The first day I arrived in Paris for my semester abroad, I broke down in a café while eating a croque-monsieur. After struggling to explain my order to the waiter in French, finally pointing to the menu for him to understand, I became an emotional wreck, much to the surprise of the locals seated at the table next to me.

I knew I was supposed to be having the time of my life (“when else are you going to live in Paris for 6 months?” my dad kept saying), but all I could think about was the fact that I didn’t even know how to order a sandwich.

What scared me was the idea that I had made the wrong decision. Even in the months before the program application was due, I was in denial; telling my friends I wasn’t sure if I was going yet and still making plans for the next semester. The truth is, I could not imagine leaving the comfort of a place I knew and understood.

I could navigate the streets of New York City without the help of Google Maps, I knew which restaurants were my favorites, and I had a group of friends that I loved. Instead of dreaming of pastries and baguettes, all I could think about was the fact that I didn’t know anyone else in the program, I hadn’t spoken French since middle school, and was starting a long distance relationship.

When I look back on my semester in Paris now, I think of the amazing friends I made, the fresh baguettes I ate for lunch every day, the days I spent drinking wine by the Seine, and the way the city lit up at night. I remember that although most days between January and April were accompanied with grey-white skies and freezing temperatures, Paris never managed to feel gloomy.

I think of the day I flew back from a weekend trip to Berlin, saw the glistening city outside my plane window, and felt like I was coming home.

Yet, I can’t pretend that my semester abroad was the happiest, most relaxing and exciting time of my life. In between the days that made me fall in love with Paris, I still had those that made me want to start crying in the middle of a café. I struggled with getting lost on the metro and feeling too afraid to ask for help.

I spent countless hours doing French homework every night and then stayed up until 4 in the morning Skyping my boyfriend only to fall asleep in class the next day. A big part of me still longed to be back home, and my stomach sunk every time I watched the Snapchat stories of my friends in New York.

My semester abroad was far from a vacation, but it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. The longer I lived in Paris, the more confident and independent I felt. By the time my semester came to an end, I knew my commute to class by heart, had my own special spots in the city, and didn’t care if I had an accent when I spoke with the locals.

I had come far from my café meltdown, and even found myself holding conversations with waiters and cab drivers. I left Paris feeling like I proved to myself that I was able to face the unknown on my own, and that sometimes it’s okay if I have to struggle and get a little lost.

There is so much I miss about Paris when I look back now. I miss all the wonderful, once-in-a-lifetime memories I made, the ones that you can really only make during a semester abroad. I finally understood what my friends and family meant when they said it would be the best time of my life. But, I also miss the struggles: getting lost, miming words when I didn’t know how to say them in French, and feeling far from home. In many ways, these moments are the ones that made me feel like it was all worth it.

Today, I can’t imagine not taking the opportunity to spend my semester abroad. I made best friends who I might have never met otherwise, pushed myself out of my comfort zone, and felt what it’s really like to live in my dream city. Even as I’m back in New York now, feeling the same comfort that I was afraid to leave, I feel a twinge of longing for the city that allowed me to get lost and find myself. After all, when else would I have gotten to live in Paris for six months?