The land i have inside. A new journey trough Iceland and myself.

Sometimes familiar places can be experienced with different moods, at different ages, and with different mindsets.
They suddenly become new places again, offering the chance to explore new things.

Obviously, nothing has changed—only we have.

This is the story of how my third trip to Iceland was the most challenging, yet the most beautiful.

This time I was going through my second-worst period with myself.
I had some stress-related issues—or at least I thought they were.
I was wrong.

From the start, boarding the plane, I didn’t feel good at all.
I was anxious, short of breath, and afraid (of God knows what)… It was really strange, because in fact I love airplanes and flying.
I love the roar and the power of the engines during takeoff.
But not this time.
It took at least 30 minutes for this feeling to subside.

And then, there she was: Iceland again.

The first night was pretty “normal.”
But I constantly had this strange feeling inside me.
It was like anxiety mixed with rage, a stomachache, and a feeling of being lost and stuck.

The second night, at dinner, I felt like I was in hell.
I was in the hotel’s restaurant, and it was crowded (I mean, there were just 25 people, but that’s a lot by Icelandic standards).
Suddenly, I had what I thought was a panic attack: I couldn’t eat, I was breathing heavily, and a series of intrusive thoughts were racing through my mind.

I tried to calm myself down with controlled breathing and by checking the weather forecast to see if there was a chance to see the Northern Lights that night.

Except for the breathing exercises, that feeling wasn’t going anywhere.

From the forecast, I saw I could have a chance of clear skies 300 km to the east of where I was. I decided to go.
I grabbed my car, packed all my gear—camera, easel, and lenses—and there I was: driving alone in the Icelandic night, searching for clear skies.
Probably what I was seeking outside was what I needed inside.

Driving was difficult—not because of the wind or heavy rain, but because the biggest challenge was keeping my mind under control.

I was constantly haunted by thoughts of my past—my father’s illness, the hardships I faced as a child, and the life I was leading back home…
I even had difficulty swallowing my saliva because of all the things racing through my mind.

After two hours, there it was: clear sky.
And even before parking the car in a perfect spot between two fjords, there she was.

Like magic, the Northern Lights appeared just as I was parking the car.

I was in a rush to grab my camera and so on, but at the same time, I was mesmerized by the way they were dancing.

I was fully immersed in that moment —which lasted about half an hour— and all the fears, the anxiety, and other discomfort symptoms had vanished.
I was happy, I might say. Or at least at peace.

The sound of the ocean and the spectacle unfolding in the sky transported me to another dimension and gave me exactly what I needed at the right moment.

It was time to return to the hotel.

After another two-hour drive, at 2:00 AM I was finally in my bed.

The next day, I was on the same road heading to the Eastfjords, one of my favorite locations in Iceland.

The weather remained mostly gray the entire time.
But even with clouds and gale, this place is always beautiful, satisfying, and unique.

Over the next two days, something shifted in my mind.
I started to remember happy, normal moments with my family from my childhood.
My father’s voice returned to my ears after so many years without it.
I remembered how my life was before everything that happened after my father’s diagnosis and the destruction of my family.

It was painful, I have to admit it.
But finally, I was able to remember something.

Now it was time to travel from east to west, and I drove for many hours.

Everything was more peaceful than the days before, and I was totally immersed in the landscape I was driving through.

Finally, I arrived in Stykkishólmur, a town located in the west of the island.

As on my previous visit, this city was at once full of life, yet quiet.
It has a little harbor where you can take a ferry to the Westfjords.

The night in Stykkishólmur was quite rough.
I was only able to eat soup and some biscuits.
I was very tired after dinner, so I decided to go to my room to edit some of the photos I had taken during the day, and at a certain point …here I was: experiencing the worst emotional breakdown I’ve had in at least ten years.

I couldn’t stop; my mind was a mess, full of conflicting thoughts and memories.
I couldn’t understand why the hell I was in Iceland alone for the third time in a row.
I couldn’t accept my life at home anymore—my relationships, my job, the toxic people around me, modern society in general. I was hurt, and my body was screaming for me to admit it.

After thirty minutes or more in this state, things started to calm down on their own, and I felt a sense of relief.
It was like all the crying and screaming had liberated me from something heavy in my chest.

At that point, I grabbed my shoes and went for a walk.

On the last day, my only goal was to go back to see Kirkjufell and its mighty mountain, and then head back to the airport.
It was a wonderful day.

The road to Keflavík was stunning.
It felt like Iceland wanted to give me one last treat.

And that was it.
The story of how Iceland helped me set myself free.
The story of how I finally understood not my destination, but the path I needed to choose.

This journey led me to understand myself on a much deeper level.

Back home, after speaking with my therapist, we began a diagnostic process that helped me finally realize how I really work.

As an AuDHD adult—with CPTSD as well—everything I experienced was natural.
It was my body communicating with me, urging me to change my life in a functional way.

And guess what? I embrace that way—a more natural and slower pace, where the most important thing is to truly enjoy every moment, rather than chasing useless results, as our society teaches us nowadays.

Thank you, Iceland.