Solo Traveling with Depression: Learning When to Say “Enough”

I have a theory that solo travel accelerates everything. Without other human constants to stabilize you, you experience everything more starkly: both more harshly and more beautifully. Your challenges are more Sisyphean; your successes, more revelatory. For someone like me, who has long battled mental illness, traveling with depression makes this even more true.

My four and a half months of constant travel – three of them solo – accelerated the pace of my life on an epic scale. I did things I’d never dreamed I’d do. I climbed the highest mountain in Montenegro, rode camels through the Sahara Desert, hitchhiked through Albania, and had conversations in six different languages with varying degrees of success.

Years ago, If you told me I'd have summitted a mountain, I'd have laughed in your face.
Years ago, if you told me I’d have summited a 8,000 foot mountain, I’d have laughed in your face.
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I met people from all walks of life. From the happiest octogenarian in Trebinje, Bosnia who poured rakija after rakija for me to the lady in Berat, Albania who led me hand-in-hand up a cliff’s edge to the castle, I had so many touching moments with incredible, unforgettable people.

Even the shitty people I met along the way taught me something about myself: about my resilience and stubbornness, about my dogged belief that despite the bad apples, the world is still filled with good people, and that it’s worth fighting for.

I’ve always been a fairly resilient person, but after months of non-stop travel, my resilience began to flag as the familiar dark cloud of depression has appeared on the horizon. There were days in Rome where, after hours of motivating myself, I left the hostel only to walk around in a daze, feeling like I might fall asleep on my own two feet just while navigating the city.

I stayed up until 5 am, slept until 1, then berated myself for having wasted the day as the sun loomed low on the horizon just as I was leaving for the first time that day. I burst into tears when I accidentally skipped someone in line at an Indonesian takeaway restaurant in Amsterdam. When Trump was elected, I couldn’t even leave the Copenhagen apartment I was staying in, because I was sobbing for hours.

On my last day of my trip, I couldn't even go out and explore Copenhagen.
On my last day of my trip, I couldn’t even go out and explore this gorgeous city.

But here, to speak of my present, I need to go back to my past.

I was first put on antidepressants at age 18, after a nervous breakdown in my first year of college that nearly ended in me dropping out of NYU and moving home. I’d alternate between nights so full of anxiety it felt like my bed was full of needles and I couldn’t sleep, and depression so gripping that even getting juice from the bodega 30 meters from my apartment felt impossible.

After seeking treatment, life started to get better. Once my antidepressant began working, anxiety seemed to be my main challenge. It’s such a physical, visceral sensation: that choking feeling, the coiling stomach, the alienation you feel from your own brain.

But depression is so much harder to suss out. How many days does a bad mood need to last for it to be depression? How many times a day can I smile before I can’t quantify that as a depressed day? How many hours a day do I need to sleep restlessly to qualify as a depressed person? Anxiety is clear: the physicality obvious, painfully so. But depression is murky, questionable, to the point where even you question how much you deserve help.

Sometimes, even days when you find yourself smiling make you feel like a fake.
The most infuriating thing about depression is the way it makes you question your own lived experience.

Years later, having rebounded well from this episode, I made the decision to go off antidepressants rather abruptly and without the assistance of medical professionals, which — as anyone who knows anything will tell you — is stupid as fuck.

I remember standing on the train platform of the J train in Bushwick, Brooklyn, as I got my first brain zap. It felt as if someone opened an enormous door in the middle of a wind tunnel, opening a portal between my ears. The world — all of it — felt like it passed through my two eardrums. And I was scared. What the fuck had I been on that made me feel like this?

I redoubled my commitment to stay off of antidepressants. After all – something that makes me feel like that can’t possibly be good for me. The brain zaps gradually decreased, and for a time, I felt quite okay. When things started to go awry yet again about a year later, I placed the blame squarely on external sources. My dating life sucked. My roommate was terrible. The job I just started was incredibly stressful.

For years, I dealt with it, thinking it was part of life. For four long years, I took nothing but the occasional anti-anxiety pill when my reality felt too much to bear and the only thing I could do to calm myself was lie down, face-down, and breathe.

