The Night Before I Moved Abroad: What I'd Tell Myself Now

Picture it: Newark Airport, December 2013...

I remember the carpet.

That ugly, industrial airport carpet in Terminal B that tries to look cheerful but mostly looks like something that hasn't felt hope since 1987.

I remember my stomach tying itself into knots so tight I was worried I wouldn't be able to breathe.
The blinking Christmas lights half-heartedly draped around the duty-free shop.
The weird feeling that everything was happening and standing still.

It was December 28, 2013. Just after Christmas.

We were sitting in Newark airport, our entire life jammed into a few checked bags.

Me and my husband (our cats were on a different flight because of quarantine restrictions).

The holiday crowds milled around us, laughing, FaceTiming family back home.

We were about to leave everything (and everyone) we knew behind ... and if you asked me why, I probably couldn't have answered in a single sentence.

Looking back now, almost 12 years later, I'd tell that version of me a few things.

Not because I had it wrong, but because I didn't know yet how it would really feel.

And maybe, if you're worried about your own version of Newark right now, shortly before your entire life changes, you need to hear it, too.

You are Allowed to be Terrified

Goodness how I wish someone had told me that back then.

That it's normal to question literally everything when you're about to move across an ocean.

I was 32, married, no kids yet.
We both had jobs (thankfully, mine was coming with me).
We had a plan that looked solid -- on paper.

But that night? None of that mattered.

My brain ran wild:

"What if we hate it?"
"What if we can't make friends?"
"What if I'm just running away from myself -- and myself comes too?

Here's the truth I'd tell my past self:

🙂‍↕️ You can love your life and still know it doesn't fit anymore.
🙂‍↕️ You can be excited and completely terrified at the same time.
🙂‍↕️ Fear isn't a red flag. It's part of doing something that matters.

If you aren't scared, it's probably not worth it.

The People Who Don't Get It? They're Not Your People Right Now.

In the weeks leading up to that flight, I lost count of the side-eye comments:

"Must be nice to up and leave."
"I could never do that to my family."
"Aren't you worried you'll regret it?"

I tried to answer every question. Defend every choice.

As if I owed everyone an airtight, Excel-formatted reason.

That night in Newark, it finally clicked:
I'm doing this for us. Not for them.

Looking back, I'd tell her:

🙂‍↔️ You don't need everyone to understand.
🙂‍↔️ You don't need unanimous approval from your family, your in-laws, your co-workers, or that random lady at Target.
🙂‍↔️ This isn't up to for committee vote.

It's yours.

And the people who love you?

They'll still love you. Even if they don't get it ... yet.

The Guilt Never Fully Goes Away ... But It Softens

If you're wired to care about other people (hi, same!), moving abroad feels selfish at first.

It feels like you're abandoning your aging parents.
Like betraying the friend who helped you move three times and you only paid in pizza and beer.
Like you're turning your back on the life you've built.

I wish I could say that guilt disappears on the plane.

It doesn't.

But what I'd tell that past self:
It softens.

It stops being the loudest voice.

It becomes something you can carry... like an old photo in your wallet... rather than something that crushes you.

And slowly, you realize:
🤔 Leaving isn't betrayal.
🤔 Staying isn't loyalty if it costs you your sanity.

You'll Grieve. Even Though You Wanted This.

Nobody warns you about the grief that comes with your move.

I didn't expect to feel sad about things I didn't even like.
The strip-mall parking lot near our old apartment where my husband tried to learn to drive stick shift.
The exact way the fall air smelled in Umstead in September.
The crappy diner with the world's worst coffee.

That night in Newark, I though I was just trading one life for another. I didn't know (yet) that you carry all your old lives with you.

What I'd tell her:
Grief doesn't mean you made the wrong choice.
It means you loved what you had, even if it wasn't enough anymore.

You Won't Become a Different Person Overnight

Somewhere in my heads, I thought moving abroad would turn me into this effortlessly cool, bilingual, fully evolved human. Like I'd land in Basel (or Vienna), wake up, and suddenly be someone who never second-guessed herself.

Spoiler: Nope.

I was still worried about money.
Still got homesick.
Still made dumb choices at the grocery store and cried in the milk section because everything felt too much.

Living abroad doesn't erase who you are.
It magnifies it.

What she needed to know:
Don't wait to 'fix' yourself before the move.
Go as you are. You'll grow there.

Your Problems Will Come, too ... But They Look Different

I used to imagine that once we left, life would magically feel lighter.
And in some ways, it did.

But the anxiety? It was still there.
The perfectionism? It found a home in the carry-on.
Marriage, fears, old stories? They don't get checked as baggage (that can be 'unclaimed' at the baggage claim).

And yet...

Distance gives you perspective.
Problems shrink when you're living a life that actually fits.

So no, moving abroad won't solve everything.

But it might give you the space to deal with it.

You Will Surprise Yourself

You don't know it yet, sitting there in that grimy airport chair, but you're about to do things you never thought you could.

🧭 Navigating foreign bureaucracy in a language you barely speak.
👯 Building a social network from scratch.
📍 Finding your way home when you're lost and your phone is dead.
🤭 Laughing at jokes in another language ... even if you only half get them.

That fear you feel right now?

It's the price of admission to a life where you get to surprise yourself.

The Moment You Land Isn't the Finish Line ... It's the Starting Line

Back then, I though the flight was the Big Moment.
As if crossing the border would turn the 'move abroad' dream in to reality - done and dusted.

What I didn't know:
The real work start after the plane lands.

Figuring out where to buy cat litter on a Sunday at 8 pm.
Signing your first lease in another language.
Building a life that's yours, not just a temporary adventure.

If I could talk to her now, I'd say:
This flight isn't the end of your courage.
It's the beginning.

You'll Find Home in Unexpected Places.

A certain corner table at your favorite cafe.

The exact way your breath fogs on a winter morning.

A neighbor who remembers your name.

The bakery that knows your order.

Home stops being a single dot on a map.
It becomes a mosaic of moments.

What she needed to know:

You don't have to know where 'home' is yet.
You'll build it as you go.

And Yes, You'll be Glad You Did It

It won't be pretty.

Some days, you'll hate it.
Some days, you'll wish you could teleport back to Target at 10 pm just because.

But years later, you'll look back at the night in Newark, heart pounding, hands shake, and you'll know:

It was worth it.
Not because it was easy
But because you made you more you than anything you'd done before.

To Anyone Sitting in Their Own Newark Airport Moment

Maybe you're reading this on your phone, curled up on a cold plastic chair.
Maybe your cats are meowing in their carriers, your stomach in a knot, and your partner keeps checking the boarding time.

You don't need to have it all figured out.
You don't need perfection.
You don't need everyone's blessings.

You just need to keep moving toward the life you know you want, even if your voice shakes as you say it.

Because years from now, you'll look back on this night.

And you'll realize: this wasn't the scariest decision you ever made.

It was the bravest.

If you’re somewhere between “I want to leave” and “holy sh*t, we’re really doing this”...

You don’t have to do it alone.

👉 Grab my free personalized visa checklist to see what you actually need to start.
👉 DM me on Instagram (@iammistelle) if your stomach’s in knots and you just want to say, “Tell me it’s possible.”

It is possible.
And Newark airport Mistelle?
She’d tell you the same.