I moved to Spain brimming with excitement and a head full of romanticized notions.
Like many people drawn to the Mediterranean lifestyle, I pictured endless sunny days, spontaneous beach trips, and afternoons spent sipping sangria on a breezy terrace.
Yet, what greeted me was an unexpectedly cold apartment in the middle of a winter I’d totally overlooked.
The chill was more than physical—it seemed to seep into my sense of self, prompting a profound identity crisis I never saw coming.
It was about feeling alone, questioning my entire move, and grappling with “Who am I now?” in a place I believed would define me in all the best ways.
Instead, it opened my eyes to the complexities of uprooting your life and reminded me that there’s much more to living abroad than postcards and sunlit Instagram feeds.
Realities of chasing a dream
I’d spent years daydreaming about Spain. The culture, the language, the promise of new beginnings—it all felt so alluring.
I came from London, where my life revolved around deadlines, busy commutes, and balancing single motherhood with my writing career. So, the promise of a slower, sunnier pace of life felt like a dream come true.
But once I moved, I found myself shivering on the couch in a barely furnished apartment. I’ll never forget the moment I realized the heating system was outdated, and the Spanish winter had its own bite. I had left behind a cozy (albeit rainy) London for an unexpected kind of cold.
Feeling physically chilly was something I could deal with—blankets and space heaters exist for a reason.
But realizing I didn’t feel “at home” at all took me by surprise.
It wasn’t the Spain I had imagined, and I was suddenly stripped of my usual reference points: my friends, favorite bookstores, and even the familiar scent of my local coffee shop. That’s when the discomfort moved from my limbs to my heart.
When the novelty fades
About three weeks in, the initial high had worn off. I spent my days trying to navigate new utilities (in Spanish, which I’m decent at, but not fluent), figure out local customs, and adjust to a new pace of work.
I’d wake up each morning expecting to feel that sense of adventure, but the magic wasn’t automatic.
Instead, I felt small, unsteady, and doubtful. In other words, I had a choice: sink deeper into that feeling or find a way to actively grow through it.
My usual self-confidence took a hit.
In London, I was the go-to person for organizing events, giving career advice, or even leading a brainstorming session at work.
In Spain, I was the foreigner who couldn’t fully express her thoughts in the local language.
That identity shift was jarring. My once-daily comforts—like meeting a friend for a quick chat or grabbing tea at my favorite café—were all gone. Even my sense of humor felt dulled when I struggled to make people laugh in Spanish.
The hidden layers of identity
Identity has so many layers. You might have read my post on navigating career transitions in your mid-30s, where I talk about how we often tie our sense of self to external markers—job titles, relationships, hometown familiarity.
Living abroad amplified that in unexpected ways for me.
It’s like I had this blueprint of “Melody in London”—the writer, the single mom who juggled school runs and project deadlines, the avid tea drinker who spent weekends in local bookshops. Stripped from those routines, who was I now?
The official documents would still say “Melody, from London,” but my daily life didn’t feel like me anymore.
According to AXA research, nine out of 10 expats reported feeling lonely or culturally isolated during their first year abroad.
Reading that statistic helped me realize I wasn’t alone in this tug-of-war between excitement and isolation.
It’s a comforting fact: the identity crisis I felt was part of a broader, very human experience.
But beyond the numbers, it came down to my own willingness to navigate this “in-between” space.
Sometimes, I felt so uncomfortable in my own skin that I’d withdraw. Other times, I’d force myself out for a walk along the shoreline, telling myself, “At least the view is gorgeous—take in the moment.”
Sorting through the identity crisis
Sheryl Sandberg once said, “Taking risks, choosing growth, challenging ourselves, and asking for promotions are all important aspects of building a fulfilling career—and a fulfilling life.” While she was referring to career moves, it struck a chord with me in a much broader sense.
I had taken a monumental risk by moving to another country, but I forgot to prepare for the internal effects of that risk.
An identity crisis can manifest as a sense of confusion, self-doubt, or even regret.
