When paradise feels like a trap
surviving claustrophobia on a small island
I love Antigua. I truly do. There is a kind of peace I feel here that I haven’t been able to replicate anywhere else. The kind of peace that comes from early morning walks with pink skies, a mango dropping from a tree in your yard, or someone randomly gifting you soursop because “they know you like dem kinda ting.”
And yet, even paradise can feel like a trap sometimes.
Antigua is a tiny island. 108 square miles to be exact. There are moments when that smallness feels like a tight dress I used to love that no longer zips up. I bump into the same people at the same places, doing the same things, ordering the same food, having the same conversations. And while I love familiarity, I also crave fresh energy. New places, new faces, new experiences. Sometimes, I just want the option to go somewhere completely random and not run into three people who know my last name and the primary school I went to.
There was a point when I started to feel the walls closing in, especially when I began retreating from being so visible and “out there.” I was shifting, evolving, and feeling emotionally disconnected from everything around me. It wasn’t just burnout, it was a full-body “I need space” moment. And when you live on a rock that’s 108 miles wide, space isn’t always an option.
My mental health has always responded to that trapped feeling by shutting down. I would retreat, isolate, and turn to the internet like a lifeline. Connecting with people virtually became my way of breathing again. Over the years, I’ve gotten much better at managing those moments. I’ve learned how to build small doors inside the trap.
One of those doors is the beach.
Y’all, I cannot stress this enough: the beach is my therapy. Saltwater and sunshine fix most things. Just last weekend, I ended up at a beach I hadn’t been to in years. A friend visiting the island and I spent the afternoon eating conchs and salmon fritters, soaking up the reggae that was blasting, laughing, swimming, and just feeling free. That one day felt like a hard reset.
When island life starts to feel too tight, I shake things up in my own way. I go somewhere new to eat. I walk a different route. I reach out to a friend I haven’t spoken to in a while. I book a solo staycation. I look for moments that feel different, even if it’s in the same old place.
I also write. Writing is one of the ways I escape the box. It helps me travel outside of Antigua without physically leaving. When I sit down to write here on Substack, it reminds me that I’m connected to something so much bigger. The fact that 80% of my readers aren’t even from Antigua? That gives me life. It reminds me that my words have wings, even if I feel like I’m stuck.
Speaking of wings, I’ve quietly been planning and booking trips. I won’t say where just yet, but I have plans to revive myself with some serious travel starting later this year. I’m dreaming about London, summers in Europe, and lit African adventures. What I do know is that travel is now my emotional lifeline. I will use it to remind me that there’s more beyond these shores and that I’m allowed to go after it. Growing up, my parents prioritised travel. My sisters and I were on a plane three or four times a year from a very young age. My dad worked for the Caribbean regional airline LIAT, and with that came lots of discounted and free flights for his family. I’ve had many passports in my life and had to get new ones not because of expiration, but because I ran out of space for travel stamps. I’ve had multiple visas for different countries, so travel isn’t new to me. I was travelling consistently until just a few years before Covid. Now I’m happy to get back to it with a new mentality, perspective, and deep appreciation—this time prioritising my pleasure and joy over work and hustle.
But even with all that, I never feel guilty for needing a break from “paradise.” This island is beautiful. It’s full of things that bring me joy. I love walking outside and picking flowers. I love the familiarity of faces. I love having access to fresh fruits and vegetables, being able to walk to the market and grab everything I need to make a beautiful meal. Antigua feeds me, literally and spiritually. But even the most beautiful places can feel too small if you don’t give yourself space to stretch.
There are certain times of year when it hits me harder. Carnival is a vibe, and the summer brings so much energy, but that post-December funk? Whew. That’s the one that gets me. I start reflecting on all the things I didn’t do and all the ways I think I failed. Then January shows up all loud and full of goals, and suddenly I’m questioning my entire life. Add a little island claustrophobia on top and you’ve got a perfect mental cocktail.
Still, I survive. And more than that, I’m learning to thrive.
My community plays a huge part in that. My friends and family are incredibly supportive. They get it. They’ve also been planning their own little escapes when they feel boxed in, so when I express how I feel, there’s no judgment. Just understanding.
I’m also learning that freedom, for me, doesn’t have to mean moving. It can look like saying yes to something new, or no to something draining. It can look like going to a different part of the island, trying a new restaurant, watching a show I wouldn’t normally pick. It’s in the small shifts. It’s in how I choose to live every day.
Have I thought about relocating? Yes. Am I plotting a little test run of that move? Also yes. But no spoilers yet. Just know that my dream is to live between two countries, to find a balance that gives me both rootedness and room.
If I could tell my younger self anything, it would be this: You can love where you live and still want more. You can be grateful and still want to shake things up. Don’t be afraid to explore, to pivot, to change your mind. Soft island living is real, but it doesn’t mean you have to stay still.
If you live on a small island and you’re feeling boxed in, I see you. Plan that trip. Take that drive. Walk that new trail. Go find that version of you that still gets excited about something.
Also, below I’ve dropped a few pictures of what surviving island claustrophobia looks like for me. There’s beauty everywhere, even when it feels like a trap. You just have to make space to see it again.
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I really enjoyed reading this post. You are a great writer! I like the creative ways you “escape’ paradise, and can’t wait to see where you actually go to escape for “real”.
I always say I was an island gyal in my former life. The way my heart comes alive and joy fills my bones when I'm on one feels like confirmation. I hope to spend extended time in the Caribbean at some point in my life, and I wonder if I'd have the same sentiments.. or not, since I didn't grow up there.