorbike repairs, and the occasional run-in with Bali belly.
What I experienced is that daily life in paradise still requires routine, discipline, and a stable mindset. I know, discipline sounds like an unromantic buzzkill. But one thing I learned in my ex-digital-marketer life is that illusions can only last so long without a solid foundation to support them.
When you move to a new country, you’re suddenly responsible for figuring out how to pay bills in a foreign currency, how to communicate your needs in a language you may not speak fluently, and how to navigate cultural norms that might feel completely unfamiliar. It can be exhilarating one minute and incredibly isolating the next.
To add to that, I was in a weird headspace from the divorce. Part of me wanted to never look back; another part of me felt deeply alone, homesick, and unmoored. That tension between wanting to immerse myself in a new life and missing the old one created a mental roller coaster that I hadn’t expected.
Facing my own baggage head-on
One of the strangest moments I had was during a silent retreat I signed up for on a whim. I’d heard great things about it: detox, yoga, meditation, all set against the lush backdrop of rice terraces. I pictured myself returning from that retreat with the clarity of a monk.
What happened instead was that being silent for days on end forced me to confront every single unresolved emotion I had regarding my marriage, my career path, and my self-worth. It was brutal.
Desperation can be a great motivator. It was exactly in those silent hours that I finally admitted to myself that my divorce felt like more than just a relationship failure—it felt like a personal failure. I had tied my identity to being half of a partnership. Now that it was gone, I didn’t quite know who I was.
I see now that my expectations of magical healing in a land of palm trees were more about burying those tough emotions than truly working through them. Sometimes you need that forced introspection to realize that heartbreak follows you wherever you go if you haven’t dealt with it. No matter how beautiful your surroundings, if your mind is tangled, it’s going to stay tangled until you face it.
Why community and connection matter
After the silent retreat, I did the opposite of isolating: I started connecting with the local community—both locals and expats. It’s something I’ve mentioned before in a previous post on building community abroad, but it was more relevant than ever in Bali, a place where so many foreigners come to “find themselves.”
I joined a co-working space, met other digital nomads, and actually started to form some real friendships. I was learning from people who were also there to heal from various life upheavals or who simply wanted a different pace. Some folks were building startups, others were freelance writers or artists.
Human beings are social creatures, and as Dale Carnegie famously wrote, “You can make more friends in two months by becoming interested in other people than you can in two years by trying to get people interested in you.” That nugget of wisdom never rang truer to me than in Bali, where genuine curiosity about someone else’s journey and cultural background often opened doors to deeper connections.
Talking, sharing stories, and comparing experiences of heartbreak or major life transitions was like group therapy—only with better views. Over time, those connections helped me realize that heartbreak is a universal experience, and it doesn’t define you unless you let it.
Finding new perspective through local culture
There’s a unique spirituality woven into daily life in Bali. From the small daily offerings placed on sidewalks to the grand ceremonies at local temples, spirituality is visible everywhere. At first, I just thought it was neat. But as I spent more time engaging with local traditions—learning a bit of the language, talking with Balinese friends—I started picking up on a more profound lesson about acceptance and balance.
In Bali, the locals clearly prioritize family, community, and spirituality. There’s a calmness in the way they go about their day, as though they’ve decided what truly matters and structure life around those things.
For me, that was a reminder that I needed to evaluate my own priorities. My divorce had thrown all my past assumptions into chaos, but I’d been so busy throwing myself into “island life” that I hadn’t asked what I wanted my new life to look like. Once I started focusing on the values that truly mattered to me—well-being, connection, creativity—I found an anchor amidst the uncertainty. That didn’t solve all my problems, but it gave me a reason to wake up with a clearer sense of purpose.
At the end of the day, you can’t run from heartbreak
Major life changes—like divorce—often lead people to consider drastic moves or lifestyle shifts to cope. While those shifts can be valuable, emotional challenges rarely just vanish with a change in zip code. The heartbreak and sense of loss often remain unless you address them head-on.
I learned that lesson the hard way. It took me a while to realize that burying myself in beach parties and spiritual retreats without internal work was like trying to fill a bottomless pit. The pain, the longing for my old life, was still there; I just temporarily covered it up.
For the first few months, it felt good to be away from my old environment. But eventually, my heartbreak came roaring back, reminding me that geographical distance alone wasn’t enough.
If I wanted real change, I had to do the uncomfortable work of processing my emotions, acknowledging what went wrong in my marriage, and forgiving both myself and my ex. Only then did Bali truly become a place of healing, rather than just a picturesque distraction.
Putting it all together
Bali remains a special place for me. It’s where I finally accepted the reality of my divorce and began to shape a new identity out of the fragments of the old one. But make no mistake: paradise has its own demons, and they have a way of surfacing when you’re least prepared.
Still, if you meet those demons with openness and courage, you might just find that a land of palm trees and incense can be more than an escape. It can be the very place where you learn the most important truth of all: you can’t outrun heartbreak, but you can outgrow it—with time, intention, and a willingness to face your own reflection.
And that, I believe, is the real lesson of trying to escape one life and start anew in another. It’s not about finding a perfect place—it’s about becoming the kind of person who can find equilibrium, no matter where you stand.
