There’s nothing better than moving to a new country or taking a holiday alone to see what you’re made of. Or, perhaps, to “find yourself”.

When you’ve got nobody else to rely on and nobody to support you, there’s no choice but to find out what you’re made of. Honestly, I think doing something really tough, alone, is the best way to discover the real you.

I’ve been holidaying alone for about eight years now — in places including Croatia, Thailand, Bali, Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam, and in that time, I haven’t changed much. Now I’m in Amsterdam and those old patterns are emerging and I realise that I probably found myself years ago and that it’s not as spectacular a revelation as I’d hoped.

That sounds a little depressing, but it’s not meant to. I suppose the “finding yourself” is held up to be such a special and powerful moment that it’s a bit of an anti-climax to discover you’re the kind of person who asks for lots of help at every turn and gets really overwhelmed and upset when things go wrong (ie, finding you’ve moved into a house with — and have to swiftly move out of — a crazy man, as I discovered I had a couple of weeks ago ...)

Rather than the cool, calm and collected pillar of strength I hoped I would be, I realise my go-to emotion is a little pathetic and my internal monologue is something like “arrgghhhhhh!!!!!!!” when things start looking tricky. I’m not practical. I’m a crier and I panic and ask my mother what I should do.

Heading off on holiday alone is a little easier, as it usually doesn’t entail any major disasters, but I’m still never quite as adventurous as I anticipate. I tend to prefer days spent cycling around, reading books and drinking too much coffee, and exploring pâtisseries than I do venturing into the unknown (although, I do remember looking very determinedly for a bear in some caves in Croatia. That’s probably the bravest or the stupidest solo holiday thing I’ve done).

So, yes, people say it’s brave to move countries alone or to head off on holiday but, without a support network I know I can rely on when situations get rough, I don’t think I’d have the guts for any of it.

Since being in Amsterdam, for around three weeks, I’ve cried at so many strangers I can’t tell you. Things have gone wrong; I’ve moved accommodation — and 100kg of luggage — five times, I’ve managed to pack in an abusive relationship (don’t ask, but seriously, don’t start dating people you live with!), and I’ve had raging PMT for a week, which hasn’t helped any situations. My solution has been to cry and ask anyone and everyone I meet to HELP MEEEEEEEEEE!

I suppose I mentally prepared myself for at least six months of hardship; those months when you haven’t made close friends yet, you’re trying to come to terms with the terrible weather and dark mornings and when you’re still a newbie when it comes to the city and the culture.

I knew it would be hard but, part of me hoped that some strong and in-control inner me would emerge and deal with it all. I guess I still have to find that part of myself because it’s really elusive. Or it doesn’t exist; I can’t tell yet.