Perhaps Benedetta Mannella was never meant to belong in just one place. And perhaps, after so many years spent chasing departures, returns, and new versions of herself, she finally understood that this was her path all along. From Pescara to Washington, DC, the powerful story of an Italian woman who learned that freedom can be wonderful. But also that freedom is a sometimes tortuous journey, one that tests you only to reveal who you truly are.
Perhaps Blessed Mannella She was never meant to belong to just one place. She says this almost smiling, without anger, without theatrical nostalgia. As if after years spent living abroad, she had stopped considering it a limitation and had begun to see it for what it is: a part of herself.
There are people who build their lives around precise coordinates: a city, a home, a routine. And then there are people who seem to find themselves precisely when they move. As if, after years spent living abroad, Benedetta had learned that some people aren't meant to stay still: they grow, change, start over. And it is precisely in that constant reinvention that they end up finding themselves.
“You go to Italy and you feel like a foreigner. You come back here and, in some ways, you still feel out of place..”
She doesn't say it bitterly. She says it with that clarity that comes when you stop fighting against who you are. The truth is that Benedetta seems more connected to the journey than to a specific destination. To that suspended feeling that exists just before departure. When the lights dim in the cabin, the phone signal goes out, and for a few hours no one asks you who you are, what you do, where you're going.
For a few hours you're just moving. Maybe that's where she feels freest. Today, Washington is her home. Or at least the closest thing to it. She works at the’Embassy of Italy with Gold Catering, the organization that organizes institutional events within the Italian Embassy. A full, international life, made up of people, encounters, and cultures that continually intersect. It runs with the Montgomery County Road Runners Club. Sings in the French Choir of Washington. He meets people from all over the world.
Yet, within her, a deep curiosity for the unknown always lingers. A desire for growth, for discovery, for new possibilities that never completely dies. When she speaks, it's immediately clear that Benedetta isn't a woman made to stand still. Not even emotionally. Some people seek security. She, on the other hand, seeks the freedom to be herself.
“Here I feel free.”
The word comes up often. Freedom. But not the perfect, luminous, American postcard kind. Hers is authentic, not perfect, not always simple, but profoundly true. The kind that comes with fear, sudden loneliness, departures made without truly knowing what will happen next. Because living far away also means losing pieces of yourself along the way.
Benedetta leaves very young. First stop: Dublin, at nineteen. Night shifts at McDonald's. English learned through living. Limited money. Exhaustion and that electric feeling of building something on your own. But she never describes those times as heroic sacrifices. She describes them almost as an emotional dependence: "“For me, going abroad has become a drug..” And it’s a sentence that says much more than any resume.
Over the years, Benedetta changes cities, jobs, and lives. She translates, studies, and starts over. Again. And then, at forty, she decides to go back to school and reinvent herself once again. She chooses to become certified health and mindset coach.
She does it in English, with two children, a busy life, and that little inner voice that occasionally suggests that perhaps it would be easier to stay where you are. But Benedetta has always needed to test herself and see how far she can go.
Over the years, through her own personal journey, she has become increasingly immersed in the world of wellness, developing an understanding of how deeply connected the mind and body are.
An awareness experienced firsthand. That certification becomes something more than a milestone. It becomes a way to help others feel better, but also the confirmation of a belief that has developed over time: "NWe don't have to be one thing. We can have multiple talents, multiple passions, multiple versions of ourselves. And when we choose to use them to make a difference in the lives of others, everything takes on a different meaning.“.
The day of the exam arrives. She passes. She gets in her car, turns on her phone, and goes live on Facebook, laughing like a little girl.
“I did it. I did it again..”
That sentence captures his entire life. Not success, but the possibility of starting over, always. Even in the smallest details, like the day he walked into the bank and opened his first personal American checking account with a hundred dollars. One hundred dollars. A tiny, yet gigantic, figure. It wasn't a question of money. It was the need to look in the mirror and realize she could still count on herself.
Maybe this is what people who live far from home learn: to find stability, strength, and belonging within themselves. But there are some things no one really talks about emigration. They don't talk about what happens when you're losing someone and you're thousands of miles away. They don't talk about the guilt, nor about the airports you've passed through, holding your breath.
In 2019, her father fell ill. Benedetta took the first flight back to Italy. She left almost without thinking. Jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of stars-and-stripes Converse on her feet. In Lisbon, during the layover, she checked her phone. A message: "Now he'll be watching over you from up there." For a few seconds, she couldn't hear anything. Not the airport, not the announcements.
Only the sound of blood in her ears and that sudden emptiness that comes over you when you realize you won't make it in time. A French couple hands her a handkerchief. To this day, she doesn't remember how she managed to get on the next plane. She never put those American Converse sneakers back on. And it's there that Benedetta understands that every choice of freedom also carries an emotional price. Because sometimes being free also means not being present when life asks you to stay.
Yet she never speaks as a victim. Not even when she talks about the difficult times she experienced with her children, Sofia and Mattia, They grew up in the United States amidst multicultural environments, diverse identities, and the constant need to learn new tools to protect them. She loves the fact that they have friends of all nationalities. She loves seeing how natural it is for them to coexist with different worlds. And it's one of the things she loves most about America. But she doesn't idealize anything. She knows that here too, rigidity, loneliness, and invisible walls exist. She's just stopped looking for the perfect place.
“Maybe I don't really belong anywhere.”
Benedetta says it softly. Then she lowers her eyes, as if she's only recently made peace with it. Outside, Washington rushes by, international, noisy. Inside her house, however, there are running shoes left by the door, the French choir rehearsals, her children constantly switching between English and Italian. She's a woman who, after years spent chasing the world, has understood something very simple. That perhaps true belonging isn't a place, but the freedom to fully become oneself and learn, along the way, to... enjoy the journey.
Author's note
Benedetta was one of the first friends I made during my American experience. And perhaps, knowing her before even talking about it, the feeling I was left with wasn't that of a woman who left one country to find another. She seemed, rather, like someone who had the courage to never stop searching for herself. In a time when we're often asked to choose just one path, one identity, one version of ourselves, Benedetta reminds us that we can change, start over, and even feel out of place without being lost. And that, sometimes, freedom isn't knowing where you belong, but having the courage to become who you are.
If I had to describe Benedetta with a single image, I'd think of an open door. Because she's not looking for a place in the world: she continues to build it, wherever she goes.
