I followed my fiancé abroad after he got deported. After several years and a divorce, I can admit it was a mistake.

• When I was 20, I followed my first love abroad to Mexico after he was deported from the US.
• We got married in Mexico and I learned to love the country, but I was struggling to plan my life.
• I later realized I was avoiding divorce to try to keep everyone else happy, but it's what I wanted.

My fiancé's deportation and the multiyear ban from the US that came with it completely derailed our wedding plans.

Suddenly, the nuptials we'd planned in my hometown, and more importantly, the life we'd imagined, were off the table. I was faced with a choice: Do I follow him to Mexico?

My parents urged me to wait while he figured out the immigration stuff on his own. We'd barely been dating a full year and, at 20, this was my first romantic relationship.

To me, the decision seemed simple: If I'd already promised to spend the rest of my life with this person, shouldn't I support him through the immigration process?

So, we began planning a wedding in Mexico.

I realized I'd made a mistake pretty early on, but I was too stubborn to admit it

Wedding planning became an increasingly contentious topic. Eventually, I decided to focus on finishing my freshman year of college and let my fiancé and his mother take it on.

I arrived in Tabasco, Mexico, a few weeks before the wedding. I struggled to adapt to the thick humidity, the local Spanish dialect, and my in-laws.

The nagging feeling that I was making a mistake kept me up at night. I often fantasized about taking a taxi to the airport in the middle of the night and flying home.

Unfortunately, I was too young and too much of a people-pleaser then to admit my feelings to myself or anyone else. Instead, I was convinced it was too late to change my mind.

I was already here in Mexico. The invitations were sent out. The venue was booked. I did what I was supposed to do: I got married.

I split my time between the US and Mexico while I finished college

Over the next few years, I never lived in one place for more than a few months. I spent almost every holiday and school break in Mexico.

I quickly fell in love with the country and the people.

I learned how to make budín de pan and agua de jamaica. I traveled to Mayan pyramids and swam with whale sharks off the Yucatán Penisula. I memorized the lyrics to one too many Selena songs and danced along to Banda music.

My time in the US was less enjoyable. My husband and I decided living there together was the end goal, but the uncertainty of his green-card application made it impossible to plan more than a few months ahead at a time. My life felt like it was on hold indefinitely.

As I grew into myself in my early 20s, it was becoming clearer and clearer that my husband and I were not a good match.

The idea of getting a divorce popped into my head more than once.

Each time, I reasoned that making such a drastic decision was selfish, especially when we hadn't even had the chance to live together in the same country for more than a few months at a time.

Eventually, a particularly enlightening therapy session forced me to realize I was staying in the marriage not because I wanted to but because I was worried about how a divorce would impact everyone else in my life.

Choosing myself was difficult but freeing

My divorce was finalized a few years ago.

Since then, I got a tattoo of the North Star on my wrist. It's a tangible reminder to be true to my intuition and feelings rather than letting other people act as my guiding light.

I am open to moving abroad again. If I do make that decision, though, I'll choose what feels right to me — not what I think others want me to choose.