Travel Therapy, or Travel Anxiety
October 2nd, 2026
Writer: Nicolette Peremen
Editor: Sophia Wohl
Last semester, I packed my bags and got on a plane to Copenhagen. I had committed to spend the next four months studying abroad–a new country, school, and friends. I had wanted to do this program since I was ten years old, I had always imagined what my life would be like once I got there. I was expecting to be excited and ready…ready to leave and take a break. That wasn’t the case, unfortunately. I mean, I was excited, but more than anything I was scared. When I touched down in Copenhagen, it was in the midst of an anticipated passing of a family member and a fresh breakup. I was lost and I wanted nothing more than to be home. I wanted to be back where it was familiar; I couldn’t fathom entering another unknown.
My first week went as expected. I spent the week running around, trying to make friends and conceptualize my surroundings. Truthfully, I was much too busy to think about the emotional baggage that boarded the plane with me. In an attempt to cope, I did exactly what anyone studying abroad would do: I traveled.
The trips were all amazing, but my heart was not there. I had the privilege to experience these new and exciting places that people dream of traveling to, yet I wouldn’t allow myself to enjoy them. I was stuck in a constant loop of missing what I had left behind and convincing myself I was not ready for what was in front of me.
But slowly—almost imperceptibly at first—something shifted. It happened in the quiet moments: a classmate saving me a seat, the first time I navigated the city without a map, being invited on a trip. I started to feel the rhythm of Copenhagen settling into me. The unfamiliar streets became familiar, and the strangers around me began to feel like friends. I wasn’t healed, not entirely, but I was no longer unraveling.
And then one day, I caught myself laughing—really laughing—on a metro with friends I hadn’t known existed just weeks before. The weight I’d been carrying felt lighter. What had started as simply trying to “get through it,” had developed into a genuine growth. The grief, the heartbreak, the fear—they hadn’t disappeared, but they no longer defined my days. Instead, I found myself looking forward: to new trips, new memories, new versions of myself I had yet to meet. Somewhere along the way, the unknown stopped being something to fear and became something I was grateful to wake up to.
As I look back now, I think about what one of my friends joked about before my departure: “You’re going to Cope-in-hagen.” She was right.
