I’ve always been captivated by the idea of living abroad.
As a kid growing up on the outskirts of Dublin, I’d spend hours flipping through travel magazines and dreaming of exploring faraway destinations. When I finally moved overseas in my late 20s, I was convinced that this new adventure would be everything I’d ever wanted.
And in many ways, it was… just not in the ways I had expected.
Sure, I was taking in new sights, tasting new dishes, and meeting people from all over the globe. But beneath that initial excitement, I was also grappling with some tough realities.
No one warned me about the complicated feelings that would come with building a life away from the safety of home.
By sharing my story, I hope to offer a bit of real talk about living in a new country. It’s not always easy to admit that your dream scenario has a bittersweet edge, but sometimes the best form of growth comes from acknowledging the parts that scare you.
Here’s why living abroad ended up being more challenging than I ever imagined.
The cultural difference shock
I used to think I was pretty adaptable. After all, I grew up in a family where open-mindedness was encouraged, and I studied psychology, which gave me insights into how people function.
But there’s a huge difference between reading about cultural differences in theory and experiencing them in your day-to-day life.
During my first few weeks abroad, I constantly found myself in awkward situations.
Something as simple as ordering a coffee turned into a mini-lesson on unspoken etiquette. “Oh, you can’t just walk out with your cup?” or “Wait, they don’t do take-away here?”
It seemed like every moment tested my ability to roll with the punches.
And let’s not forget the language barriers. I lived in an English-speaking environment my entire life, so trying to navigate new phrases, dialects, and sometimes entirely different languages was both exhilarating and exhausting.
I’d grown accustomed to understanding all the jokes, picking up on subtle sarcasm, and knowing how to share my sense of humor. Suddenly, I had to re-learn some of these things from scratch.
After a while, I realized that no matter how flexible I considered myself, cultural adaptation required deeper work than I’d anticipated.
It forced me to reevaluate everything—from my communication style to my basic routines—and that was surprisingly humbling.
A sense of isolation
Growing up in a tight-knit Irish family, I never doubted my support system.
I had parents who championed open conversations about mental health, siblings who kept me grounded, and friends I could count on for a spontaneous cup of tea.
Moving abroad felt like stepping into an entirely different universe where none of those things were guaranteed.
At first, I thought being independent would be thrilling. I loved the idea of flying solo, of relying on my own resourcefulness to solve problems. But loneliness crept in faster than I expected.
When I encountered challenges—like getting lost in a new city or dealing with a landlord who wouldn’t fix the heating—it dawned on me that I couldn’t just call my dad for help or text my best friend to vent.
Sure, I made new friends. But meaningful friendships don’t happen overnight, and building them required a kind of emotional resilience I wasn’t used to.
There were days I felt like the new kid at school, hoping someone might invite me to sit with them at lunch.
I realized that being alone can be a double-edged sword. It fosters self-discovery and personal growth, but it can also magnify feelings of disconnection.
There were evenings I spent crying over homesickness and questioning whether I’d made a huge mistake.
Letting go of old expectations
I used to assume that living abroad would immediately transform my life into some grand adventure.
I pictured myself hiking exotic trails every weekend or posting Instagram-perfect snapshots of me sipping cappuccinos in quaint cafés.
But real life doesn’t always offer those picture-perfect moments on a silver platter.
Instead, I found myself caught in everyday struggles that didn’t look very glamorous: trying to navigate bureaucratic paperwork in a language I barely understood, worrying about job security in a country where my qualifications weren’t as recognized, or simply feeling overwhelmed by the constant change swirling around me.
This is where I realized I had to let go of old expectations.
I had romanticized my new life so much that when reality hit—well, it hit hard.
In the end, it forced me to confront my own tendency to idealize situations. I had to learn how to appreciate smaller victories, like successfully using public transportation or finding a comfortable café to read in.
And I had to practice gratitude for the unique everyday moments that made my new city special, rather than longing for a fantasy version of life abroad.
The inner work required
All of these challenges—culture shock, isolation, letting go of fantasies—created a perfect storm of self-examination.
