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You’re allowed to feel lonely on your year abroad

Fun and loneliness are not mutually exclusive, and it’s okay to struggle with isolation on your year abroad


In August I was torn between going abroad or staying in Edinburgh for 3rd year. An admin error on the uni’s part and a studying-hard-enough one on mine caused the final decision to be put off until the summer.

Naturally, I made an Insta poll. As encouragement came in from so many who had done a year abroad, I decided to set off to Rome in the fall, confident in my choice.

But while September was a crazy whirlwind of new faces and names and Aperol Spritz in the sun, November brought rain and midterms. My Italian fantasy was soon soured by the realisation that I’m still me, and not the protagonist of some Roman Holiday-style rom-com.

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Throwing it back to Freshers' Week

Student life is inherently isolating. You may go out every night of Freshers’ and have endless lunch dates around campus, but when it comes to that late night taxi ride or grocery shop, you’ll find yourself alone with your thoughts far more often that you might have been used to.

Freshers' Week in first year comes to mind; a rush for social lives and new friends that you can cash in for popularity points with your mates back home. The cooler looking, the better. It’s forced and unnatural and somewhat inevitable. And because it’s impossible to form a real connection within the span of a month, October brings with it a bittersweet twinge, the slight feeling that you’re in the wrong place. It’s normal but we feel like it isn’t.

First year often comes with expectations, mostly carried on from school, to somehow try and upgrade your circle through social acrobatics, overpriced lunch dates, and one too many nights out. The feeling that you’re not doing enough if you’re not doing too much, and the expectation that the friends you make in the first week will carry you through till fourth year is so pressure-inducing that it’s not rare to feel lonely, misunderstood, and falling behind. We’re still stuck in that high school mindset – still kind of teenagers.

What's different about a year abroad?

On this I can say – the beginning of your year abroad WILL proceed differently, provided you put some effort on your part. The age difference is tangible, and most people are only here for six months; more worried about who they’ll enjoy their next coffee with than the tags on their insta pictures.

We’re all sufficiently detached from our real life to find comfort in natural connections only, as opposed to forcing a friendship with your friend’s friend from home that they swore were cool. There are third years and post-grads and everyone in between. They all find themselves in a strange city, friendless and ready to meet as many people as possible.

No one wants to limit themselves to a clique, for fear of missing out, and this is the most encouraging thing you can find when you first step into a foreign environment. Being away from home, knowing it’s a temporary location, and having no one around here know you, allows you to take yourself a lot less seriously than you would at home, and it’s liberating.

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The language barrier

This liberation is something you can make an effort to hang on to. As students, to sink head first into a fully new environment brings with it a new, particular brand of isolation. If you find yourself in a group were two out of three sentences are spoken in a language you last communicated in during GCSEs, the familiar feeling of loneliness comes back in full power. It’s unavoidable and shocking, and one of the aspects of a year abroad that might lead you to feel small in a bad way.

Here, your mindset is decisive, and I understand that this is easier said that done, but an open mind is essential when being with people who speak different languages. English in particular is accessible to mostly everyone, but when others are making an effort to speak in their second or third tongue just because you’re sat at the table, the pressure can be somewhat overwhelming.

Not speaking the language is understandable but terrible grounds on which to avoid a social interaction. Anyone who has ever struggled with a different language knows the hopelessness of being part of a conversation you can’t understand. The chances are that people will be understanding – however, the experience is humbling and always leaves you feeling stupid at best and isolated at worse. The feeling of isolation might be lessened by people’s willingness to branch out, but the language barrier is also an enhancing factor.

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But you’ve done it: you stepped way out of your comfort zone. If you, like me, happened to have ended up in a sunnier place, you’ll become aware of the mental toll Edinburgh’s 4pm sunsets have on you. Other than the beauty of being able to wear short sleeves in October, you’ll find you're a billion times more likely to make plans if it isn’t minus five degrees outside.

Amongst those foreign languages and faces; that bus fine you got because you couldn’t eloquently cry your way out of it; the new distances and teachers who you can’t understand very well— you will miss home. And that is okay.

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Edi<3

On missing Edinburgh

You will miss all your friends in Edinburgh, your old flatmates, the morning chats in the kitchen. It’s painful to grow such deep roots and connections with people for two years and jerk them out at once in search of new experiences.

Is it worth it? So far, yes, but there’s still something in me that makes me text all my friends back home the minute I get drunk. I’ve cried to them on Facetime before – not out of unhappiness, but from fomo and nostalgia.

I’ve forgotten about the uphill Marchmont walks in sub-zero weather and instead remember only happy Hive nights, and that’s fine, because by the time I’m back in Edinburgh next year, I’ll be thinking about those Aperol spritzes only, Vatican sunsets, weekend trips…