Rosie O’Donnell’s “Scary” Secret Visit Back to the U.S. After Her Move to Ireland

Rosie O’Donnell has opened up about a secret two-week trip she made back to the United States roughly a year after moving to Ireland, calling the experience “scary” and saying the country now feels like “a very different place” to her. It’s a candid reflection that lands right in the middle of ongoing conversations about political anxiety, cultural division, and why some high-profile Americans are choosing to put an ocean between themselves and home.

In a recent interview highlighted by Queerty, the longtime comedian, talk-show host, and LGBTQ+ icon described slipping into the U.S. quietly to visit family and test how it felt to come and go without fanfare. The emotional weight behind that experiment says as much about the current American mood as it does about O’Donnell herself.

Rosie O’Donnell speaking on stage with a microphone
Rosie O’Donnell has described her low-key return to the U.S. as “scary,” saying the country feels markedly different since she left. (Image via Queerty promotional still)

Why Rosie O’Donnell Left the U.S. for Ireland

O’Donnell’s relocation to Ireland came in the wake of the 2026 U.S. presidential inauguration, a flashpoint that intensified already deep political divisions. For decades, she’s been outspoken about American politics, particularly around LGBTQ+ rights, gun control, and the culture wars that turned late-night monologues and cable news into permanent battlegrounds.

Moving abroad isn’t totally unheard of for celebrities, but O’Donnell’s move feels symbolic. Ireland has undergone its own cultural transformation over the past decade—legalizing same-sex marriage, liberalizing reproductive rights, and repositioning itself as a more progressive, outward-looking nation. For a queer American entertainer who has spent years in the crosshairs of U.S. culture wars, Ireland offers both literal distance and, seemingly, an emotional reset.

“I recently went home for two weeks and I did not really tell anyone. I just went to see my family. I wanted to see how hard it would be for me to get in and out of the country. I wanted to feel what it was like to be there again.”

That idea—“to feel what it was like to be there again”—speaks to something many Americans, famous or not, are wrestling with: whether the version of the country they grew up in still exists in any recognizable form.


Inside the “Scary” Secret Trip Back to the U.S.

What stands out about O’Donnell’s story is not that she went home, but how she did it: quietly, almost like a stress-test of her own relationship with the United States. She reportedly slipped in without public announcements, focusing on family and logistics—“how hard it would be… to get in and out”—rather than media hits or professional obligations.

That low profile hints at something deeper than celebrity weariness. There’s an undercurrent of unease, the sense that being visibly political and queer in contemporary America can carry a very different emotional weight than it did even ten years ago. Describing the visit as “scary” points less to specific incidents and more to an ambient tension—airport security, political signage, overheard conversations, the vibe of news cycles you can’t quite escape.

For someone who has spent years as a lightning rod on American television and on social media, there’s a certain irony in needing to return in stealth mode just to see family. At the same time, it’s relatable: plenty of people who’ve left politically volatile environments describe going back home as emotionally disorienting, even if nothing overtly goes wrong.

Airplane wing over the Atlantic Ocean at sunset
O’Donnell framed her two-week stay as a kind of emotional and logistical test: what does it feel like to leave and re-enter the U.S. now?

“A Very Different Country”: How the U.S. Feels From the Outside

O’Donnell has said that the U.S. now feels “like a very different country, a very different place” to her. That’s a loaded statement, but it’s also increasingly common among expatriates who return after a stretch abroad. From outside the American bubble, certain shifts can look sharper: the rise in explicitly partisan media, aggressive rhetoric around immigration and LGBTQ+ issues, and the normalization of political extremism as content.

For queer public figures in particular, the distance can be jarring. One moment you’re living in a country where marriage equality and trans rights are central to cultural debates; the next, you’re watching state-level rollbacks and library bans from afar. Ireland is far from perfect, but its recent trajectory—toward referendums that affirm social liberties—can feel like it’s moving in the opposite direction to some U.S. headlines.

At the same time, there’s a generational piece to this. O’Donnell came up in a media era defined by big-tent network television and mass audiences. Today’s America is splintered into micro-publics: different feeds, different facts, different anxieties. From an Irish village or a Dublin café, re-entering that fractured landscape can feel like stepping into a parallel universe running at double speed.

