Living Abroad: The Reality No One Talks About

When I was 15 years old, I knew I wasn’t going to spend the rest of my life in Tampa, Florida.

It wasn’t because I didn’t love Tampa. My family is from there, and are still there today. West Tampa will always be part of me.

But even then, I wanted to see the world.

To me, the world was like a book full of doors. Tampa was just one door, and I wanted to open all of them.

Long before I ever moved to Italy, I imagined a different life for myself. I didn’t know exactly what it would look like, but I knew it would involve adventure, travel, and living somewhere beyond the place where I grew up.

Then I met Giovanni.

One of the first questions I asked him was whether he wanted to spend the rest of his life in Tampa or move back to Italy.

Without hesitation, he said he wanted to move back to Italy.

That’s when I knew.

Before we moved, I made a promise to myself: I would give Italy two years.

Whether I loved it or hated it, I would stay. No running home when things got difficult. No quitting because I was homesick. I was going to live in Italy for two years, no matter what.

Looking back now, that promise changed my life.

The beginning wasn’t easy. I knew I wouldn’t be going back to Tampa anytime soon. Giovanni needed to find work, and we were living on a very tight budget.

For the first six months, we lived with my in-laws.

Honestly, those six months were wonderful.

They’re from Naples, and every evening felt like a feast. Cooking isn’t just something they do—it’s their passion. The food was incredible, and yes, I gained ten pounds.

I regret absolutely nothing.

But more than the food, I had family.

I think moving here was easier for me because I wasn’t alone. My husband’s family became my family. Sunday lunches, family dinners, everyone sitting around the table every evening—it helped me feel accepted. It helped me feel like I belonged.

Today, when I meet people who move here completely on their own from America, Canada, or the UK, I have so much respect for them because I know how difficult that must be.

After six months, we moved into our first apartment in Italy—a small condo outside Lucca.

It took me about twenty-five minutes by bicycle to get into the city.

While Giovanni worked at a hotel, Lola and I spent our days exploring. We walked the neighborhood, discovered little corners of our new home, and slowly settled into life in Italy.

Sometimes it was exciting.

Sometimes it was lonely.

Back then, social media wasn’t what it is today. There weren’t endless Facebook groups, WhatsApp chats, and expat communities waiting to welcome newcomers.

Finding English speakers wasn’t easy.

There were a few foreigners around Lucca, but not many.

It took nearly two years before I really started finding my people.

And over the years, I’ve watched countless others arrive and begin the same journey.

Some stayed.

Some left.

One thing I’ve learned after all this time is that moving abroad isn’t for everyone.

I meet people all the time who tell me they’re moving to Italy forever.

Then six months later they’re gone.

I don’t say that to be negative. I say it because moving abroad is often romanticized.

People imagine sunsets over vineyards, long lunches, and a slower pace of life.

And those things absolutely exist.

But so do bureaucracy, culture shock, homesickness, and frustration.

Sometimes people think they’re moving away from their problems.

They’re not.

I’ve seen couples move here hoping that a new country would somehow fix problems they were already having in their marriage.

It doesn’t work that way.

Years ago, I was talking with a woman who had lived abroad for many years, and she said something I’ve never forgotten:

“Living abroad will either bring you closer together or push you further apart.”

I’ve found that to be incredibly true.

Living abroad puts pressure on everything. Your relationship, your finances, your patience, your ability to adapt, and your willingness to be uncomfortable.

I’ve seen couples thrive.

I’ve also seen couples separate.

Italy isn’t a cure for an unhappy marriage.

Italy is paperwork.

Italy is patience.

Italy is waiting.

Italy is learning that the office you need is closed today and you’ll have to come back tomorrow.

Italy is August heat and wondering why nobody seems interested in air conditioning.

But despite all that, there is something special here that I can’t quite explain.

To me, living in Italy often feels like stepping back in time.

It reminds me of my childhood.

Kids still play outside.

Families still eat together.

People buy food that’s in season.

Right now peaches are in season, so I’m eating peaches. Today I even made homemade whipped cream to eat with fresh local peaches.

The fruit tastes like fruit.

The vegetables taste like vegetables.

Food tastes real.

People cook from scratch.

Meals aren’t rushed.

Life isn’t rushed.

When I first moved here, I hated that stores closed in the afternoon.

I couldn’t understand it.

Now I love it.

The stores close because people go home to their families for lunch.

Family comes first.

Work comes second.

That was a huge adjustment for me.

In America, it often feels like life revolves around work.

In Italy, people work so they can enjoy life.

Many people struggle when they move here because they want Italy to be America with prettier scenery.

It isn’t.

And that’s exactly the point.

Italy is different.

Life is slower.

People spend more time outdoors.

Community matters.

Family matters.

Food matters.

And if you’re willing to embrace those differences instead of fighting them, this country can completely change your life.

Over the years, I’ve watched Lucca change too.

When I first arrived, there were only a handful of English speakers.

Now there are expat groups, language exchanges, international communities, and people arriving from all over the world.

Some people call us expats.

Honestly, we’re immigrants.

We just happen to be immigrants living in one of the most beautiful countries in the world.

I’ve met incredible people here.

I’ve met some crazy people too.

And I’ve met people who aren’t just friends anymore.

They’re family.

I honestly don’t know how I would have navigated Italian bureaucracy without Giovanni. When I see people doing it alone, I genuinely admire them.

Italy can test your patience.

But if you can make it through the paperwork, the language barriers, the homesickness, and the cultural adjustments, the reward is extraordinary.

Every day I wake up surrounded by beauty.

Every day I get to live the life that fifteen-year-old me dreamed about.

I manifested this life before I even knew what manifestation was.

And if I had to do it all over again—the uncertainty, the loneliness, the bureaucracy, the bike rides, the tiny apartment, and all the challenges that came with starting over—I would choose it every single time.