I experienced a lot of anxiety growing up and frequently got anxiety attacks. For this reason, I thought I’d always have anxiety and deemed myself an all-around anxious person. This debilitated me in particular areas of life. As I got older, I shed certain parts of my anxiety, piece by piece. For example, when I was in elementary school, I was constantly in fear that one of my parents would get in a deadly car crash when either of them was driving. Seeing as they drove to and from work every day, and sometimes to the store, the gym, restaurants, my school, etc… I felt gut-wrenching anxiety for a portion of every day during this stage of my life. Once I was 10 or 11 years old, I no longer experienced this. It was as if I shed that layer of my existence and emerged a new-and-improved version. This was my first major stepping stone.

I still had mountains of anxiety. In high school it was often about insecurities, which I eventually addressed and worked through, one by one. By the time I graduated high school, I had rid myself of all of the anxiety that appeared to be attached to any particular problem or event in my life. Yet I still got anxiety, and sometimes had anxiety attacks, for what seemed to be no apparent reason. As horrible as this may sound, this was the best I had ever felt. It was the least amount of anxiety that I had ever experienced in my life up until that point. This, I thought, would be my peak in freedom from the black depths of anxiety.

Admittedly, I took medication on an as-needed basis from age 16 onward. I went through certain phases in which I abused it more than I should have. It was a cushion — something that I could ingest in a second to take the edge off of any angst or worry. Certainly, this was crucial for me in tempering or killing off anxiety attacks on many different occasions, like before speaking in public. It was like a miracle, but I knew I couldn’t be reliant on the substance forever.

5 years after graduating high school, in 2017, I embarked on the biggest adventure of my life until that point — I packed up and moved to Quito, Ecuador. I had never been to South America before that, and the longest I had been out of the country was for 2.5 months in 2013. I learned Spanish in high school but hadn’t practiced it for years, so there were many risk factors involved in this undertaking.

I was scared shitless. Not knowing anyone in the country, not being sure of my abilities to communicate with the local people, being unfamiliar with the customs, and the myriad of other unknowns of my imminent future haunted me in the months leading up to the move. I recall a close friend telling me, “You don’t have to go, you know.”

“Yes, I do,” I said.

“Why? You’re terrified of it.”

“That’s exactly why I have to go. Yes, I’m terrified. But I’m more terrified of not going. Now that this idea has been planted in my mind and I’ve mapped together a plan, I see its feasibility, and I can’t back out. I would always wonder what could have… would have… been.”

Fortunately, the fear of not living outweighed my fear of the unknown, however big the latter fear truly was. So I went. On December 1st, 2017, I made the leap into the unknowns.

I had been riding on a high for the weeks leading up to Ecuador — saying bye to my family, then spending two weeks in Southern California with some of my closest friends, having Thanksgiving with them, and partying hard before I moved out of the country were all delightful distractions. I arrived to my Airbnb in Quito around 3:30am on December 2nd, stayed up to watch the sunrise at 5:30, then fell into an enriching slumber without setting an alarm. It wasn’t until I woke up around 2pm, caffeinated myself, and looked out the 10th story window at the unknown city below, that I broke down.

What have I done? Where the fuck am I? What did I think I was doing? I don’t know anyone here. I don’t know what to do. I don’t have any food, I don’t have an itinerary or a plan or ANYTHING. Oh shit, what have I done?!?!

My chest heaving, I sat on the hardwood floor with my back against the wall, forehead in my hands. Who had I been fooling? Why did I think I could do this? Why did I think I would be happy, or even OK, being all alone in a completely foreign city that isn’t nearly as safe as the city I’m from? I felt absolutely pathetic, embarking on my great new adventure and completely hating it the second I had enough sleep to register what I was doing.

I wanted to go home. I looked up flights, on several different occasions, in my first 4 weeks in Quito. I had brought with me from the US one full bottle of my as-needed medication — 30 pills. That’s 30–60 doses, depending on how strong the anxiety is. Knowing I had just relocated to Quito, that amount of medication seemed far too low, not knowing when/if/where I could get more. I was incredibly cautious about using it for two main reasons:

1. I wanted to preserve it so as not to rob myself during a time when I truly did need it.
2. I didn’t want to rely on the medication. I wanted to be able to supersede my anxiety naturally.

I cried a lot more than I’m proud to say. I felt anxiety related to certain tasks that didn’t previously trigger me back at home, such as, at first, going anywhere outside of my home. Over time, I got comfortable with commuting to and from the store, which was less than a mile away. Then I got comfortable with navigating the store itself — getting used to the items that were available and quirks about it that are different from the stores I’m used to shopping in. Taking Uber in Ecuador was different than in the US because it’s illegal there, so you have to sit in the front seat of the car so as to not tip off the police. Likewise, there are no Uber logos in the cars themselves, so you feel like you’re taking a bigger gamble than when using Uber in your hometown in the US.

