In February 2025, I left my home country of the United States with no clear plans to return, embarking on a nomadic trip around the world. First stop: Costa Rica.
In reality, I didn’t leave the States because I was feeling particularly adventurous. I did it because I was tired. Not the kind of tiredness that disappears after a good night’s sleep, or that can be fixed with a weekend, a personal day, or a vacation with a cute itinerary. I was the kind of tired that settles into your bones after so many years of pushing, performing, surviving, and navigating systems that were never built with you in mind.
I’ve since come to realize that kind of exhaustion is incredibly common, especially among Black women in the United States. We just don’t always name it.
The exhaustion no one warns you about
When people talk about leaving the U.S., it’s often framed as bold, exciting, daring, or even glamorous. The reality of where many of us are mentally, physically, and emotionally right before finally choosing to leave is far less…shiny. The truth for many Americans is that we increasingly exist and live our lives in a normalized state of burnout and quiet resentment – a feeling that you’ve been carrying something heavy for far too long, but you can’t quite put your finger on what it is. Eventually, the prize that you’ve been striving for all this time just doesn’t feel worth the continued struggle anymore.
To be clear, my existence in the States was far from uncomfortable in a conventional sense! I walked away from a six-figure job with a wonderful employer, work that was both interesting and challenging, and colleagues that I genuinely enjoyed working with. I lived in a comfortable but expensive apartment just outside of the nation’s capital, complete with all the general frills and amenities. Nonetheless, I felt myself not approaching some loud, dramatic breaking point, but striving instead towards a much quieter but more confident one. The accumulation of the costs to maintain that comfortable life in America: macro-stresses and micro-aggressions, the pressures of a culture that’s always ON, early mornings, lack of quality sleep, and work commutes with no real end in sight — all to hopefully enjoy a couple of weeks of actually living each year. Eventually, my body and mind just said: enough.
I needed rest that didn’t have to be earned first.
Vanea pharr
At the end of the day, life is not supposed to be a prison sentence, but unfortunately that’s exactly how it felt. As the retirement age continued to increase, my sentence just racked up more years, seemingly a punishment for daring to exist in the richest country on Earth. So, one day, I decided to set myself free.
Why Costa Rica?
I’ll tell you a little secret here…Costa Rica had been on my radar since Hillary lost the election.
That night, as I watched the election results roll in, devastated and crestfallen, I remember doing a Google search for countries where Black people can go and experience the lowest levels of racism. (I guess, if I’m being honest with myself, I was mentally planning my exodus even longer than I realized!) Costa Rica was the only warm place on the list, and I was instantly intrigued.
At the time, leaving was not an option, yet. But I could read all about it and dream! So that’s what I did. I read about this beautiful, wonderfully biodiverse little nation in Central America, where friendly people who call themselves Ticos live a slower pace of life, governed by the unofficial slogan of the nation: Pura Vida, which means “pure life”. Eventually, about a year before I left the States for good, I finally took a vacation to Costa Rica, exploring everything from gorgeous beaches to active volcanoes and thermal springs. It was even more than I’d imagined. Most importantly, it felt like a place where I could breathe, and that mattered more than anything.
Even if I was feeling a little adventurous when I boarded that first one-way, international flight, I quickly realized that what I needed wasn’t adventure. I needed rest that didn’t have to be earned first.
The First Months Living Abroad
When I first arrived in Costa Rica, it felt like all I could do was sleep! I wasn’t going anywhere or doing any of the things and, frankly, it felt disrespectful to the idea of travel. “Traveling is about new experiences,” I would say to myself with a layer of disappointment. Nonetheless, all I seemed to be able to muster energy for in between extended naps were Netflix binges and “people watching” from my balcony. And then…I felt guilty.
You see, when you’ve been in a constant state of output for so long, slowing down doesn’t immediately feel good. It feels unfamiliar, almost uncomfortable. I felt guilty for not getting out and doing things, anything, largely because we’ve been so well-trained to always keep going and never stop to rest. So, those first months in Costa Rica, I wasn’t “living my best life.”
I was sleeping more… moving slower…thinking less.
And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t constantly anticipating the next demand.
That’s when I realized: I hadn’t just been tired. I had been overstimulated for years.
This Isn’t JUST About Travel
Let’s be clear—this isn’t about Costa Rica being magical.
It’s about what happens when you step outside of a system that has been quietly draining you.
For Black women in the U.S., that system includes so many things: racialized stress, internal and external pressure to overperform in professional spaces, emotional labor, and a general lack of true rest. So, when we leave (even if it’s not permanent — yet!) we’re doing more than just traveling. We’re interrupting, even for a short while, a highly destructive pattern.
What I Wish More Women Understood
You don’t have to be “on the edge” to leave. You don’t have to wait until you’re completely burned out — nor should you if you can avoid it! Most importantly, you don’t have to justify your need for rest. If you’re feeling that quiet, persistent exhaustion, it might not be you.
It might be where you are, and changing that — even temporarily — might give you access to a version of yourself that’s been waiting to be discovered (or rediscovered) underneath all that pressure.
Costa Rica didn’t fix my life, but it gave me something simple but rare, and that was space. Not just physical space, but mental and emotional space as well. Space to exist without constant external demands and pressures, allowing me to start figuring out who I really want to be and what my life looks like when it is fully and thoroughly defined by my desires and not a requirement to produce.
I genuinely wish that level of freedom for us all.
