World Mental Health Day 2021: I Have Anxiety & Chose to Be a Nomad During a Pandemic
6 minute read.
Posing in front of Chichen Itza in June 2021
I wrote a piece for World Mental Health Day back in 2019. I skipped 2020. Bet you can guess why.
(For posterity: nobody had their shit together)
TL;DR version of my story— In the summer of 2020, I decided to sell or give away all my belongings, leave the US, and finally live as a digital nomad as I had dreamed of doing for several years. I just didn’t dream I would do it in the middle of a global pandemic.
Making an Anxiety-Inducing Choice to Avoid Anxiety
You might suspect that such a decision would exacerbate mental health issues, particularly anxiety.
And yes, for me, that’s true. Needing to rely on systems, cultures, languages, and people I don’t know during a global crisis has honestly been pretty scary. What might even be more worrying for me is the fear that I could contribute to the spread of this virus (yes, even now that I’m vaccinated). Similarly, being in places where many people deliberately do not care about the pandemic can bring crippling anxiety (both in the US and abroad).
But what also brings crippling anxiety is the feeling of being stuck or trapped. Social distancing is difficult, but being stuck in a single place indefinitely (St. Louis) and subjected to how the people around you act during the pandemic is far more anxiety-inducing.
To manage the anxiety of feeling trapped and surrounded by people who didn’t care about the pandemic, I chose to leave.
I did not make this decision without first agonizing over it. Due to my anxiety, I experienced multiple instances of rabbit-hole thinking about whether it was the right choice or the right time.
Spoiler alert: it was the right choice. The US was not safe.
The thing about a PANdemic is that it affects everyone. And when nowhere is safe, not even “home,” that weirdly opens up the door for opportunity.
Getting the Hell out of Dodge
My partner and I left the US at the end of August in 2020, seeking destinations where they were handling the pandemic better than the US—somewhere where US passport holders were allowed entry. Somewhere where masks were mandated. Somewhere where the virus was better under control. Somewhere warm where we could dine outdoors in the open air.
As one of the ~12 countries admitting US citizens at that time, Croatia checked many of those boxes. However, we learned that many Croatians weren’t wearing masks or enforcing mask-wearing in their businesses once we arrived. Their (justified) distrust in government led many Croatians to doubt the validity of what they were being told, and in many cases, the pandemic entirely. They were also fatigued and apathetic after a very slow tourist season.
Then we went to Malta for three months. We moved between different cities in Mexico for three months. Got vaccinated over a weekend in Phoenix, Arizona, before heading back to Mexico for another three months. After a few weeks of summer in the US, We continued to Guatemala, and they began to spike shortly after. With much of Latin America trending worse, we decided to give Europe another try and flew to Albania for a few (very anxious) weeks. They didn’t wear masks at all and seemed content to pretend like the pandemic was over. After two days in Greece, we finally made it to Portugal, where they have an 80% vaccine rate, and many still wear masks outdoors even though they’re no longer mandated.
It’s been a crazy ride.
The last year and some months of travel have been a delicate balancing act, doing our best to travel ethically while caring for my mental health and tending to my livelihood.
Everywhere we’ve been, we wear masks indoors and outdoors whenever we’re close to other people. We hand sanitize after interacting with common touchpoints and try to eat outside only in public. We heavily vet anyone we choose to meet with in person. The destinations we have selected have been incredibly intentional. Now we even keep a spreadsheet of cities and track COVID trends, vaccination rates, climate, hospitality costs, and travel costs to help us make decisions about where to go next.
Facing the Inescapability of the Pandemic
At the beginning of the pandemic, I quickly discovered that even particular family and friends weren’t moving through the world in a pandemic-safe manner. I felt trapped. I couldn’t run from it. My anxiety took me back into depression, and my depression took me into a very dark place.
Trusting strangers in a place you’ve never been? Even harder.
Like I said before: The thing about a PANdemic is that it affects everyone. Nowhere is safe from the virus, and there is no “running away” from it.
And it’s exhausting to have that realization over and over as you arrive in new places. It sucks the joy out of the novelty.
The inescapability of this constant vigilance and lack of trust have again taken their toll on my mental health.
Switching Medications & Healthcare Paradigms
While in Mexico, I ended up switching medications. A Mexican psychiatrist prescribed me Escitalopram (Lexapro)— which he told me is not as often prescribed in the US. He also said that my previously prescribed medication (Buspirone) is considered overprescribed in the US and is under-effective. I could get the medicine at basically any pharmacy, without a prescription, and far cheaper than in the US. (To be fair, the psychiatrist did say he thought it should require a prescription but, in his words, “it’s México.”)
That prescription change and the more accessible healthcare system in Mexico really saved me. Things turned around within a couple of weeks of taking Escitalopram. I felt markedly more present and more in control.
Breaking away from total reliance on the US healthcare system to care for my mental health has saved me a lot of money and a lot of suffering.
I no longer pay $100 for a 10-minute psychiatry session every few months so the doc can prescribe an overpriced medication that doesn’t work, and I have a year-and-a-half supply of one that does, and I paid less than 75 USD for it all. Medical tourism is a helluva thing.
As an aside: It’s weird; I have been able to break away from US-centric thinking in many aspects of life. Still, my reliance on the US healthcare system has been challenging to step back from. I’ve started to realize that our privatized system has traumatized me into fearing the cost and wrongly assuming I will get swindled* out of a lot of money after receiving care in another country.
*I will likely be upcharged compared to locals, but it will still be nothing compared to the cost in the US.
But that worry has not come to pass. Healthcare and medicine have often been more accessible, effective, and affordable everywhere I’ve been —without using insurance. Care is transparent and affordable, if not free. (I do have traveler’s health insurance, but it’s at a fraction of the cost of a plan back in the States).
Aside #2— I am still paying off medical bills from the care I received in the US in June 2020, which my insurance at the time didn’t cover. *Eyeroll*
Moving Forward as an Anxious Nomad
Going nomadic during this pandemic has forced me to reaffirm my values of community and caring for the greater good, including caring for myself.
It has forced me to find new solutions to my suffering.
It has forced me to find what stabilizes me while I face my anxieties.
This is an ongoing process and a delicate balance.
I now take medication that works. I continue to see a therapist who helps. I have a very supportive partner. I talk to friends I trust when I’m really having a bad time. I take days to care for myself when I need to.
I wouldn’t say I have all the answers when it comes to navigating the pandemic as a nomad with anxiety, but I’ve certainly found some ways to make it work for me.
If you’re thinking of going nomadic or are struggling with your mental health, I hope what I’ve shared shows that this life is possible if you’re willing to do some ongoing introspection and troubleshooting.