2014 was a whirlwind year for me. In January I set out on my first adventure, I decided to become an Au Pair in Italy; hoping to learn some Italian, live away from home, explore a new city and make some new friends. It did not go to plan, at all.
I found a host family the autumn prior to leaving, they were a lovely family of four, with two year old twins, who lived in Naples. It was ideal. I was always felt strongly towards Italy as my mum is from there, so the idea of going to live in her motherland was hugely exciting. I remember the week before I left, I started to feel nervous, which I knew was normal. However days before I became extremely anxious. On the plane I opened a card from my mum and just burst into tears, I reread that card over and over for the short two weeks I was there and cried every time. I spent all my time there wishing I was home, I begged my mum to book me a flight home but she said to give it a bit longer, I may enjoy it in time. Two weeks in, my host parents pulled me aside and asked what was wrong, they could see I wasn’t well. I hadn’t even left the house to explore on my own, I remember my host mum said I always looked very distant, like I was present but my mind was somewhere else. It was then that I told them that I have suffered from depression in the past and I thought I was currently on a low. They were so nice to me and showed such kindness, I knew I’d made the write decision in telling them. It took all my courage to do it. So after two weeks, which felt like two months, I flew back home.
I arrived home in England feeling like a failure and an embarrassment. I said I was going to move to Italy for a year and I only lasted two weeks. After a month I started to feel myself again. Spring came around and I decided to try again. I found a host Family in a small town called Jesi, near to Ancona. It was great, I arrived happy and excited, ready to take on a new challenge. Though the challenge was too much aggro for little reward. I really liked the kids, I’d take them to the park and play games with them all day everyday, though the mum did not take a shining to me. She thought I let the kids watch TV all day, instead of interacting with them, claiming they weren’t learning English fast enough. This was obviously not the case. She was so rude to me that I couldn’t stay there much longer. I remember once she took the kids out for dinner, left me in the house alone and locked the front door so I couldn’t get out! The only food in the fridge was some sorry looking ham, so I ate that and booked a flight home.
So once again I arrived home, feeling disheartened and once again a failure. August came around and I said to myself, I’ll try one more time, just one and if it doesn’t work out, I’ll give up. This time I went to Rome, I stayed in little town called Frascati, 30 minutes out of the centre by train, famous for its wine and gelato (two of my favourite things). I ended up staying in Rome for three months. It was the best 3 months of my life. I made such amazing friends, all I still speak to today, best friends. I laughed, I balled my eyes out at times, I explored, I ate so much pizza and gelato, I gained 2 stone, I learnt so much from my host family and had many fun nights at the Yellow (the best bar/ hostel in Rome), I drank endless pitchers of beer, I had my first espresso (most definitely not my last) and discovered Cinque Stelle (a 24/7 pastry shop, my dream).
I’m glad I never gave up, because otherwise I wouldn’t have found a 24 hour pastry shop.
Mindful Ness 