It’s hard to leave a life behind, even if that life isn’t the one you want. Comfort is a force that’s hard to overestimate, and it is almost always going to be harder to change than to stay the same. It’s the devil you know vs the devil you don’t know, it’s the thought that things could always get worse.
My decision to keep my job and keep living a life I didn’t love was a decision born out of comfort. Leaving my job was uncomfortable. I felt like I would be risking a lot to leave it; potential embarrassment, loss of income, loss of my financial independence, and setting myself back in my career. My imagination went wild with images of me ten years from now, miles behind all my colleagues because I chose to go on some silly fling instead of taking my career seriously.
Mostly, though, I was worried about my mental health. I worried that it’d take a turn if I moved off somewhere new and lost all the support systems I had in Iowa. I worried about feeling isolated and uncomfortable. I worried about taking too big of a step and biting off more than I could chew.
A Little Backstory
For those who don’t know, my brain is a little messed up. I struggle with OCD. As a famous saying goes, “There’s a reason why the first letter in OCD is O.” The obsessive nature of OCD (which stands for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) amplifies my feelings of isolation. If I feel trapped in a situation where I’m exposed alone, trapped, or in any way unsafe, my mind goes wild. My mental state deteriorates even more if I don’t have people I trust around me. I can’t stop thinking about what bad things might happen to me until I convince myself that bad things are happening to me.
This happened last time I moved for work. I didn’t know I had OCD at the time, so I didn’t think I needed to worry about moving somewhere on a complete whim. I had just graduated college, wanted new experiences, and my new job offered to place me in Charlotte, North Carolina. I didn’t know anyone there, but that didn’t bother me. The only way to get home was by plane, but I thought that might be exciting.
What I didn’t understand was that, if anything happened, I was completely stuck in Charlotte unless I wanted to spend $500+ on a flight or drive 17 hours
Countless things “trapped” me in Charlotte that made it harder to leave as well. I had a job there, I had a lease, and I also had pride. These things complicated my decision-making process, even when I realized I probably needed to leave. As my mental health deteriorated and my obsessions came loose, it was hard to admit that it was time to go, and even harder to tie up all the loose ends that needed tying before I even could leave. I had new friends but I didn’t know how to tell them I couldn’t stay. I had an apartment and I didn’t want to pay thousands to break my lease. I had a job, but I didn’t know if I could request a transfer to Des Moines. Through it all I felt embarrassed, like I wasn’t the person I thought I was.
I envisioned myself as a vagabond that could go anywhere, anytime. Admitting that I couldn’t live alone in Charlotte seemed like admitting I wasn’t the person I thought I was, at least not anymore. That phrase stuck hard: I wasn’t that person anymore. It wasn’t just that I couldn’t move across the country, but I thought I could. I thought I was a strong, independent person who could do the hard things for the sake of adventure.
It took a long time for me to come to terms with everything that happened in Charlotte. It was uncomfortable to admit that I had mental issues… it was even more awkward to admit it to everyone else as well. I didn’t want people to worry about me, I didn’t want them to think differently about me.
Next Steps
I moved back in with my parents after I left Charlotte. I rebuilt my own confidence and considered a new path forward. It took a lot of time. For a while, I thought moving away and going on random adventures wasn’t something I could do anymore. I didn’t know why, but I just craved being at home with my family. I only wanted to travel and adventure sparingly, and only within my comfort zone.
I didn’t want to do anything that risked the consequences I felt before.
Well, if you’ve followed this blog, you know I now live in Aspen, Colorado and am having the time of my life. So, let’s get to the part where I figure my shit out.
My recovery started slowly: I moved out of my parents’ house to my own apartment. This felt like a huge move, but I felt ready. Getting that little bit of independence back felt good. I could still visit my parents whenever I wanted, but I had my own place. That felt good. It allowed me to explore more of my hobbies, be on my own schedule, and go back to doing things by myself, for myself. Did it also feel good to walk around in my underwear again? Of course.