I thought that quitting my job and getting out of the city that I had grown to hate would fix me. I thought that what I was suffering was purely situational, that traveling would cure my anxiety and depression. So, I planned my exit strategy. I sold all my stuff, gave notice to my job, and set off to travel, like all the blogs told me I should.

For a while, I truly was living my dream. Anxiety and depression were dots on the horizon. I met every challenge with moxie and determination and improvised wildly. I chatted with every stranger, challenged myself, and threw myself into this new life. And god, was I really happy.

Traveling is what I want to be doing. Travel animates me and endlessly fascinates me. It brings me in touch with my best and truest self. Routine is what gets me down. Routine is what kills me. But the last month or so, I was stuck traveling with depression, which is barely traveling at all. It’s survival mode. I’d make deals with myself to urge myself out of the room, escaping only for a few blocks before the world felt oppressive and heavy and I’d retreat to my room or dorm. That? That wasn’t travel.

When the daily act of feeding myself - literally my favorite thing in the world - felt like a burden, I knew I needed a change.
When the daily act of feeding myself – literally my favorite thing in the world – felt like a burden, I knew I needed a change.

It’s not travel that causes depression for me. I was still suffering when I was a teacher in NYC. Except I was too busy with paperwork, with calming and trying to teach disabled kids, with the day-in-day-out bullshit of the job. When surrounded by chaos, it was so easy to forget that I was depressed – I was too busy focusing on everyone else because I had to.

Not to sound dramatic, but with the kind of kids I worked with – the kind who’d dart out of the doors and off into the city if you batted an eye the wrong way – lives were literally on the line. It was only when I’d go home and sink into bed and feel myself give in to the void – that’s when I would I remember I was suffering.

But when depression rears its head and you’re traveling solo, you have no distractions. You have time. You are your own company. You feel every feeling acutely. When you are traveling alone, your mood becomes your traveling companions. And let me tell you… anxiety and depression make terrible travel buddies.

Finally, I said – enough. I found a cheap flight back to California a month early – thank you Norwegian Air for being absurdly and improbably cheap and for having direct flights to Oakland. So now I’m back home, working with a psychiatrist to help me get my medications sorted, to get healthy routines in place so I can stay healthy and fit while I travel, and treat myself with the self-love that I always tell others to have – but often forget for myself.

Luckily I have this adorable pup at my side to get me through.
Luckily I have this adorable pup at my side to get me through.

I know that I’ll be able to beat this. I’m a phoenix. I’ve emerged from worse.

At heart, even in the throes of depression, I am filled with a deep, immense, abiding love for myself. I know I have value. I know I still have lessons to teach and even more to learn. I know that I can still bring joy to others, and that others have put smiles on my face so wide they’ve hurt. I have more stories I want to tell. These fingers are just getting started.

“I am a series of small victories and huge defeats and I am as amazed as any other that I have gotten from here to there.” – Charles Bukowski

26 thoughts on “Solo Traveling with Depression: Learning When to Say “Enough””

  1. Beautiful post and thanks for sharing. We all struggle with our own inner demons, but most of us are too scared to admit they’re really there. I’ve had some very low moments over the past year too, and totally agree with your thoughts on solo travel. I feel solo travel often makes me question so many of my life choices, having that much time alone in your own company to think everything out can be quite scary! I definitely have a love-hate relationship with it and also know that breaks are always needed.

    • Thanks Janet <3 Yes, there's something about solo travel that really makes you ask yourself the hard questions. Ultimately I know it builds you up stronger, but it can also create this echo chamber in your own head that distorts your ability to think straight. It was hard to admit I needed a break after "only" 4 months - I had imagined being able to travel for months and months on end without a break - but I'm learning my own limits and how to balance it all. Hoping to learn and grow from this time at home - the mental journey is just as important as the geographical 🙂

    • Wow. This is so ridiculously relatable. I was searching “feeling suicidal while traveling solo” and I found this. Yet, I happen to be in Tirana right now. Luckily I convinced myself to leave the house and buy comfort foods. I’m full on ice cream, cheese, olives, a candy bar, and stuffed grape leaves. I “celebrate” month 5 in a few days. I’m dead.
      I sold everything, so there is nothing to go home to. I don’t even want to go home, really. But I don’t want to go anywhere at all. It’s the most confused I have been for a long long time.
      Thanks for your story. I’ll be in Montenegro in two weeks.

