7 Soul-Crushing Moments Of American Isolation Abroad! And What Finally Saved Me…

What No One Tells You About Expat Loneliness…And To Get Through It

The loneliest I’ve ever felt wasn’t after a breakup or at some tear-filled funeral.

It was in the middle of a sweltering Kyiv summer, sitting alone in a stuffy one-room apartment, listening to the rattle of an old fan shake like it might give out before I did… realizing I had absolutely no one to call.

Not because my phone didn’t work (though it was 1999 and that was always a possibility), but because I didn’t know a single soul in this city except her.

The same her I’d just had a blowout fight with.

The same her I had moved across the world for… just one month earlier.

I came in hot, literally and figuratively, bright-eyed, hopeful, thinking my big expat adventure was about to unfold.

Instead, I found myself alone, sweating through my shirt, wondering if I’d just made the biggest mistake of my life.

I had dreams of European café mornings and wild Ukrainian toasts with strangers who’d instantly feel like old friends.

But, what I got was silent metro rides, Cyrillic street signs I couldn’t decipher, and exactly one conversation with a Ukrainian police officer who just wanted to know if I had my passport on me. (I did. Thank God.)

This isn’t the part people post about.

You won’t find it in influencer reels or glossy “why I left America” Instagram posts.

It’s the underbelly of expat life.

Freedom felt thrilling… until it turned into isolation. 

Kyiv, Tbilisi, Strasbourg and Saranda… beautiful on the outside, gut-punches on the inside.

After a dozen cities, I’ve learned that loneliness doesn’t knock. It just walks in. 

But I’ve also learned how to deal.

If you’re abroad, or about to be, and no one mentioned this part, keep reading.

You’ll want to know.

Here are 7 soul-crushing, but honest moments when I felt completely alone abroad… and the surprising, often ridiculous things that got me through it.

1. The First Night in a City Where No One Knows Your Name

There’s a special kind of silence that settles over a place the moment your door clicks shut for the first time.

I remember my first night in Tbilisi, tiny apartment, half-zipped suitcase, and just enough Georgian to order khachapuri without insulting someone’s grandmother.

The streets outside buzzed with life, but inside, it was just me and the echo of “What the hell did I just do?”

What helped me: I didn’t need a best friend… I needed a cozy local spot to hang my proverbial hat.

And I found one in a local Georgian restaurant just two blocks from my flat and made it my own personal embassy.

Showing up 3–4, 5 nights a week, for a few glasses of Saperavi and a Khachapuri Adjarian, I managed to turn the unknown into the familiar.

I became more than a regular, I became part of their extended family…

Don’t underestimate the healing power of being recognized, even if it’s just for always ordering the same thing.

2. Holidays That Remind You Exactly What You Left Behind

There’s nothing quite like being in a foreign country on Thanksgiving and realizing no one around you even knows what stuffing is, let alone why your homesickness is peaking around dinnertime.

While friends back home were stuffing themselves and arguing over football, I was in Kyiv, alone, eating overly salted buttered pasta and watching pirated movies on an old VCR in a drafty apartment.

At some point, I layered up, braved the cold, and took the Metro to the nearest Cybercafe downtown, because I had no laptop and no Wi-Fi of course (it was 1999).

So there I was, just me and a sticky keyboard Googling “cranberry sauce Ukraine.”

Guess what? There was none!

What helped me: The next year I invited a few fellow teaching colleagues over, cobbled together a meal with ingredients that would make your Midwestern aunt weep, and made it a tradition.

It turns out, new memories can ease the sting of old ones.

Especially when there’s wine involved.

3. When Language Isn’t Just a Barrier… It’s a Wall

Nothing says “I’m thriving abroad” like standing in a pharmacy in Blagoevgrad, Bulgaria, miming the act of a possible sinus infection while holding the bridge of your nose and making sad puppy eyes at the pharmacist.

I was looking for a nasal steroid. Thankfully, she understood or I could’ve ended up with hemorrhoid cream and a hard candy.

Even in countries where I spoke some of the language, like France, Spain, or Ukraine, sometimes it wasn’t enough when nuance was needed.

Try explaining sciatica in a second language when it feels like your leg is being tasered.

What helped me: I stopped being proud and started being prepared.

Learn a few key survival phrases before arrival, a language app on standby, and Google Translate set to “speak” mode.

Expat tip: If all else fails, find a teenager.

They usually speak better English than most embassy staff.

4. Getting Sick Far from Home… and Wondering Who Will Help

The worst part of being sick abroad isn’t the illness, it’s realizing how quickly you go from independent adult to helpless foreigner.

In Kyiv, circa 2002, I threw out my back and ended up at a university polyclinic that looked like a Cold War film set.

The woman who “treated” me was built like an Olympic Soviet shot-putter and barked commands like I was late for boot camp.

And somehow? She cured me!

With a massage that bordered on physical assault… but in the most healing way.

What helped me: I learned to always find the name of a good clinic, keep cash on hand, and find at least one local contact or nowadays, expat group on Facebook in every city I travel to.

You don’t need 20 friends. You need one who knows where to find an English-speaking doctor.

5. Losing the One Local Friend Who Made You Feel Seen

In Tbilisi, I had a friend named Tamo who basically served as my translator, cultural guide, and therapist.

When she moved to Austria for grad school, I was genuinely crushed. Suddenly, everything felt unfamiliar again.

No more spontaneous invites. No more “let me help you explain that to the waiter.”

It was like being dumped by the only person who understood my “foreign-ness”.

What helped me: I forced myself to go to language exchanges and meetups, even when I totally mangled the local language.

But they were fun, and the awkwardness was part of the adventure.

It wasn’t about replacing Tamo. It was about rebuilding a net before I slipped through the social cracks.

You’ve got to plant new seeds… even if they grow weird at first.

6. Realizing No One Truly “Gets” You Anymore

Humor doesn’t always translate. I once made a perfectly innocent Seinfeld reference in a conversation in Spain during my first Camino, and my new friends blinked at me like I’d just confessed to a crime.

In another moment in a café in a small town in Alsace, I told a story that normally would’ve gotten laughs.

Instead, it got silence, and the polite kind, too.

You know, the kind that says “I’m smiling but I have no idea what just happened.”

What helped me: I stopped trying to be funny and started trying to be understood. I found people: expats, locals fluent in English, even the odd tourist… who didn’t need footnotes for my humor.

There’s no shame in needing people who just get you.

It’s not retreating into a bubble, it’s building your own little breathing space.

7. Visa Problems That Make You Feel Like an Unwanted Guest

I’ve been through enough visa dramas in Ukraine to write a mini-series.

There was one year I had to leave the country twice just to reapply. It felt less like I was living there and more like I was temporarily tolerated.

The Ukrainian Consulate in Krakow should’ve known me on a first name basis, by that point…

But, if you’ve ever been at the mercy of bureaucrats in a cramped, overheated office while someone stamps papers without making eye contact… you know that’s wishful thinking…

What helped me: I never again assumed that things would “probably work out.”

I had an old student of mine who was a lawyer on speed dial.

I also had copies of everything (plus backups), and horror stories from fellow travelers and expats as guideposts.

The more you prepare, the less you panic.

Usually.

The Loneliness You Don’t See on Instagram

Living abroad made me tougher, and more alone than I ever expected. This isn’t the glossy social media part.

But, it’s raw, it’s real, and yeah, it’s all about survival.

Connection takes time.

Belonging takes work.

But resilience? That’s built when no one’s watching.

• Ever felt that kind of alone?
• What got you through it?