From abroad, the U.S. can look simultaneously familiar and strangely altered, especially in a hyper-polarized media climate.

Celebrity Expatriates, LGBTQ+ Safety, and the Politics of Leaving

O’Donnell’s move fits into a broader pattern of artists and entertainers decamping, at least temporarily, from the U.S. in search of quieter lives, better privacy laws, or political sanity. From musicians recording in Europe to actors setting up homes in Canada or New Zealand, “leaving America” has quietly become a recurring subplot in pop culture.

For LGBTQ+ public figures, the calculus can be even more practical. The rise in harassment, doxxing, and targeted online abuse—especially for those who speak out about politics—makes the idea of a semi-anonymous life in a smaller country surprisingly attractive. O’Donnell has spent years being treated as a symbol in American discourse; Ireland allows her to be, at least a bit more, a person.

Importantly, “leaving” isn’t always a disavowal of the U.S. Many expats remain deeply engaged—voting from abroad, funding causes, and using their platforms to amplify American stories. But they’re also proof that, for some, the healthiest way to stay involved is from a safer distance.


How Outlets Like Queerty Are Framing Rosie’s Revelation

Queerty’s coverage of O’Donnell’s comments places her story squarely within LGBTQ+ media’s ongoing chronicle of how queer Americans are navigating an increasingly volatile landscape. Their write-up emphasizes her emotional reaction—“scary,” “different country”—rather than turning it into a stunt or a punchline, which is notable given how often celebrity political statements get flattened into social-media fodder.

That tone matters. For many readers, especially queer readers, O’Donnell’s experience isn’t tabloid gossip; it’s a high-profile echo of feelings they may already have about their own hometowns, states, or family visits. Celebrity stories become a kind of mirror, reflecting collective anxieties while giving them a recognizable face.

When public figures talk about fear, they often give language to something their audiences have been quietly carrying for years.
Person reading news on a smartphone with laptop nearby
LGBTQ+ outlets like Queerty often serve as both news source and emotional barometer for queer audiences following political shifts.

Reading Rosie’s Story Critically: What It Reveals—and What It Doesn’t

It’s tempting to treat O’Donnell’s “scary” visit as a definitive verdict on the state of America, but that would be too simple. Her experience is shaped by factors most people don’t share: fame, past public feuds, and the scrutiny that comes with being a political lightning rod. The stakes of walking through an American airport as Rosie O’Donnell are different from doing it as a private citizen.

At the same time, her story isn’t just celebrity exceptionalism. The language she uses echoes how many people—especially queer folks, people of color, and immigrants—describe visiting parts of the country where they no longer feel entirely safe, or at least no longer feel unremarkable. O’Donnell’s privilege lets her leave, but it doesn’t cancel out the emotional truth of what she’s trying to describe.

There are also limits to what any single anecdote can tell us. A two-week trip can capture atmosphere, not data. It can’t fully account for the millions of Americans organizing, voting, and pushing back against the forces that make people want to leave in the first place. The U.S. can feel “very different” and still be full of people working tirelessly to shape what comes next.

Crowd of diverse people walking in a city street
O’Donnell’s perspective is one data point in a larger story about how different communities are experiencing the changing United States.

What Rosie’s Next Chapter Could Mean—for Her and for Her Audience

O’Donnell’s Irish chapter is still being written, and so is her relationship with the United States. Her willingness to speak openly about fear, distance, and disillusionment suggests she’s not retreating from the conversation so much as changing her vantage point. Expect those themes—migration, belonging, political burnout—to seep into any future specials, interviews, or podcast appearances.

For audiences, her story doubles as an invitation: to examine how their own feelings about “home” have shifted, and what it might take to feel rooted again, whether that’s through local activism, community-building, or—in some cases—grabbing a one-way ticket.

America may feel like a “very different country” to Rosie O’Donnell now, but that difference isn’t fixed. The cultural and political forces that pushed her away are still unfolding, and so are the counter-movements trying to pull people back. How that tension resolves will shape not just her next quiet visit, but how countless others decide whether to stay, leave, or, like Rosie, learn to do both.

Irish coastal landscape with cliffs and sea under cloudy sky
Ireland, with its recent progressive shifts and slower pace, offers O’Donnell a different backdrop from which to watch—and occasionally revisit—the United States.

Additional Resources and References