Not Starting From Scratch

At 28, my life wasn’t perfect, far from it. That’s partly why I made such a huge move to Vietnam in the first place.

But in many ways, I’d already reached a quiet sense of self-actualisation.

As a chef, I’d come to a place of contentment with my skills. There were, and always will be, things to learn, but I no longer felt held back. I’d run my own business, something I’d dreamed of for years, and I’d closed it feeling at peace with what I’d achieved and with the decision itself. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I had anything left to prove.

Socially, life was simpler too. Living in the middle of nowhere means you’re never doing something all the time, and I was okay with that. I had a small handful of really good friends. I had my family. And that felt like enough.

I’d reached a point where I didn’t feel the need to chase friendships or mould myself into something more likeable. I trusted that the right people gravitate towards each other naturally, through shared interests, timing, and just being right for one another.

Then I came to Vietnam.

A new country. A new city. And a completely new career, teaching English.

I’d done my TEFL, but beyond that, this has very much been learning by doing. I’ve taught adults before, cooking classes, workshops, but teaching young children, and teaching a language, is an entirely different thing.

And suddenly, it felt like being back at university again.

Not because I’m studying again, but because of the feeling. That early-stage overwhelm. The sense that everyone else understands the rhythm faster than you do. The pressure to throw yourself into everything, to say yes to everyone, to prove you belong.

I found myself frustrated that I wasn’t already the best teacher I could be, impatient with the fact that I’m not at my full potential yet.

In my free time, I started overanalysing everything.

Should I be doing more?Should I be making more effort socially?Am I missing out if I spend time alone?

I also realised something about myself during this time, something that feels important.

For a long time, I thought it was anxiety that made me hesitant to do certain things or see certain people. I assumed I needed to push through it, to behave a certain way, to make more effort. But that never quite fit, because I’m an extrovert. I love being around people.

When I think about the people I genuinely enjoy spending time with, I look forward to seeing them. I don’t have that exhausted feeling beforehand, that sense of wanting to cancel before I’ve even arrived.

It’s made me wonder whether what I labelled as anxiety wasn’t anxiety at all, but instinct. A quiet way of knowing that some connections aren’t right for us, and that forcing ourselves out of obligation or fear of missing out doesn’t always lead to anything meaningful. Sometimes discomfort isn’t something to overcome. Sometimes it’s something to listen to.

I’ve been in Vietnam for three weeks now, and I turn 29 tomorrow.It feels like a strange in-between moment, not long enough to feel settled, but long enough to feel tired. Long enough to notice old patterns resurfacing, and new ones trying to form.

The truth is, I’m tired.

And slowly, I’m becoming more content in my own company again.

I’ve always been someone who felt the need to be surrounded by people, always talking, always doing something on my days off, always wanting to be liked. But I think there comes a point where you have to learn how to be happy on your own, and to trust that you’ll find your people without forcing it.

When I think back to university, my best year wasn’t the loud, chaotic beginning. It was my third year. I was doing well academically. I had a solid group of friends on my course. My flatmates were my closest friends. And that was enough.

My first year, by contrast, was filled with a constant underlying feeling of what I thought was anxiety. The pressure to say yes, to be everywhere, to prove myself socially. Looking back now, I can see how much of that came from forcing connections that didn’t quite fit.

I don’t want to repeat first-year energy in Vietnam.

This move isn’t about starting from scratch. It’s about building from a place of self-knowledge, allowing space to settle into a new role, to grow into a new career, and to let relationships form naturally rather than out of pressure or fear of missing out.

Contentment doesn’t always look busy. Sometimes it looks like quiet confidence, and trusting that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be, even if it doesn’t feel fully formed yet.

So today, I’m putting my earphones in and going to the beach, just to watch the waves on my own.