Mental Burnout: How a Visit to the Faroe Islands Helped me Find Solace

At times on the Faroe Islands you’ll feel as though you’ve tricked space and time, finding yourself in an all-together different world where time stands still, and day-to-day life seems like a distant memory.

Such is the power of nature here: that undisturbed expanse, where the sea reaches in with cold fingers around the mounds of green that, in the periphery of your vision, seem almost like sleeping dragons. Reminiscent of childhood sagas and ancient legends, these islands not only provide freedom for your body as you traipse over the endless beautiful outdoors, but also an escape for the mind. This is the landscape of dreams, where your imagination can range free, unencumbered by the banalities of busy 21st century life.

I think it’s probably for this reason that I was drawn to visit these magical islands when I finally took a sabbatical from my busy London life. Overworked, over-exerted, I had been trying to do everything: keep on top of a busy job at a huge financial services firm while also trying to experience everything that one lives in London for: the shows, the restaurants, the parties. Don’t get me wrong, it was fun, but it left me utterly exhausted in the end.

In hindsight I probably threw myself into the busy-ness of London at a time in my life when I needed not only the distraction, but something to anchor me at a time when I felt adrift. Still reeling from the loss of my father a year earlier, I welcomed the hustle and bustle of the city, the demanding job to throw myself into and the comfort of being surrounded by friends old and new: not only was London great for meeting new people, but many of my closest friends from university were also living in the city. London may not have been the right fit for me overall, but it was exactly what I needed at the time.

Or so I thought at least. I do sometimes wonder whether all the distraction just caused the grief to build up further in some siloed part of my mind, waiting to spill over.

Fast forward three years and I felt ready to move on. I was about to set off on an incredible year-long sabbatical with my partner, Alex, across South East Asia and then on to Australia and New Zealand. But first, some deep instinct led me to seek out some time to myself. Completely and utterly alone. And I found myself booking flights on a whim from my home city of Edinburgh to a set of remote tiny islands in the Atlantic Ocean: the Faroes.

The Faroe Islands may not seem like an obvious holiday choice: they’re cold, remote, windy; but they’re staggeringly beautiful. Here you’ll feel like you’re teetering right on the very edge of the earth, as steep cliff faces fall into the inky sea below. You can walk for miles without encountering another soul, but the people you do meet, whether locals or other travellers, are always friendly, in mutual recognition of how rare it is to even be here.

My daily routine was simple: choose which island to explore next, check the weather (I was lucky to visit during a sunny September), decide which hike to do that day, then spend hours wandering alone with my camera. Sometimes I would make friends with someone on the same hike, which was always fun, but I never felt I had to. There is something so assuaging in finding comfort alone.

When we live in cities they become our world. Pressures at work take on a life or death importance. The need to do everything, please everyone, and be everywhere takes over our lives. But the colossal nature of the Faroes is the perfect antidote to these perceptions. A reminder of how small we are, and how easily life can be different if we choose to let it be different. I’m not saying we all need to pack up our bags and move into a remote turf-roofed house (tempting as that may be), but visiting these magical islands has allowed me to leave with a different cast of mind.

Read my other posts about the Faroe Islands here.