Editor’s Note: September 2025
I wrote this post months ago, in the thick of uncertainty. At the time, I hadn’t told many people about my plans. I was still researching, still wavering, still unsure if I’d even get approved. But I did. I officially received my Spain Digital Nomad Visa this month, and the countdown is now on.
Even though this post was written before I had answers, I’m sharing it now, unedited and raw, because it captures exactly where my head and heart were when I made the choice to go. This is the beginning of that journey.
A Caribbean woman’s reckoning with home, healing, and hard decisions
Nine months ago, I made a decision that had been quietly building for years.
It came after a long, slow, creeping ache of knowing something wasn’t right anymore.
Of realising the version of life I was living in Trinidad no longer fit the woman I was becoming.
Mini tangent incoming (but it’s part of the plot, I promise)
For those who don’t know: I was born in Trinidad but raised in Brooklyn, New York, until I was 13. And, moving back to Trinidad at that age was…jarring, to say the least.
I was a born Trinidadian, yes, but for most of my childhood, I was American in mannerisms, the way I spoke, mindset, and experiences. At the time, I didn’t have the same deep cultural connection and appreciation for Trinidad back then that I do now.
I lived as an American with Trini cultural connections that didn’t fully resonate with me at the time. And, by the time I moved back to Trinidad, it took a few years to fully embrace those connections and fully assimilate into Trini culture.
Eventually, I did adjust.
I made friends. I grew roots. I built a career I’m proud of and formed relationships that shaped me. Trinidad became home. But there was always this quiet knowing in the back of my mind: this isn’t my forever home.
You know some people just know that where they were born and grew up is the place where they’ll spend the rest of their lives? I’ve never experienced that, and I think that splitting my formative years between living in the States and Trinidad contributed to that. That “in between” sense that you can love a country, but at the same time it’s not necessarily the place you envision a permanent future.
Okay, back to the purpose of this blog
I’ve always had an affinity for Europe. Not because I had a detailed plan or some big strategy. I just always knew, in that gut-deep way, that I’d want to settle there one day.
But life happened. I got comfortable. I entered a long-term relationship that I was happy in. My career, which I loved, had me rooted in Trinidad. And the fear of giving up my life here for the unknown in another country settled in like dust, and slowly, that inner pull became something I told myself could wait. After a while, it felt like a fantasy, a dream…ultimately inaccessible.
Slowly, a lot of things in my life and my worldview shifted, and in some cases, were completely upended.
On the personal side of things, my relationship ended. Looking outward, between the alarming increase in crime, the state of the economy and overall development, Trinidad felt like it was regressing. I was increasingly feeling disenchanted, and when I thought about the quality of life that I wanted…I didn’t feel like could achieve it here.
And, while I’d been working remotely since 2020, it started to dawn on me that, with the exception of my cats and my work, there was nothing physically tying me to this country anymore.
By the end of 2024, while navigating one of the worst depressive episodes I’d ever experienced, it all came to a head.
I didn’t just want to leave. I needed to.
At the start of 2025, I knew: It was time.
Was it REALLY time? Or was I just running away from my problems?
In the lead-up to the decision to leave, my thoughts were noisy and relentless.
I felt trapped. Like I was living life, but not fully experiencing it. And the more I travelled, the more that feeling intensified.
There was this persistent whisper in the back of my mind: “This isn’t it. This isn’t all there is.”
And yet, almost on cue, another voice would jump in: “Am I just running from my shit? Or do I genuinely want something different?”
Some days I’d talk myself into staying. I’d tell myself I was being dramatic. Ungrateful. That, maybe, I was just having a rough week, and things would feel better soon. Other days, I’d fall into an all-too-familiar loop: “Am I being arrogant for thinking I’ve outgrown Trinidad? Who do I think I am?”
I’d spiral between guilt and restlessness. Between loving my country and also feeling completely disconnected from it. I questioned whether I was wrong for wanting more, especially when so many around me were simply surviving, getting by, making do.
And yet, the signs continued to pile up.
The crime. The rising cost of living. The casual yet infuriating mediocrity of how systems were run. The sheer exhaustion of living in a place where the government seemed indifferent and the people were slowly losing hope.
There was no grand collapse. Just a thousand tiny moments that chipped away at me until I couldn’t unsee it anymore.
Because, what if I never left?
And, as terrified as I was of failing, of moving to a country where I knew no one, and didn’t fluently speak the language, the thought of the idea of staying, of never trying, of accepting a life that no longer fits just because it was familiar, scared me more.
Sick and tired of being sick and tired
I want to be explicitly clear: my depression wasn’t because of Trinidad.
But Trinidad became the backdrop that made everything feel heavier. Like trying to heal in a room with no air. Every frustration, every glitch in the system, every “it is what it is” moment… it all started feeling like an echo of what was already broken inside me.
This was coupled with the fact that most of my immediate family lives in the U.S. I’ve lived in Trinidad for 24 years, but there has been this growing feeling that I don’t belong. And, like I’m drifting further and further from the version of home I once knew.
The disconnection? It was real.
And I knew—I couldn’t keep doing this.
The mental desire to move TOWARD something. Peace. Possibility. Progress.
So, I started Googling. Countries with a better quality of life. Digital nomad visas. Places where I could breathe.
Spain wasn’t even the goal at first. But the research became a lifeline. A breadcrumb trail. A reminder that other versions of life existed, and that maybe I could choose one.
It was a period when I could finally stop imagining a new life and start living it.
And now? It’s no longer an idea. I got approved.
This is happening.
After months of research, paperwork, deep manifestation, several crash out moments…I’ve officially been granted my Digital Nomad Visa for Spain!
I’m still processing it, if I’m honest. Because as inevitable as this move always felt in my spirit, I’m now standing at the edge of a life I’ve always imagined—about to actually live it.
I don’t have all the answers. I’m still scared. Still figuring it out. But the pull is louder than the fear.
And, the timing feels divine.
This Part Is for You
If you’ve ever felt stuck, like the life you’re living no longer fits the person you’re becoming…I hope this blog reminds you that it’s okay to want more.
It’s okay to leave. It’s okay to start over.
This is my first entry in my From Port-of-Spain to Spain series—equal parts personal diary, practical resource hub, and proof that Caribbean women belong anywhere we choose.
In this series, I’ll be sharing everything from why I chose Spain, the entire Digital Nomad Visa process, what I’m packing, how I’m budgeting, what I’m terrified about, and starting this new life.
Have questions? Feel free to drop me a line: ricqcolia@gmail.com!
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