Larena Tannert is a journalism sophomore and opinion columnist for Mustang News. The opinions expressed in this article do not necessarily reflect those of Mustang Media Group.
There’s a particular kind of bravery that doesn’t make headlines or win awards. It’s choosing to exist in a constant state of uncertainty, where even the simplest tasks require you to risk looking foolish. But with each small risk, I’m building a confidence I never knew I needed, one that doesn’t depend on getting everything right. It’s the willingness to exist in a constant state of uncertainty, where even the simplest tasks require unbelievable courage.
This is my reality as a student who speaks minimal Spanish studying abroad in Madrid. And I’m beginning to realize that courage isn’t the absence of fear—it’s trying anyway, putting yourself out there even when every interaction feels like jumping off a cliff.
Back home, I was articulate. I could make people laugh, contribute meaningfully to conversations, and express myself clearly. Here, I’m reduced to a young child, pointing at menus and relying heavily on hand signals or Google Translate. The frustration of having thoughts you can’t express and jokes you can’t share is a unique kind of isolation.
Language barriers don’t just make communication difficult; they make connection almost impossible. Every day requires a conscious decision to put myself out there despite knowing I’ll struggle, misunderstand, and probably embarrass myself. It would be so much easier to stick with other international students who share my limitations and speak my language. But that’s not why I came here.
Yesterday, I successfully asked for directions and actually understood the response. It was a five-minute interaction that would have taken thirty seconds in English, but I felt relieved and unstoppable after. These small victories are what sustain me.
What strikes me most is the kindness of people here. I’m grateful for everyone who has taken time to help me, from showing me where bathrooms are, helping me navigate the metro, or walking me through menu items with patience.
Each of these moments required courage. Being alone in a new city where you can barely communicate forces you out of your comfort zone. So many people have chosen kindness when they could have easily walked past me and brushed me off. They have communicated through broken phrases and hand gestures, encouraging and embracing my attempts rather than judging them. Their willingness to help reminds me that connection doesn’t require perfect language, just patience and compassion.
People often romanticize studying abroad, with its Instagram-worthy moments, the adventure and the personal growth. And yes, those things are real. But what they don’t show you is the homesickness at 2 a.m., the frustration of missing cultural references and the exhaustion of navigating every single task in a foreign language.
I knew what I was signing up for. Before boarding my flight, I understood that studying abroad in Spain with barely any Spanish would mean daily frustration and constant confusion. But I chose Madrid anyway, not in spite of the challenge, but because of it. For me, studying abroad has always been about learning to stand on my own and becoming someone who can navigate uncertainty independently. I wanted to prove to myself that I could handle more than I thought, that I could grow into a more capable, resilient version of myself.
The real story of studying abroad isn’t about fearlessly thriving in a new country. It’s about choosing courage over comfort, again and again. It is about the vulnerability of admitting “no comprendo” for the hundredth time that day.
Would it be easier to stay where everything is familiar? Absolutely. But every awkward interaction, every misunderstood conversation, every moment of feeling utterly lost is building new confidence. One that doesn’t depend on perfect circumstances, a resilience that comes from repeatedly facing discomfort.
Every day here is a choice: retreat into what’s easy, or step forward into what’s hard. I keep choosing hard. And that decision, made over and over in cafés and metros and classrooms, is changing me in ways fluency never could.
Madrid is teaching me Spanish. But more than that, it’s teaching me that I’m braver than I knew.
