How To Travel the World with Depression and Anxiety

Prior to our trip to Jeju-do, my time spent in South Korea had been subsumed by a sticky, hungry combination of depression and anxiety that, while not unfamiliar, was desperately unwelcome. I had people to meet and places to explore, but I struggled to care, even though I knew that I used to—and would once again.

When I did make it out of my head (and hotel room) to attend film screenings for my work as a pop culture reporter at the Busan International Film Festival, or to go to a BTS concert, respite was temporary—my not-okayness lingered in the background like a constant electronic buzz, simultaneously distracting me and sapping my energy until I felt like I had nothing left to give. I had to keep working (I couldn’t afford not to), but I was operating from muscle memory rather than any real motivation, and it felt terrible.

I have lived with an anxiety disorder and dysthymia—a form of mild yet long-term depression—since my teens. While I know that there are people whose chronic mental illnesses keep them from being able to travel in the ways they would like to, I’m incredibly grateful that, for the most part, this has not been the case for me. But that doesn’t mean I don’t take my anxiety and depression with me wherever I go. Thankfully, in my 15 years of traveling internationally, I’ve learned some lessons about exploring the world with anxiety and depression. I hope my perspective helps—whether you’re someone traveling with anxiety and depression or simply someone looking to understand what it’s like for someone to travel with these conditions.

Though not the best travel companions, anxiety and depression can be managed while on the road. According to Dr. Charlotte Russell—a UK-based clinical psychologist who writes about the relationship between travel and psychology for The Travel Psychologist—anxiety and depression are classed as “common mental health difficulties.” Roughly one in three of us will experience them in our lifetimes. That said, there are degrees of severity, and not everyone is able to function well while traveling with anxiety and/or depression. “My advice would be that your mental health needs to be stable, and you need to have good coping strategies in place in order to travel internationally,” says Russell.

For many with these conditions, being ready to travel might mean already engaging a baseline level of psychological treatment. I, for instance, see my therapist every few weeks when I’m not traveling. I take SSRIs to increase the level of serotonin activity in my brain and keep my mood relatively steady. My therapist and I also use a methodology known as EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) to untangle negative beliefs that have kept me paralyzed in the past—and to work to replace them with a healthier understanding of the world and my place in it. All of these things have given me a level of stability that allows me to travel successfully.

Ultimately, mental health is individual, and the best person to discuss travel with is your therapist. “Traveling does come with stresses, disruption to normal routines, and sometimes things go wrong,” says Russell. “It would not be wise to put yourself through this if it’s likely to trigger a crisis or if you may not be able to cope.”

From Eat, Pray, Love to Korean dramas, movies, and other elements of pop culture often present being somewhere else as a solution to life’s everyday problems. Similarly, friends’ and coworkers' vacation photos on social media can offer a rose-tinted, incomplete look at what life away from home looks like. But this is not actually how travel works.

For me, accepting that a trip will not make my mental illness disappear is an important part of setting myself up for success. The times I’ve felt the absolute worst while traveling were not the times when I was dealing with a dip in my mental health—they were when I was dealing with a dip in my mental health and beating myself up about having mental illness.

Ultimately, expecting travel to be a panacea can lead to increased mental distress down the road. “There’s no evidence that travel is an effective therapy or ‘cure,’ and attempting to use travel in this way does have significant risks,” says Russell, “particularly if someone were to travel when their mental health is not stable and they do not have effective coping strategies.”

“It’s really important to be aware of what triggers your difficulties,” advises Russell. Travel (like anything that takes us out of our normal spheres and routines) can leave us open to encountering triggers in unexpected ways. And while there are common triggers that affect a wide swath of people, every individual is different.

For me, for instance, not having adequate time alone to decompress and process the world around me—outside of the perceived and/or real demands of socialization—is a major trigger for my anxiety and depression. As a result, sharing a hotel room with a very social friend at the beginning of my trip to Korea ended up triggering my anxiety and, eventually, depression. Unfortunately, that friendship didn’t survive the trip, and while the situation was painful, I learned a lot about myself from the experience. I made a promise to myself that during future travels, I would be more honest with myself and also communicate more about my needs with any travel companions from the get-go.

This decision is also in line with Russell’s advice. “I’d advise thinking proactively about how you will look after yourself while you are away,” she says. “If you know that disruption to your sleep is detrimental for you, think carefully about your accommodation, your routine, and how you are going to manage jet lag.”

It’s also helpful to have specific, effective coping strategies in place for when you do run into one of your triggers. One of my tried-and-true coping strategies—particularly for the stress I experience when sharing space while traveling—is visiting coffee shops. Cafés offer a familiar type of “third space” (a place that is not a lodging, workplace, or tourist spot) to find autonomy, and I can find them in most countries. Visiting a coffee shop might not give me alone time, but it does let me sit quietly without having to speak to a companion, thus limiting the kind of social pressure that triggers my anxiety.

Coping strategies vary from person to person, and it can be helpful to make a list of what works best for you. Ideally, you should make this list before you travel, when you’re not in the middle of a dip in mental health, as it can be hard to brainstorm solutions when you’re unwell. If you’re someone who struggles with decisions, try to keep the list focused, but keep in mind that if you’re on the other side of the world, in a place where cultural norms are different, not all of your favored solutions may work. It’s helpful to have more than one option to turn to.

Related: Autistic Abroad: The Ups and Downs of Neurodivergent Travel

When I was struggling in Korea, it wasn’t travel itself that ultimately helped me feel better. Instead, it was my medication. It was reaching out to my therapist via email and listening to her remind me of the work we had done together. It was expressing my struggles to a few trusted loved ones—in person, on the phone, and in voice notes sent across the globe. Perhaps most importantly, it was admitting to myself that, however much I wanted to be, I was not feeling OK. I suffered a mental health crisis while in Korea, and it wasn’t fun, but I was able to get through it because of the work I’d done up until that point and the tools I took with me.

But I did find that my trip ultimately had a positive side for my mental health. On the other side of that trip, I trust myself a bit more. The adventure was messy, and there were times I didn’t like being myself. I cried in the quiet subways of Seoul and on the volcanic coasts of Jeju Island. But I also learned a lot about myself in the process.

After my trip to Jeju, before leaving Korea, I had the chance to visit Seoul’s Leeum, Samsung Museum of Art, where moon jars made by artist Young Sook Park were on display. Moon jars are a uniquely Korean form of art. The large, milky-white porcelain jars were originally made during the Joseon period and traditionally used as vessels for flowers or wine. Park is a modern master of moon jars, and I found unexpected peace of mind in standing alongside 29 of her quiet, luminous pieces.

Moon jars are something that can be filled but that exist, whole and beautiful, on their own. They exude a sense of solitariness even when grouped together. They are fragile, but some examples have survived for hundreds of years. Their beauty exists not in spite of asymmetries and imperfections but because of them. Both then and now, I feel grateful to have stood beside them. I feel grateful to be alive and be a part of this world, with all its asymmetries and imperfections.