      • I’m so sorry you’re feeling this way Hannah. Take care of yourself – there is always something to go home to if you need it, and people who can help you get back to your best possible state. Travel is difficult under the best of circumstances and can be even harder with a mental health issue. There’s no shame in seeking help. Perhaps you can find an English-speaking psychologist or psychiatrist in Tirana who can help you – there’s quite a big American expat population in Tirana. I’d check with the American embassy there to see if they have a list of recommended doctors or counselors.

  2. I’m fighting depression for years nd I got to your bog because of Albania. I think you pretty much wrote the best travelogue for the country. I live in Brazil and I’m grateful to have stumbled upon your 75 reasons to go to Albania now. Thanks you, I’ll djus my meds and plan.

    • Hi Andre. Sorry to hear that you are struggling with depression as well. It is really hard to co-manage that with a desire to travel, but it’s great that you are recognizing it, treating it, and fighting it. So glad to hear you say that about my Albania post — I do hope you get a chance to visit soon and see why I feel so strongly about it. 🙂 Thanks for your comment!

  3. Hi Allison. I wanted to write to you letting you know how much better this post has made me feel. I’ve been traveling solo for “only” four months now and I’ve started to notice a change in feeling towards this backpacking lifestyle. What use to fill me with excitement now leaves me feeling jaded and longing for the familiarity of home. It was encouraging to read your words and to know that I am not the only one feeling this way. Maybe it is the introvert in me that makes constantly being on the go difficult. Most of the time I’d rather be at home playing a board game and enjoying a drink with close friends, not constantly partying with a different group of hostel bros every night. Traveling is my passion and I will never give it up, but I hope, like you, I can find a balance. Do you still think that routine is the enemy? I’m curious to know, because I felt the same way before embarking on this journey. However, now a routine in combination with frequent travel seems like the perfect remedy.

    • Hi Jessie! While I’m sorry you’re feeling that way (and also — “only” 4 months is a long freaking time!) I’m at least glad this post could help you out. The more and more I talk to my community of bloggers the more I realize that this feeling is not that unusual. I am so very introverted and constantly being on the go is hard. And I worried that people in hostels didn’t understand my introversion – that they thought I was being rude or weird or lame – and so even when I wanted to take a night to watch Netflix and relax, I never even felt comfortable doing that, you know?

      I still have trouble with routine but I’m working on it. I just moved to Sofia 3 weeks ago and am trying to settle into a life here, and I’m making time for 2-6 week trips in between spurts at ‘home’. So far, I’m feeling a lot less depressed (though my insomnia is a whole other story, lol), but I think in due time as I settle in I’ll start to feel a lot better. One thing that was really helpful for me recently was to take a whole month in a city and just explore from there. That’s actually what made me move to Sofia :P. I made friends with a few expats and saw them a couple times. I had an Airbnb for the month, did some cooking, and did day trips to places rather than constantly moving from hostel to hostel. I hung out at hostels a few times, when I met people who were staying at one, but I didn’t actually stay at one – and that made a huge difference.

  4. I only recently realized that i have been depressed for a very long time. I am currently struggling with a desire to get away and regroup, rekindle who i was. So much of what you wrote really touched me and energized me. I am glad I found this blog.

    • I’m glad you found it, too, and that these words resonated with you. Sometimes it can be hard to realize you’re depressed, until you finally do and you’re like “what took me so long?” Here’s hoping you get the peace you deserve 🙂 Keep up the good fight

  5. Hi, this was a good read. I’ve currently been travelling for three months (two months solo) and it’s a struggle. I kind of expected it would be but people kept telling me “It’ll be fine when you get out there! You’ll have a great time!” and stupidly I believed them. For the first month with my friends we did a lot of stuff because they arranged it all, it’s self-motivation that is the biggest issue for me, thinking that even if I somehow motivate myself to find a day tour to go somewhere, that I’ll just not enjoy it anyway and it won’t be worth the effort. I’ve spent way too may days just going through the motions and way too many days just sitting in my hotel/hostel room where the only plan for the day is it to go out and grab some food and thinking about if I go home how much of a wasted journey to the other side of the world it will have been.

    Anyway, I just thought I’d share, perhaps you have some words of wisdom for me?