Further, Quito’s crime rates are much higher than those of Portland, Oregon. It’s ill-advised to walk on the street after sunset in any neighborhood, even the safest one, as the threat of getting mugged is strong. And, the sun sets at 6:00pm every day in Ecuador due to its geographical location, which greatly affects your quality of life. The police are fairly corrupt — they have been known to watch someone getting stabbed for an iPhone without doing anything, or confiscating a weapon from a criminal and then selling the same weapon to another one. I was a member of a few Expat Facebook groups through which I learned vital information, and heard unfortunate personal stories from other members about getting attacked and stolen from. All of these factors were difficult to adjust to and sometimes I overanalyzed them and chose to stay home rather than feeling the discomfort of going out into it.

Sure, sometimes it’s smart to analyze the factors of an unknown, relatively dangerous environment, and my analyses might have protected me from an unsafe situation on an occasion or two. However, I didn’t want to live in the bubble of my safe, cushy life. If I never branched out to get to know the world beyond my apartment, to meet more people and see more places, what was the point of moving here in the first place? To make it all the more challenging, I was able to afford an incredibly luxurious apartment on an American salary. A spacious, two-floor penthouse with a king-sized bed, two bathrooms, floor-to-ceiling windows, fiber optic internet, a private washer/dryer, a rooftop hot tub, gym, and terrace, all for $600/month was tempting to stay in forever.

The most unfamiliar trigger for me in Ecuador was social anxiety. In 2 decades in the States, I had an easy time making friends, and I never thought twice about going to a social gathering. It didn’t intimidate me or make me nervous at all — in fact, I always viewed myself as an extrovert and sometimes got overly lonely if I didn’t spend a decent chunk of time with friends. Years prior to moving to Ecuador, I got a lot better at being alone and developed a healthier relationship with my own self, which might have been a key building block to mustering up the courage to move in the first place. Regardless of how healthy my relationship with myself was, I observed myself retreating into my own shell and getting comfortable in my luxurious apartment. This was in response to a crippling anxiety around meeting new people and making friends abroad, and it took me a good year to fully overcome it.

I spent 3 months in Ecuador followed by 14 months in Chile. Chile is safer than Ecuador which enabled me to feel more secure in venturing out past sunset, but this wasn’t enough to fully break my habit of being a homebody.

I pushed myself every week to do something that scared me, to try something new. I met new people from Chile, Brazil, Venezuela, Uruguay, and many more countries. I was invited to parties, hikes, dates, karaoke nights, group dinners, and more. Sometimes it was easier than others to say yes, depending on my confidence and comfort level in that given moment. And sometimes when I had all the reasons to say yes, I still said no. I found excuses to recluse into my safe little personal haven, where I wasn’t pushed beyond my comfort bubble.

I’m not going to say that one should always push oneself out of their comfort zone for the sake of personal growth. At times it’s necessary to be alone and recharge. Sometimes the benefits of a self care day far outweigh those of social activity, even with loved ones. But it’s important to not feed that side of you too much, and instead to balance it out with its opposite. I learned this the hard way. Even the most extroverted, gregarious person can fall into the spiral of solitude, which might start out as a welcoming haven, but can turn into a very dark and distant place.

Even though I pushed myself through anxiety to do many activities and attend many events, I managed to get depressed for a full two months, mainly due to not enough social time. So my anxiety led to depression. First I was too anxious to hang out with people who genuinely wanted to hang out with me. Then I became depressed for being too lonely. I felt alienated and forgotten, ironically.

I had to turn over a new leaf in order to pull myself out of that place. Remember when I said the only type of anxiety that remained with me after high school was the type that seemed unrelated to any apparent reason? It was as if it was a random, physiological force, attacking me from the outside in an unstoppable way. It harbored itself within me and then began to take on physical effects, such as heightened heart rate, shortness of breath, and sweaty palms. Although that was how I felt, I had learned too much in the previous 5 years about how humans control their mind and mental state. While it was easy to say that the anxiety simply overcame me and I couldn’t do anything about it, I started to get an inkling that this wasn’t true.

I started doing some reframing. Anxiety comes with early signs — it isn’t all onset at once. Even anxiety attacks take time to build up in my experience. Until that point, I would always try to walk away from the anxiety when it showed its first signs. I was scared of it, so I would run from it, hide from it, and when that didn’t work, I’d try to stifle it. I’d ignore it and tell myself I wasn’t anxious. I’d distract myself with other things (activities, people, entertainment), which might work temporarily, but ultimately the anxiety would find a way to rear its ugly head, and it would end up bursting out of me if I didn’t face it. Being all alone in a foreign country, knowing I was the only one who could solve this for myself, and realizing that the other option was going home and quitting, all I had was the time and space to do it… so I tried. In attempts to reframe when I felt the anxiety start to creep in, I began to do the opposite: to give it my full attention. I would stop everything else I was thinking about and “look” at the anxiety dead in the face. I even changed my posture and sat facing a wall or window to focus on the feeling.