Aside from this small jump in independence, my mindset remained fairly similar: I’m struggling with something, I don’t know what it is, but let’s make sure we do nothing to anger it. I thought I’d live in Des Moines, but St. Louis was a close second because I went to college there, and all my siblings lived there, too. I felt content with those options for a while. I thought I could make do, and I trusted myself that I could be content with a life beyond exploring.
But, something inside me kept wishing I could do something else. I knew I wanted to live in the mountains, but my mental state chained me to my fear. I couldn’t move past my enormous Charlotte mistake. Luckily, I was smart enough to go to therapy.
Therapy is Not a Dirty Word
It wasn’t until a month or two into therapy that I even realized I didn’t only have anxiety. Once I figured out I had OCD, and I guess once I figured out what OCD even is (turns out OCD doesn’t mean I simply like my apartment to be super clean), I figured out how to move forward.
Things clicked that explained past screw-ups and why they were so damning, I better understood my triggers and how to keep them from going off, and I learned to rationalize the fact that I did have a disorder but that didn’t mean I couldn’t live the way I wanted to.
I knew two things: I wanted to re-discover my old love for adventure, and I needed to plan for literally everything.
I didn’t have the privilege to fly by the seat of my pants. I didn’t have the privilege to hope everything would work out without working for it. I needed a plan, two alternative plans, and a whole set of backups for each of those plans. Just about anything that could go wrong was accounted for. I researched my options diligently, ensuring I understood the benefits and drawbacks of my choices and whether they made sense for my mental state.
Getting Back Up Again
Learning how to move with mental health issues is the most important part of full-time (or just short-term) traveling. If I don’t plan properly, I don’t only risk not having fun… I risk starting weeks-long or months-long episodes. I’m not going to bother telling you what I plan for because I’m not you, and your mind is completely and totally different than mine. Know yourself.
But look what I’m capable of now. Not only do I travel frequently and for longer periods of time, but I’m actually living a life of permanent travel. Even one year ago, I never would’ve thought that’d be possible. But it is.
If you have mental health issues, the first step is knowing what really is going on. For a long time, I just thought I had anxiety. I thought I somehow became an anxious person, and the right way to prevent my anxiety from going out of control was to live a slightly boring but comfortable life. I was more than willing to give up true freedom if it meant not enduring the pain I’d experienced before. But I was wrong about all of that.
If you want one single piece of advice from me, it’s to go to a mental health professional. Go to someone who you can talk freely with and without fear of judgment. Someone who you can share your goals with while tackling the root cause of why you’re not making progress toward them.
Friends are important, but they are not an adequate replacement for a therapist. Family is important, but it is not an adequate replacement for a therapist.
Mental Illness.
I wrote this blog because I don’t want anyone to think that they cannot do something simply because of a mental illness. I know how it feels to think your desired path in life was robbed from you by your own mind. It’s not fun. It takes time and effort to grow past, and that’s okay. But I know how frustrating and defeating it is to be in a mental rut and not know how to get yourself out of it. I’ve felt like there isn’t even a way out of it if I tried. I was wrong. You probably are, too.
I also didn’t write this blog to say that people with mental illness should just go carefree off into the world because they’re no different than people without mental illness. They are different – they have a mental illness. But what I’m saying is that once you learn to conquer what can be conquered and plan for what needs to be accommodated, then yes you can do anything.
I need to plan more vigorously to have fun on my crazy adventures. If I want to live a life of travel, new experiences, and spontaneity, I need to have a strong undercurrent of planning and I must understand when something isn’t for me, and especially when something can hurt me.
I don’t think I’m “brave” or “strong” for talking about mental illness. I think mental health, or a lack thereof, should be normalized. No one imagines someone is brave because they speak out about a time they had to go to the hospital for an appendectomy; they may think that way if you talk about a time you went to the hospital because you had a mental health emergency.
Of course, though, we live in a society where, although we’ve made big strides in the ways we accept people with mental illness, it’s still far from perfect. We have a lot of work to do, and I want to be a part of it because mental health is a vital part of my own journey.