After a few weeks in Spain, I started to feel all three at once. I remember telling a friend on a call, “I’m not sure if I’m cut out for this,” to which she replied, “Who ever is? You’re living a new chapter, so it’s natural to feel lost sometimes.”
That’s when I decided to approach the situation the same way I do with any major life challenge: break it down into smaller, manageable steps.
Step-by-step acceptance
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Acknowledge the emotional shift.
Instead of burying the discomfort, I let myself feel it. Journaling became my daily therapy—each morning, I’d jot down whatever came to mind about how I felt living in Spain. Some entries were joyful, others raw, but it helped me understand my rollercoaster emotions. -
Seek small comforts in the new environment.
I started finding my own spots in town—a cozy café with decent tea (hard to compare to London, but I tried) and a local bookstore that occasionally stocked English titles. One thing that made me smile was discovering a nearby tapas bar that had a corner bookshelf with used books people would swap. Little by little, those small discoveries pieced together a sense of belonging. -
Socialize with locals and other expats.
As Dale Carnegie famously noted in How to Win Friends and Influence People: “You can make more friends in two months by becoming genuinely interested in other people than you can in two years by trying to get other people interested in you.” I realized I was so focused on my own struggles, I hadn’t made much effort to connect. So, I joined a local language exchange group. It was awkward at first—my Spanish was passable, but I still fumbled. Yet, the more I showed genuine curiosity in others, the more they opened up to me. Those interactions were gold. -
Redefine goals without clinging to old identities.
I recognized that I couldn’t recreate my London life in Spain, so I stopped trying. Instead, I set fresh goals. I focused on writing in a new environment, challenging myself to incorporate local experiences into my work. I also started exploring mindfulness techniques to ground myself whenever I felt too overwhelmed.
Finding guidance from unexpected places
During this shaky period, I stumbled upon Rudá Iandê’s Free Your Mind masterclass.
I’d been reading about modern approaches to spirituality and stumbled upon it almost by accident.
The exercises in the class nudged me to confront limiting beliefs that were keeping me stuck in my anxious loop.
For example, I’d internalized the idea that if you move abroad, you must immediately flourish—or else you’ve failed. After going through Rudá’s course, I realized that was a myth I’d bought into without question.
I also learned to be more compassionate towards myself.
Whenever I felt overwhelmed by my new life, I’d remind myself that it’s okay to struggle. The belief that “everyone but me is handling major change perfectly” crumbled as soon as I challenged it. I didn’t feel compelled to impress anyone with a picture-perfect story of my Spanish adventure anymore.
Embracing the reset
Identity crises are tricky because they involve letting go of who you think you “should” be and embracing who you actually are.
I realized that frantically trying to establish a semblance of normalcy was the urgent stuff—figuring out how to keep my apartment warm, how to navigate local supermarkets, how to pay bills in Spanish.
But what was important was giving myself time to adjust—time to become a person who feels at home in this new setting.
It was also important to let go of the notion that I had to immediately love every aspect of my new life. Recognizing that allowed me to ease into the process rather than forcing it.
Perhaps most crucially: cultivating patience
If there’s one lesson I had to learn the hard way, it’s patience.
Patience with myself, patience with the new culture, patience with not having it all figured out. I wanted to skip straight to the part where I was fully integrated and thrilled every moment of the day.
But relocating—and all the identity unraveling that comes with it—isn’t that linear.
It takes time to build meaningful friendships, find favorite spots, and integrate your old self into a new environment.
So, if you find yourself in a new city, new country, or simply a new phase of life and you’re wrestling with an identity crisis, give it time. Step by step, piece by piece, it gets easier to let go of expectations and find delight in small wins.
Looking back, I wouldn’t trade my Spanish adventure for anything. That cold, disheartening apartment became the catalyst for some of the most significant self-reflection I’ve ever done. It forced me to ask bigger questions about what truly defines me—beyond location, career, or even language proficiency.
