How my life looked perfect (but felt all wrong)

Chapter 1: A tale of anxiety, an Italian adventure and finding your path to happiness

Introducing Love at First Flight, where I share stories of love and self-discovery from my travels around the world.

Rewind to 2009. London. A life that should have felt like a dream—an enviable job in TV publicity, a cozy apartment and a buzzing social life. And yet something was missing.

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Another sleepless night. The glow of my laptop lit my bedroom at 4am, as my worries spiralled into full-on panic.

I told myself I was just getting ahead of tomorrow’s workload. But the truth was, I couldn't sleep even if I tried.

My mind raced with worst-case scenarios, an endless loop of anxiety that followed me into the morning.

When daylight came, I shuffled onto the train like a zombie, already depleted. The walk from the station to the office was an assault course of self-doubt:

No one likes me. I’m a failure. I’ve ruined everything.

I was stuck in a cycle I couldn’t escape. Until an invitation changed everything.

Perfect on paper

My career was thriving, my flat was beautiful, my weekends were filled with brunches and parties. But inside, I was drowning.

While everyone around me seemed to be moving forward—getting married, buying homes, falling pregnant—I felt like I was falling behind.

I’d been hit by three major life changes at once.

My long-term relationship ended, forcing me to find a new home. Almost immediately, I was promoted—a milestone I had worked so hard for and wanted to celebrate. But it came just as my company was undergoing a massive expansion.

What should have been a validation of my hard work became an avalanche, burying me under its weight.

Somewhere along the way, I'd packed away any wilder dreams. They belonged to a different kind of life.

A wake-up call

One Saturday morning, I lay in bed, mindlessly scrolling through Facebook when a quote stopped me in my tracks:

Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow. It empties today of its strength.

—Corrie ten Boom

The weight of these words hit me hard. This endless cycle wasn't solving anything—it was only draining me of what little strength I had left.

But what was I supposed to do about it?

A notification pinged. An email from Sam, my flatmate’s friend.

She’d seen me struggling and wanted to share something that had helped her through tough times: The Wheel of Life.

At first glance, it looked like a cross between a mandala and a pie chart, divided into eight key areas: love, home, finances, work, health, family and friends, creativity and spirituality.

The exercise was simple—score each area from 1 to 10, shade in the corresponding sections and see the shape that emerged. It was meant to reveal what was out of balance, what needed attention.

It couldn’t hurt to try.

My life areas

I started with an easy one.

Home was a solid eight - my new flat with its charming flatmate had become a true sanctuary. But everything else...

Love and romance? A painful two. While my friends were settling down, I was suddenly back in the murky waters of singledom, my eight-year relationship still a raw wound.

My finances told their own brutal story - deserving a three - as my credit card bills kept me awake at night.

Work was no better, another three. My dream career had become a pressure cooker, as I juggled three roles.

Health scored a miserable four. The insomnia, the stress - my body was keeping a tally of everything I was trying to ignore.

As I filled in each segment, a pattern emerged. But it wasn't the neat circle I'd expected. Instead, my wheel was jagged, lopsided, incapable of rolling forward.

Looking at the uneven shape on the page, I finally saw my life clearly.

Taking action

Armed with my misshapen wheel, I started small.

Weekly gym sessions to quiet my racing mind. An art therapy class where it didn't matter if you cried or couldn't paint. A detailed budget to tackle those credit card bills. Regular check-ins with HR about my overwhelming workload.

Progress was slow, but at least I was moving.

Still, in quiet moments between my carefully scheduled self-improvement activities, I felt restless. All these sensible solutions were helping, but something inside me was screaming for more than just a better routine.

I needed an escape.

Then Amanda, a friend from Australia, messaged:

Come to Italy with us!

She was visiting Europe with her friend Kate and asked me to join them for a two-week backpacking trip around Italy.

I'd never done anything like this before—my holidays were usually carefully planned packages with detailed itineraries. This would be different.

But, for once, I didn't overthink it.

I packed my bags, grabbed my passport and left London behind, rolling my sensible suitcase onto the plane while Amanda and Kate hoisted their well-worn backpacks with practiced ease.

I packed my bags, grabbed my passport and left London behind.

