How can you be depressed? The dark side of travel

“Okay, cat. Let’s have a big home-cooked meal!” Mr. Cat looked up at me with his big green eyes, not caring anything about my meal, only looking forward to his evening grooming session.

I was quite enthusiastic about cooking a big meal in a fully stocked kitchen, as I had been living off of mostly cheese and mustard sandwiches and bland oatmeal for the past couple months while cycling across Ireland, the UK, and France. I made it into Switzerland to a little village just 10 km from Zurich, where I would be housesitting for the next few weeks. But as I sat down to my large meal of pasta and veggies, a feeling I am much too acquainted with began to perfuse underneath my skin. It’s a cold feeling, sinking. It’s subtle, but I’m so familiar with it that I couldn’t shake the sense of dread it engendered. Have you ever stepped foot into a place and immediately concluded that you don’t belong there? It’s why in my 6 years of living in Phoenix I actively avoided going to Scottsdale.

This house was pristine and everything had a perfect place. It didn’t even look real - it looked like a stage for the cover of Luxury Homes magazine. The home was adorned with expensive brand cosmetics, clothing, cookware, and an ostentatious sound system that probably cost half of what I just sold my house for. I had left America and yet here I am, living in consumerism on steroids. I tried to shake off the unease and focus on the beauty around me. I had a handsome view of the Swiss Alps in the distance from the back porch. Peeking up from above the little houses peppering the hills was a Bavarian steeple that chimed the cacophony of resonant bells at seemingly random hours.

The next morning, the clouds started rolling in, and there was nothing I could do to stop them. My body grew weak, my chest hollowed in, my breath slowed. I was falling into a depression, and I could tell it was going to be a doozy. I was quite frustrated because there I was, in Switzerland, a stunning landscape of mountains and glacial lakes. Yet it became difficult for me to enjoy it the way I wanted to. Indeed, this quickly became a deep and crippling depression. It didn’t help that I was staying in a rural village and was alone in this pretentious house. I felt isolated. As the clouds darkened, I became trapped in a cycle of self-loathing and blame. 

“You’re in Switzerland, Mara! What is wrong with you? You shouldn’t be depressed, you should be enjoying the mountains.”

Some days, however, it hurt to even move.

In my younger years, I called depression The Monster. My Monster, my Monster That Loves Me. It used to show up frequently, and bombed me as if it missed me terribly while it was away. It wrapped its talons around me, cloaking me with its despair. It did what it wanted when it wanted; never asking for my consent. I was powerless at its feet, begging it to show me mercy this time. Fortunately, it shows up less frequently these days. But when it does visit it brings me to my knees, and it’s scary. 

Here I am, on this grand adventure, traveling the world, and I can barely move. My hair is disheveled, my face has broken out like a teenager before prom, and I am utterly depressed. Will people understand? Will they wonder how I can be traveling to all of these beautiful places and be so depressed? Many people may not understand, but I know that there are some people who do. Depression can show up at anytime for any reason - sometimes there is no logical reason. For people like me who have clinically struggled our entire lives with it, it’s just a part of who we are. I do my best to cope with it until it passes. I try many things; running, going to the gym, going for a walk, calling friends - these things provide temporary reprieve, which I suppose prevents me from completely losing it. But perhaps I am able to ride it out because I have learned something over the years; it always passes. That acquired knowledge via experience provides me with a sliver of hope the size of a pea, but that pea is enough to keep me from starving.

When people ask me about my travels and they hear my stories and my vision, when they hear that I am living ‘the travel life,’ they probably picture Instagram-saturated photos of beautiful places and flowy skirts and sandals that haven’t been scuffed, a backdrop of crystal blue ocean waters or spectacular monuments, filtered to erase the weathered blemishes of its history. Yes, I see beautiful places and do cool things. And of course I post them on Insta, though I don’t typically filter them or alter the photos, and I share the good and the bad, the positives and negatives, the challenges and successes. I am traveling, but I am NOT vacationing. This is my life. I still have to deal with stress, I live on a very tight budget, and I sometimes get lonely. I deal with just as many, if not more, challenges traveling as I did living in one place. My Monster can and does still show up… and you know what? It’s okay for me to acknowledge it.