“So, what’s up?” I asked. “What’s your purpose?”

Certainly my anxiety had no voice on its own, but I gave it a voice. I allowed myself to open a dialogue with the part of me that felt anxious. Although it felt like an outside force, I knew it came from within me, so I tried to have a conversation with that piece of me.

In some cases, I learned that the anxiety was due to a particular upcoming event or stressor. I was able to use the anxiety as a tool — it was an early warning sign about a potential threat or imminent problem on my horizon. It was something vying for my attention, trying to tell me, “Look over here! Address this!” That’s why I say it became a tool. It was a flashing bright light for me to peer behind and see what was going on behind the scenes. Perhaps without that sign, I wouldn’t have tended to some true needs of mine, simply because I couldn’t locate them. It’s similar to the reason we feel physical pain — pain is intended to signal that something is wrong so that you fix it, either by being extra gentle or seeking medical attention. But you certainly don’t apply additional pressure to the pain or ignore it — that’s how the injury gets worse or it heals incorrectly. I found this was the perfect analogy for this type of anxiety.

In other cases, I learned that my anxiety really didn’t have a purpose, and I was feeling it instinctually due to a fear of the unknown. Sure, I felt a pang of anxiety before going to meet up with people whom I didn’t know very well yet. But so what? That was just basic fear of the unknown, which I knew was possible to overcome through doing. I felt the same kind of anxiety before moving to Ecuador, and just before taking on a new job with a greater level of responsibility.

Living in a different country gave me a plentitude of opportunities to step into the unknown. Learning your way around the city, which neighborhoods to avoid and which are safe, integrating yourself with a new group of friends, dating people in different languages, adjusting to social customs, working for a non-US company in a non-US environment, etc. I even had to adapt to the products in grocery stores, which is a lot more stressful than it might sound. “Comfort” items that you’re used to at home might not exist where you are now.

Around every corner there’s an opportunity to try something you’ve never tried before, be it just a new restaurant or street to stroll down. The vast majority of these experiences, no matter how simple, turn out to enrich our lives and make us fuller, brighter, more well-rounded people. Perhaps it’s seeing a painting that you’d never seen before because you’d never stood on that street corner, facing that direction, and looking up before. Or maybe it’s meeting someone who you never would’ve otherwise met, who became pivotal in your personal journey. We’ve all had an experience that intimidated us beforehand, but we did it! And at the end of it, we thought, “I’m so glad that I did that. I can’t imagine what life would be like if I hadn’t done it!”

Every moment has the potential to be life-changing for us. It comes down to our willingness to make that leap, or even take that baby step, into the unknown ahead. Not all life-changing moments begin with a monumental jump; you can absolutely inch your way into a vastly different life. All you have to do is keep moving forward, and keep trying things that scare you.

“The only way out is through.”

Repeating this phrase to myself through several trying experiences over 18 months abroad helped me ground myself and realign with the greater goal I had — to live a fuller life. I didn’t want to look back at the end of my life and wish I had taken more chances, or regret being so fearful.

The vision of living my fullest life pulled me through my fears into becoming the non-anxious person I am today, and in doing so, I got to see those fears from their inside, out. The vehicle I took while on this journey was traveling and living abroad, an experience I cannot recommend enough. It brings out the absolute worst in people, and in surfacing the worst in yourself, you get a chance to improve. Living abroad, especially in a country in which a language other than your native one is spoken, will show you all of your flaws and weaknesses, but you will also watch yourself grow in unprecedented ways if you stick with it. You can go home at any time. I thought about it on innumerable occasions. But if I had done that, I wouldn’t have grown to where I am now. I stopped taking the medication sometime in those 1.5 years and I haven’t felt that I needed it since!

It’s not that I don’t get anxiety at all anymore. The difference is that now, I have a different relationship with anxiety. When it starts showing up, I pay it immediate attention, and we do a dance together. I nod its way, asking what it wants to do, and let it lead me. I follow where it wants to go, and we cooperate as it shuffles me around. Then I’m able to take the lead, at first guiding the anxiety, and then letting it slowly fade into the background while I shimmy into a dance solo!

My words of advice to anyone who struggles with anxiety at any level — let it be your ally, not your enemy. Embrace it, do not fight it, because you cannot win that fight. Let it show you what it means — everything has a purpose. And if you let the purpose of those negative feelings come to light through intentional focus, you will unearth some of your deepest wishes, desires, and realest sentiments, with which you’re so thankful to familiarize yourself. Don’t be afraid to see that side of you, because it knows what you truly want. It is the true you.

Numbing the pain leads to a dull life; embracing it leads to your brightest self.