I lived abroad by myself when I was 22. I wish I’d waited until I was older.

• At 22, I moved to Morocco by myself after spending most of my life within 45 minutes of my hometown.
• There were things I loved about the experience, but I felt homesick and couldn’t wait to leave.
• Now that I’m 29, I wish I had the opportunity to live abroad in a new place.

Elizabeth Gilbert was 33 years old when she began her “Eat, Pray, Love” journey.

Frances Mayes is 35 when she buys her villa in “Under the Tuscan Sun.” Even Emily of “Emily in Paris” is in her late 20s when she ventures to Paris for the marketing opportunity of a lifetime.

I was a measly 22-year-old who had never lived more than 45 minutes from home when I haphazardly decided to take an internship in Ifrane, Morocco, and move away from my family, friends, and everything else that gave me the notion of comfort and security.

Although the seven months I spent in Morocco changed my life, I’ll admit that now, at 29, I understand that there is a reason these women were older when they began their self-realization journeys abroad.

Before I get into anything else, I find it important to note that this idea of having to travel internationally to achieve self-discovery is a very privileged idea. Not everyone can rely on moving their lives to another country to do some soul-searching.

Because I had the opportunity, though, I seized it. Carpe diem, and whatnot.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, but I found myself missing home

Like Elizabeth and Frances, my trek into North Africa was catalyzed by heartbreak. I was going through what felt like the millionth breakup with a boyfriend who unexpectedly told me that he would be moving to China to pursue a scholarship.

Because the thought of wallowing at home while my ex was gallivanting across Beijing was too much for me, I decided that I absolutely needed to go somewhere — anywhere. Thanks to an international internship program, that “somewhere” became Morocco.

The internship itself was underwhelming, though. Most of my time was spent sitting idly at a desk, jittery from a third cup of mint tea.

To stay busy, I kept a part-time, remote writing job back home, which led to me working an all-day internship, then going home to another seven-hour shift. Unsurprisingly, I started to feel burned out.

I still managed to see a lot of Morocco. I took surfing classes on the beaches of Rabat, bartered with merchants in Fez souks, and slept under the stars in the Sahara Desert. Yet, I felt myself rejecting so much of the experience.

I called home every day — sometimes twice a day. I told my best friends I missed them much too often, all while keeping the friends I was making in Morocco at arm’s length because they “didn’t get me” like my friends back home.

I even FaceTimed my mom to walk me through recipes of my favorite meals, even though I was surrounded by some of the best flavors in the world.

Despite being in a different country, I longed for the normality of life events happening back home on my Instagram feed: first jobs, new apartments, and reunions between my closest friends.

Even though I was actively living one of the objectively coolest experiences of my life, I had fervent FOMO.

I eventually quit the internship, moved from the university’s dorms into a small apartment in Ifrane by myself, and spent my days longing to go home.

Looking back, I wasn’t ready to live abroad yet

At 22, I didn’t know much about anything, let alone myself. I had spent my entire life in New Jersey until that point.

I was eager to run away to “find myself,” but didn’t realize that adventure can only meet you as far as you let it — and though I literally traveled thousands of miles, metaphorically, I wasn’t very willing to budge.

Some people are ready for this kind of adventure at 22. However, as someone who had a 6 p.m. curfew until age 18, I likely could’ve benefited much more from just moving out of my parents’ house — or even starting therapy.

This isn’t to deter anyone from seeing the world at a young age — in fact, I wish this were an option for more people — but I learned that travel shouldn’t be a bandaid for heartbreak, or a stand-in for introspection.

I’ve lived alone for six years now and, though I have a long way to go, I’ve grown much more into the person I’m meant to be. I’ve learned to love being on my own, left behind bad relationship cycles, and matured out of FOMO.

I’ve also reached the phase of adulthood that I always thought would come later in life: friends moving away, getting married, and starting families.

As I prepare to close out my 20s, I can’t help but feel that if there were any time to have the experience I did at 22, it’s now — when I’m open and ready for something new.