why, sometimes, you need to disappear
on growing pains and finding yourself
Does anyone else remember when Taylor Swift disappeared from public life for about 2 years between 1989 and Reputation? As a 16-year-old back then, I thought my favourite pop princess had vanished off the face of the earth, never to seen or heard from again. But after two years incognito, Taylor dropped what is now my (controversial opinion) favourite album of her whole discography—and her career came back bigger and stronger than ever.
And though I’d never compare myself to Taylor, I’ve learnt a thing or two about needing to disappear—and how growth is best done in silence.
I’ve always been one of those people who were chronically online: the kind of friend (or sister—my poor brother’s been through a lot) who’d beg you to take pictures of them in their little outfits and run late because she was making a fit check or some GRWM video before running out the door.
When I left home to pursue a master’s programme, I had this image of what my life in London would be: glittering parties, bottomless cocktails, and a hot girl autumn-winter-spring-summer I’d document and overshare online. I thought, “I’m going to vlog this” and “I’m going to take pictures here” and, even more deludedly, “I’m going to get bigger brand deals!!!”
The reality of it isn’t as simple. Sure, moving to a big city away from your parents opens so many doors to new people and new experiences. And for a while the thrill of it does hit hard—but happy hour has to end sometime. What was fun before doesn’t feel as fulfilling anymore, and it feels like it’s time to retreat, reconsider, and reinvent.
In addition to the list above, moving abroad alone also looks like: cleaning the flat, working alone in cafes, reading new books and magazines, trying new recipes, self-improvement, rethinking your style, trying new recipes, and making time to build a special new community from scratch. People forget that being totally alone overseas means that you’re the one refilling the toilet paper and calling the engineer when your boiler stops working. (This happened to me twice over winter and spring so yes it was not fun)
You’re standing on ground zero, without the support or validation from structures or communities you’ve already learnt to thrive in, and suddenly you’re like, “wait, who am I?”
I think, for the most part, I’ve been the same person since I was 19. Same people, same structures, same roadmap, same values, same persona. That doesn’t mean I was emotionally stunted or didn’t outgrow certain things—I still cringed at old outfits each passing year—but it means I thought I knew myself and what I wanted. I guess it means just became better every year at being who I decided I wanted to be back at 19. I thought I’d reached my final form emotionally.
Which honestly makes it really inconvenient now that I’m being forced to grow. I’d already grown into a version of myself I was more than happy with, and now I have to mature even more and figure out myself again? Rude.
But despite how disorientating it’s been, we’re all aware that growth is always necessary, and no matter how uncomfortable it is in the process, it’ll all end up worth it. This has been the strangest transitional phase I’ve ever experienced, because it’s like going through a second puberty (ew) but with my eyes wide open. Though I’m still the same person at my very core, it feels like I’m shedding layers (also ew, but I couldn’t think of a better way to describe this) and finding meaning in new things. Going through a transformational phase as an adult means that this time, the change isn’t just happening to you whether you like it or not—rather, it’s your job to pick and choose what you value, what to aspire to, what to keep, and what to let go of. That’s both exciting and terrifying.
I used to think I’d come to London and make lots of cute vlogs documenting my move. But somehow—and this is something I’ve only admitted to my closest friends—I found it really hard to pick up a camera, and then kept blaming myself for not ‘making the most’ of my life abroad. Every time I tried to put something together, I found myself rather lost, with thoughts like “what do I even want to show?” and “what am I even trying to say?” swimming through my mind. (Maybe also the classic pitfalls of being an overthinker, I’ve always envied those who can ‘just do it’.)
This departure from myself, though it feels alienating, also feels peaceful. There’s something very serene about stepping back to learn new things, see new places, and reevaluating what’s important to me. It feels like spring—serene and quiet, but brimming with promise.
I’ve come to the conclusion that if I wanted to make meaningful content that I’d be proud to share, I have to first figure out what’s important to me and what I want to say. Sometimes, you need to disappear for a bit, in order to show up again as someone who feels more like you than ever.
ps. this was written about a month ago and i’m happy to say i feel more myself than ever. there’s still lots to do and growing pains are still a thing, but stepping away for a second has been the best decision i’ve made in a while <3