An Italian escape

The moment I stepped off the plane, the air felt different—warmer, heavier with the scent of coffee and sunbaked stone. For the first time in months, the crushing weight on my chest loosened.

This wasn't the rigid, scheduled life I'd left behind in London. Here, with Amanda and Kate, I was stepping into another life entirely—one that belonged to someone freer, lighter, happier.

My first hostel stay. My first time without a detailed itinerary. We chose our next destinations on a whim, following excitement instead of obligations.

Kate and me at the top of the Duomo in Florence.

Milan stunned us with its effortless style—Vespas whizzed past, shop windows gleamed under the grand glass dome of the Galleria. Instead of rushing through quick lunch breaks, we lingered over aperitivo until our bellies were full of wine and laughter.

Bologna’s russet buildings warmed in the afternoon sun as we discovered hidden piazzas and devoured fresh pasta. Every night, the streets filled with music and conversation, and I felt myself unwinding, stretching into this new, more carefree version of me.

So much food in Bologna.

In Rimini, we found a different kind of magic. Dancing in beach bars and clubs until sunrise, making friends with strangers, forgetting to check the time or worry about tomorrow. Everything felt electric with possibility.

Then came Florence—the masterpiece. A Renaissance painting come to life, where cobblestone streets led to grand cathedrals and the air carried the scent of leather and fresh pastries. We wandered through the Uffizi, stood breathless before Michelangelo's David, crossed the Ponte Vecchio at sunset. Between gelato stops and wine bars, we talked about love, about dreams, about all the endless roads still left to travel.

For the first time in years, I felt light. Unburdened. Alive.

Beautiful Florence.

A moment of clarity

The revelation came on the most ordinary of afternoons.

Just three friends sitting on a park bench in Rimini, eating supermarket sandwiches. Seagulls called lazily overhead. Waves lapped at the shore. Nothing remarkable about it at all.

Then, without warning, tears started falling. Not the desperate kind I'd grown used to in London—these were different.

Relief. Joy. Possibility.

Away from the relentless pressure and the punishing voice of my inner critic, something inside me cracked open.

My world had become so small—measured in deadlines, debt repayments and depression.

But sitting there, watching sunlight dance on the Mediterranean, I suddenly understood: life was meant to be something more.

Photo by Alain ROUILLER on Unsplash

Return to reality

While Amanda and Kate continued their journey to party at festivals in Venice, their career break stretching ahead of them, I flew home from Florence. My two weeks of freedom were up.

As I watched the city from above, getting smaller and then disappearing behind the clouds, I couldn’t hold back my tears.

I was reluctant to leave behind this version of myself—the one who laughed easily, who moved freely, who was open to adventure. I'd watched in awe as my friends navigated Italy with such confidence, flowing from city to city, living out of their backpacks like it was second nature. But now I had to return to the office, to real life.

Back in my flat, as I unpacked my suitcase, I realized I'd brought something unexpected home with me.

Memories of sunshine and spontaneity—and also a glimpse of who I could be.

Moving forward

As the months passed, my life slowly found more balance. I kept up with the small changes—the gym sessions, the art classes, the budgeting. But something had shifted inside me.

The girl who'd drawn that wonky Wheel of Life was different now. Travel had shown me a world beyond my carefully controlled London existence. In quiet moments, I found myself searching flight prices for far-off places and daydreaming about more adventures.

But, outside my window, the endless grey skies pressed down on me. I rejoined the mass of bodies shuffling through packed tube stations. Every wedding, every housewarming party, every baby shower pulled me back into London's rhythm.

My inner critic wasn't done with me. As I watched more friends settle down, it whispered a new worry:

You're thirty-one next year. You need a new boyfriend. Then you'll be happy again.

And so I listened. After all, wasn't it time to be sensible? To focus on finding what everyone else seemed to have?

I signed up for a dating seminar, bored of being single and ready to learn the rules of modern romance.

Little did I know, it would lead me somewhere else entirely...

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Chapter Two delves into my hilarious dating attempts in London and how I ended up barefoot in Thailand, having lost my shoes. You can read it here.

Thank you for joining me on this journey through Love at First Flight.

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