I started to see that my experiences weren’t just about external change, they were also about internal transformation.
Living abroad showed me the importance of self-awareness. There were times I found myself reacting poorly to a misunderstanding or miscommunication, and I had to ask, “Why am I feeling so defensive right now?”
Little by little, I realized that old insecurities (like a fear of rejection or a need for approval) were getting amplified in this new environment.
It was around this time I started diving deeper into my own limiting beliefs and discovered I still had plenty of them.
One belief was that I had to do it all alone, to prove I was strong and capable in this foreign environment. Another belief was that asking for help would diminish my independence. And guess what? Both beliefs turned out to be completely untrue.
I remember feeling so stuck in these patterns that I sought out resources to help me unpack it all.
That’s when I reconnected with the teachings of Rudá Iandê and took his “Free Your Mind” masterclass.
I know I’ve mentioned this masterclass in the past, but this time it spoke to me on a new level.
The exercises in the course inspired me to challenge the deep-rooted fears that were holding me back: the fear of asking for support, the fear of looking like I didn’t have it all together, and—most importantly—the fear that I’d never truly belong anywhere.
I realized that living abroad was forcing me to confront these fears, not because I was failing, but because I was growing.
Finding balance in a new environment
As I started to work through my limiting beliefs, I also discovered new ways to create balance in my life.
One thing I learned is the importance of establishing daily rituals that remind me of home, such as my Irish breakfast tea in the mornings or journaling while listening to folk music.
No, these small habits don’t magically erase the challenges of living in a new country, but they offer comforting touchstones that help ground me.
Another big lesson was learning how to build a support network from scratch.
It’s not enough to just make acquaintances—I needed to actively invest in real friendships. That meant being vulnerable, asking questions about other people’s lives, and opening up about my own story, even when it felt scary.
Even in a place where I initially felt like an outsider, I started to find pockets of home.
Maybe it was a group yoga session that reminded me of my love for mindfulness, or a local book club that helped me connect with fellow psychology enthusiasts.
Little by little, my sense of isolation faded, replaced by a growing sense of belonging.
Nurturing my true self
The biggest irony in this entire journey was realizing that I had to be more “myself” than ever before.
Being a foreigner in a new environment can feel like you’re under a microscope—people notice your accent, your mannerisms, your different habits.
At first, that made me self-conscious. But over time, it pushed me to either hide or embrace who I really was.
I chose to embrace.
Instead of trying to blend in perfectly, I started sharing bits of Irish culture with the people I met. I’d cook traditional stews for friends, organize small get-togethers on St. Patrick’s Day, and share music from my hometown.
It felt empowering to bring a piece of my identity wherever I went.
And something special happened when I did that: I stopped feeling like I was living in someone else’s world.
I began to see myself as a person who belonged in multiple places at once, who could weave parts of Ireland and parts of my new city together into a unique tapestry of experiences.
Conclusion
I won’t sugarcoat it—living abroad has been one of the toughest things I’ve ever done.
It’s challenged my beliefs about who I am, tested my emotional resilience, and led me through more than one tearful phone call with my family back in Dublin.
But it’s also expanded my horizons and shown me what I’m really made of.
I’ve learned to honor the power of community, the beauty in unfamiliar cultures, and the necessity of doing inner work to overcome the fears that hold us back.
If I could leave you with one piece of advice, it would be this: Don’t be afraid to acknowledge the harder parts of living abroad.
Those lonely nights, cultural misunderstandings, and moments when you question if you belong—those are the exact experiences that can prompt some serious personal growth.
And if you find yourself stuck in limiting beliefs about who you’re supposed to be in this new environment, consider exploring tools and teachings that resonate with you.
For me, Rudá Iandê’s “Free Your Mind” masterclass opened my eyes to new ways of thinking about my identity, my fears, and my path forward.
Remember, living abroad isn’t supposed to be a constant postcard-perfect journey.
It’s real life, with all its bumps and breakthroughs. Yet, in that realness, there’s the potential to become a more resilient, empathetic, and grounded version of yourself.
And that is something truly worth celebrating.
