what being alone in a foreign country taught me about myself
reflections on anxiety, getting lost, and slowly learning to trust yourself
Everyone says that you have to solo travel at least once in your life. That you haven’t really lived until you’ve been completely on your own.
All the self help gurus swear by it. They talk about their transformational journeys, how travelling alone made them more confident, more independent, more self assured. How it taught them so much about themselves and the world around them.
But honestly? This was never something I had on my bucket list, never something that I’d ever really considered.
Because as someone who lives alone, who navigates life and challenges on her own accord, I already felt at peace with my own company. I didn’t feel the urge to go out and explore an entirely new country by myself.
If I’m going somewhere new, I want to share that experience with people. The meals, the memories, the moments you laugh about later.
On top of that, I’m a chronic worrier, someone who overthinks the small details, spirals when things go wrong, and likes to imagine worst-case scenarios for fun.
So solo traveling? To me, that sounded like a recipe for disaster.
When I set off on an overseas trip with some of my closest girlfriends at the beginning of the year, navigating alone in a foreign country was definitely not part of my plan.
Until one afternoon when someone suggested we take a solo day to do whatever we wanted.
Which, somehow, ended up turning into multiple days.
The moment the words were uttered, the idea floated by as everyone nodded enthusiastically, I felt my stomach drop.
Partly, because I wasn’t expecting it.
The other (bigger) part; I was in a country where I didn’t speak the language. The transport system confused me. To top it all off, I have the directional instincts of someone who could probably get lost in her own neighbourhood.
Getting lost overseas carries much higher stakes than getting lost at home.
Every decision weighs more, every interaction feels like a challenge. The smallest tasks require more thought than they normally do.
And when you’re alone, there’s no one to validate your decisions, to reassure you that you’re doing it right.
There’s something strange about being alone in a place where everything feels unfamiliar. The language, the streets, the rhythm of the city.
At first, it makes you feel small and exposed. But after a while, something else starts to happen. You begin to pay closer attention.
And a new kind of self trust emerges.
It really is true that anxiety thrives in the face of the unknown. Everything seems less scary once you’ve done it at least once.
And somewhere along the way, in between getting lost, navigating unfamiliar streets, and retracing my steps dozens of times, the lessons slowly began to unravel.
Getting lost is part of learning to trust yourself
As someone who is chronically type A, who likes to have everything mapped out in the form of to-do lists and schedules which boil down to the hour, getting lost was not part of the plan.
Unfortunately, my sense of direction did not get the memo.
For the first few hours, everything felt harder than it should have. I second-guessed every turn, studied train maps like they were riddles, and checked my phone more times than necessary to make sure I hadn’t wandered too far off course.
And yet, even after all this, I still got lost. Multiple times.
The transport system which I thought I understood quickly proved to be far more confusing than expected. And for the first time on the trip, I couldn’t rely on anyone else’s sense of direction. I wasn’t following a friend who knew where they were going.
It was just me.
At first, panic ensued. My heart raced, my hands got clammy, and I had an overwhelming fear that I was going to end up sleeping under a train station bench that night.
But what I learned was that when you’re forced into uncomfortable situations, you start listening more closely to your instincts. To the quiet voice in your head telling you what feels right.
Getting lost teaches you how to trust yourself, even if you get on the wrong train and need to backtrack several times.
Because at the end of the day, you will figure it out. Maybe on your own, or maybe with the help of strangers that you muster up the courage to talk to.
It’s okay to get lost, to not know what to do, to not have a plan. And something that I slowly started to understand was that it was all part of the process.
Most people aren’t paying nearly as much attention to you as you think
I was in a country where foreigners stick out like a sore thumb, and I spent the first few days convinced that everyone was staring at me.
Every interaction felt awkward, amplified. I stumbled through conversations and avoided eye contact. I would look down when I was walking, constantly hyper-aware of how out of place I felt.
It was easy to block out this feeling when I was in a group. It was a lot harder to mask my own insecurities when I was alone.
But after a while, I realised something that should have been glaringly obvious: everyone else was too busy navigating their own lives to be analysing mine.
I had let spotlight syndrome overwhelm me, cast away any thoughts of rationality.
Looking back, I wish I hadn’t spent so much time feeling awkward or self conscious or wanting to crawl out of my own skin. So much of the small moments in travelling - exploring unfamiliar streets, people watching at cafes - are what makes it special. Are what should be experienced with your head up.
Sure, maybe there were some stares, some glances of curiosity. But nothing about other people’s perception of you needs to impact how you act in your day to day life.
Being open creates better experiences than being guarded
I’m someone who naturally moves through the world with my guard up, who walks around with the biggest resting face that screams go away.
Part of it is self protection. Part of it is a fear of rejection.
It’s easier to keep your distance than risk feeling awkward.
But travelling alone made me realise how much that instinct actually closes you off - not just from risk, but from connection with others.
Some of my favourite moments came from the small, unplanned interactions with strangers. Conversations with another traveller while waiting in line. A helpful stranger pointing me in the right direction. A brief exchange about food and travel at an artsy restaurant.
Those moments which only lasted a few minutes, but stuck with me long after.
And of course, this isn’t to say that you shouldn’t be cautious and aware of your surroundings, especially when travelling alone.
But the best experiences came from opening myself up to the world around me, putting my phone down and immersing myself in the present moment.
Not from trying to shut out the world, not from attempting to avoid discomfort and vulnerability.
Because then how is anything worthwhile going to happen?
It’s easier to live in the present when you’re alone
When you’re travelling with others, there’s always something filling the space. Conversations, laughter, shared glances and a mutual understanding that fills every moment.
But alone, there’s no distraction. No one to talk to, to fill the silence, to bounce ideas off of.
It can feel lonely at times, uncomfortable, daunting. The silence feels stifling, the thoughts in your head too loud.
Until slowly… it doesn’t.
You begin to notice things you previously ignored, become more aware of your surroundings - the buzz of the city, fragments of conversation as people walk by, the way your own thoughts move and your mind works when there’s nothing to interrupt them.
The world becomes both quieter and louder at the same time. Every moment feels full; ordering food, navigating crossings, even just figuring out what you want to see next.
You’re forced to make peace with the boredom, the overwhelm, to actually work with them, move through the world with them by your side.
And that, in itself, is freeing.
You’re more capable than you think
Travelling alone forces you to solve problems constantly - figuring out directions, navigating language barriers and unfamiliar places. And at first, every small hurdle feels scary and overwhelming and anxiety inducing.
There were moments where I genuinely had no idea what to do next. When the place I got on several wrong trains for was closed, when a store only accepted cash after I had been waiting in line for an hour, when my phone was almost out of battery and I didn’t have a charger.
But undoubtedly, you’ll overcome your first hurdle. And your second, and then your third.
And each time you do, your confidence will grow, little by little.
You may feel tired and exhausted by the end of it. But you realise you were capable the whole time.
Now, am I rushing to book my next solo trip? Not quite. Would I ever do one? Honestly, at this point I’m still not entirely sure.
I know, to some, this doesn’t technically count as solo travelling; I wasn’t alone for the entire trip.
But for someone who would previously have never even dreamed of doing something like this, spending full days navigating in a foreign city alone was a huge step outside my comfort zone. We can get so caught up existing in binaries, but progress doesn’t have to be extreme to be meaningful.
This experience was a gentle reminder to myself that I am capable of handling more than I think. And that even in those moments when we feel the most lost, we can always trust ourselves to find our way.