    • Self-motivation is the biggest problem I face too when I am depressed. Booking things that I can’t cancel without wasting money helps – it motivates me to at least get out of the house and get my money’s worth. I’m usually just grateful whenever I am able to get out and do something, even if I’m in a bad mood and not making the best of it. And if you’re truly struggling with your trip, there is no shame in going home early and regrouping. I did so, took two months to rest and evaluate, and then ended up going back on the road a few months later and had a much better time. Just be kind to yourself and listen to what you need – whether that’s treating yourself to some things that make your time more comfortable even at the risk of a shorter trip (if hostels exhaust you, staying at hotels; if motivation is an issue, do day tours), or going home early if needed. You can always go back on the road!

  6. After 1.5 years of travel, I’m back home and have completely snapped. I spent the majority of my time (9 months) in Sofia, Bulgaria. It feels like that is more-so my home than here. Adventuring just feels so normal and routine now. My friends in Bulgaria are so much better than the ones back home. I just don’t know how to cope. I also broke up with a girl I loved a ton (we were originally going to move to Germany together, she’s from Bulgaria, 10 month relationship). I don’t know what to do. The heart-break, confusion, loneliness, and reverse culture shock are all so much.

  7. Haha. I am also on “only” 4 months. I think being surrounded by people who have been traveling for 6+ months is what makes 4 months seem short. Yet I still feel like travel defeated me. Your blog is very relatable. I’m currently on the search for a cheap flight home which isn’t working out too well in Nepal. I also came to the realization that traveling as depressed as I am, isn’t truly traveling. I’m less amazed by everything and have little motivation compared to the first month of travel.
    One time I thought to myself. Maybe if I go to the most beautiful mountains in France, then maybe I will be happy. I said that while drinking a coffee in the Himalayas. Great reasoning on my part. Solo travel isnt stable, and it makes my mind very unstable.
    I’m honestly excited to go back to a routine where I’ll have the chance to build healthy habits.
    I definitely do not regret these past 4 months. I have learned a lot, and reaffirmed what is important to me. If anyone is reading this thinking about solo traveling while depressed. I’d say it’s okay to do. Just don’t expect a magic cure. There will be ups and downs, a lot of downs. But maybe you will learn about yourself. Just make sure you have a good support network who you can call and text. I owe a lot to two friends of mine.
    Thank you for your post. I’m glad to read others who are in a similar situation as me.

    • “Just don’t expect a magic cure” – exactly! I’ve changed my travel style quite a bit since writing this post and while I still live abroad and travel frequently I’ve established a home base, a routine, and in-person friends who I can lean on and give me some stability in the midst of all the stability. I know too well the feeling of chasing happiness thinking it’s in another location than where you are – it’s a real easy trap to fall into, and social media these days doesn’t do a good job of showing the reality. I’m glad you could find some comfort in this post and hope that your return home is healthy and healing, and that you can come back to travel when you feel rested and ready for it.

  8. This blog was so honest and open, it’s really great to see more people blogging about mental health. I’ve travelled solo with bipolar and I can empathise with you so much. Great read!

  9. I am in my fourth month of solo travel and am depressed. I went off my antidepressants in
    November and now am debating going back on them. I have a job that starts in seven weeks in Brazil, my longtime dream, and am very hesitant to just go home.

    • I’m sorry to hear that. I know that I had to go back on my antidepressants when my depression was at its worst, so just know that it’s not admitting defeat, it’s just taking care of yourself. There is a good chance that having a job, a purpose, and a routine will help with the depression – I know that once I settled down in Bulgaria, my anxiety and depression got a lot better, even though it still wasn’t technically “home.” Why don’t you try to find a place where you can just chill for the next six or seven weeks, and make a decision when you’re caught your breath a bit?

  10. Thank you for a great post. I’m travelling currently (one month in to what was going to be a five month route, but I think I’ll cut it down to four). Accelerating thoughts is exactly right. I think I miss routine and having friends, family and even the stability of my job behind me, and the constant ‘thinking’ can make you look back and go… what did I actually enjoy about that day? Some great highs but some terrible lows as well. Ultimately makes me realise that there’s work to be done in my life overall to make me a happier person, as I’m not expecting these problems to disappear when I get back. But in a way I’m glad I know that about myself now!


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