Am I a failure for wanting to go home?

Thank you in advance for reading this. I’m crying as I write this because I just need to vent and feel heard.

My question: My question is: At what point do you admit defeat and move back home? I feel guilty even considering it since my boyfriend has established his career here, but I'm worried about my mental health continuing to deteriorate. Has anyone else faced a similar situation? How did you decide whether to stay or go?

Background: I (32F) moved to London from New England two years ago for a one-year graduate program. Before this, I’d only left the U.S. once, so it was a major change.

My boyfriend (34M) stayed in the U.S. to finish his master’s degree. He has some family here in London, including a young half-sister, which made me feel a bit more comfortable about making the move.

Adjusting has been extremely difficult. I’ve struggled with intense homesickness and have found it hard to adapt. I have Asperger’s, which makes understanding British culture—a culture full of subtlety and indirect communication—even more challenging.

Toward the end of my graduate program, I suffered a nervous breakdown. Before moving here, I was highly ambitious and had a successful career. But something shifted in broke. I cry daily. My emotional exhaustion has started affecting my physical health. It’s difficult to even think about career goals when I barely have the energy to brush my hair.

Over the past year, I haven’t been working; instead, I’ve been taking classes and volunteering. Despite my efforts, I haven’t made any close friends. I do have a few wonderful acquaintances, but seeing them is difficult because London is so vast—it can take an hour or more by train to meet up.

Back home, I have wonderful friends, a sister, and nephews I adore. I count down the hours until they wake up so I can talk to someone. But even then, it’s hard, by the time they’re free to chat, I’m usually going to bed.

My boyfriend now has a demanding finance job in London. By the time he comes home, he’s exhausted, and weekends are his only time to rest. This leaves me feeling even more isolated, as he isn’t able to join me in trying to make friends or explore the city. To make matters harder, we’ve only seen his younger sister about five times since moving here, and I haven’t met his other family. I overestimated the support network I’d have here and feel very alone.