I am very fortunate that I have friends who I can talk to about these things, though I’ll admit it is not easy for me to reach out for support or bring it up. But I know that I can and they will not judge me or question it or tell me to ‘just enjoy where you are.’ They’ll tell me it sucks, and that they’re there for me and I can reach out whenever I want to. Many people don’t reach out for support, even from those who love them, because they’re likely already beating themselves up over it and when they receive judgement or unhelpful responses like, “But you have nothing to be depressed about - you’re in Switzerland! I wish I could travel like you do,” it makes them feel worse. But the thing is, it’s normal to get down or depressed even when you’re traveling. Whether you’re traveling as a lifestyle or you’re just taking a month to explore a new city or country, it can show up. It may be triggered by something or it may just crash your party for no reason. It doesn’t mean you’re not grateful to be where you are, or that you did anything to make this happen. There’s nothing wrong with you.

If you’re feeling down or lonely or depressed, give yourself grace, and look forward to the day when the clouds part and you can get back on the bike (or the path towards joy, as it were). I will share a few of the things I did while I was dealing with depression this last time, just in case it’s helpful:

I ran - running is my primary coping mechanism and has been my entire adult life. So I took to the trails, which were, luckily, just outside the door. The first couple of times I ran I cried, but I know I needed that release. Running gave me a temporary peace and confidence boost - and though it would fade out after only a few hours, it was enough to keep me stable.

I went to the gym. There was a gym just down the street so after emerging from the forest trails I would complete my run at the gym door. I would spend an hour or so working out and lifting weights. I did my mobility exercises and stretching - the movement made me feel at home in my body.

I talked to myself. I told myself it would be okay. I told myself it would pass. Sometimes I had to argue with the other side of my brain that tried to convince me I was lazy, or worthless, or foolish for letting myself get this depressed. Each time a negative though like that came up I counteracted with an affirmative or forgiving thought.

I tried to eat healthy. There was a little garden on the porch with goodies like lettuce, herbs, and tomatoes (and figs out front!). Most days I tried to make myself a salad with some homemade dressing or bake some sweet potatoes and zucchini. One day I even made a smoothie with the figs. Eating healthy always makes me feel nourished. Though I will admit and I acknowledge that it can be somewhat of a battle to get myself motivated to prepare a healthy meal - and often I lost that battle.

I reached out to people. I said above I find this difficult, but I tried to stay in contact with my friends and had several calls and FaceTime chats with them while I was in Switzerland. I didn’t talk a lot about what I was going through, but just chatting with them made me feel good and reminded me that I am loved and I am not alone, even though I am far away. I also met a few folks through travel apps. I was able to get out of the town a few times to go hiking and exploring. Those were good days.

I kept a night routine. This is not always easy when you’re traveling, especially on a bicycle, but I find that night routines help me stay hopeful. I’m not exactly sure why that is, but there’s a little comfort in following a ritual, especially at the end of the day. It was just a simple routine; wash my face, apply a nourishing moisturizer, floss and brush my teeth, and read my book before going to sleep.

Once the owners of the house returned from their trip, I couldn’t leave fast enough. I just wanted to leave that house and town behind me. It happened to be a downpour the night I left, but I traipsed into the woods and set up my tent in the rain. The next day, I packed up, got on my bike, and cycled out of Switzerland and into Germany. As soon as I crossed the border I felt the weight lift. My Monster retreated. I cycled with heart and gratitude - it felt good to be back on the bike, and Germany is beautiful!

I struggled mentally and emotionally while I was in Switzerland, but I will also share that it is a beautiful country and I hope that the next time I am there, my experience will be much more positive. For now, I’d like to keep moving forward!