I spent 3 months living in a Mexican beach town—the expat community was more toxic than my corporate job

Three months ago, I packed up my laptop and headed to a small beach town in Mexico, convinced I'd found the perfect escape from the toxic workplace culture I'd left behind.

After years of corporate stress that had me discovering trail running at 28 just to cope, I thought surrounding myself with other location-independent professionals would be refreshing. Free-spirited people living life on their own terms, right?

Wrong.

Within weeks, I discovered something that shocked me: The expat community I'd joined was breeding more negativity than any office I'd ever worked in. And the worst part? Everyone seemed blind to it, wrapped up in their beach sunset photos and "living my best life" Instagram posts.

If you're considering joining an expat community or already living in one, you need to hear this. Because paradise can quickly turn into a different kind of prison when the community dynamics go unchecked.

The comparison game never stops

Remember how exhausting it was comparing salaries and promotions at work? Well, in expat communities, it morphs into something even more insidious. Instead of corner offices, it's about who has the better ocean view.

Instead of job titles, it's about who's been "location independent" the longest.

I watched people constantly one-up each other about their minimalist lifestyles while simultaneously bragging about their passive income streams.

One morning at the local coffee shop, I overheard a conversation between two digital nomads that went something like this: One was explaining how they only needed $2,000 a month to live "abundantly," while the other countered that they were living on just $1,500 and feeling "so much more authentic."

The irony? Both were miserable, constantly worried about money, and spending more energy judging others' spending than enjoying the actual beach they'd moved thousands of miles to experience.

This competitive minimalism was exhausting. In my finance days, at least the competition was obvious. Here, it was masked as enlightenment, which somehow made it feel even more toxic.

People weren't just competing; they were competing while pretending they'd transcended competition altogether.

Everyone's an expert on your life choices

You know what I didn't expect? The sheer volume of unsolicited advice. Every expat I met seemed to have strong opinions about how everyone else should be living.

Should you eat at that restaurant? Wrong choice, too touristy. Renting that apartment? Terrible decision, you're overpaying. Still working a regular remote job? You're not truly free until you're an entrepreneur.

One afternoon, I mentioned to a group that I was considering taking on a new writing client. The response was immediate and overwhelming. Someone insisted I was "selling out."

Another person launched into a lecture about passive income. A third person started explaining why my entire business model was wrong.

These weren't conversations; they were interventions. And they happened constantly.

In my corporate job, sure, people gossiped and judged, but there were professional boundaries. Here, those boundaries didn't exist. Your entire life was up for public critique, from your morning routine to your relationship choices to what you ordered for lunch.

The toxic positivity bubble

Perhaps the most suffocating aspect was the mandatory happiness. Dare to mention missing something from home? You're not grateful enough.

Frustrated with the internet cutting out during an important call? You need to "embrace the lifestyle." Lonely? You're not putting yourself out there enough.

I remember one particularly rough week when nothing seemed to go right. The apartment I'd rented had a major plumbing issue, I'd lost a big client due to timezone confusion, and I was genuinely questioning my decision to be there.

When I tried to share these frustrations with people I thought were becoming friends, the response was always the same: Variations of "but look where you are!" and "these are first-world problems!"

Yes, I was fortunate to be there. Yes, perspective matters. But the complete inability to acknowledge that expat life has real challenges created an environment where authentic connection was impossible. Everyone was performing happiness rather than experiencing it.

This forced positivity created a weird dynamic where people would secretly confide their struggles to me one-on-one, then publicly pretend everything was perfect. The disconnect between private conversations and public personas was jarring.

The echo chamber effect

What happens when you put a bunch of people together who've all made the same radical life choice? They spend a lot of time validating that choice, often by demonizing any alternative.

Traditional jobs became the enemy. Anyone still working in an office was "trapped in the matrix." Marriage was outdated. Saving for retirement meant you weren't living in the present. The local population? They just "didn't get it."

This us-versus-them mentality was everywhere. The expat community had created its own bubble, complete with its own rules, hierarchies, and blind spots. And questioning any of it made you the problem.

I found myself in conversations where people would spend hours criticizing the exact type of stable career that had given me the financial freedom to try this lifestyle in the first place.

When I'd gently point out that my savings from that "soul-crushing" finance job were funding my current adventure, the mental gymnastics to dismiss this fact were Olympic-level.

The networking that never stops

Every social interaction felt like a networking event. Coffee wasn't just coffee; it was a potential collaboration. Beach volleyball wasn't exercise; it was a chance to pitch your project. Even casual dinners turned into informal mastermind sessions.

Don't get me wrong, I understand the value of community and connection. But when every interaction has an agenda, when every person you meet is mentally calculating what you can do for them, it becomes exhausting.

I started waking up at 5:30 AM to run the beach trails, partly because it was the only time I could be alone without someone trying to "connect" or "collaborate." Those solo morning runs became my sanctuary, the only time I felt like I could just exist without performing or networking.

The constant hustle was more intense than anything I'd experienced in corporate. At least in an office, you could go home. Here, the hustle followed you to the beach bar, the yoga class, even the grocery store.

Final thoughts

After three months, I packed up and left, feeling more drained than I had after a decade in finance. The experience taught me something valuable though: Toxicity isn't about location or lifestyle. It's about dynamics, boundaries, and the ability to be authentic.

Some expat communities are undoubtedly wonderful, supportive, and genuine. Mine wasn't, and that's okay. The problem wasn't the concept of expat life; it was this particular community's culture of judgment, competition, and forced positivity.

If you're considering joining an expat community, go for it. But go with your eyes open. Look for genuine connections, not just people who validate your life choices. Set boundaries. Allow yourself to have bad days.

And if you find yourself in a toxic environment, remember that paradise isn't worth your peace of mind.

Sometimes the most radical thing you can do isn't leaving everything behind for a beach town. Sometimes it's recognizing when a situation isn't serving you and having the courage to walk away, even when it looks perfect on paper. Or in this case, on Instagram.