If you’ve read my previous blog, you’ll know that travelling had started to feel like a mountain to climb. I’m single, and most of the travel options I come across are designed for couples or groups, so solo trips are usually my only choice. The last time I went to Italy, I stayed for seven weeks, and although I came back feeling proud of myself, I also felt completely drained. My nervous system had developed an aversion to the very idea of going again, just the thought of airports and new places made my body tighten.
As July rolled around this year, I realised the chances of me finding the drive to get on a plane were close to none. I’d lost all momentum, and even the thought of travelling again felt heavy. Then something unexpected happened in August.
A friend told me she’d gone to a travel agent and asked them to organise everything for her, she didn’t want to think or plan, just show up and go. That sparked something in me. So I decided to try the same.
Unfortunately, the places I wanted to visit were limited by the airports I could fly from, and when I asked about Lake Como, the options were… less than inspiring. One was a hotel an hour outside town, another was on an industrial estate, and the only one actually on the lake was an extra £800.
That was the moment something shifted. The frustration lit a spark in me. Suddenly, I realised I could organise the exact same trip myself, with better hotels, for around £1,200 instead of the £2,800 the package deal would have cost.
Feeling rather chuffed with myself, I spent a week planning a trip to Lake Como down to the finest details, and within ten days I found myself sitting in my living room at 5:30 a.m., waiting for the taxi to take me to the airport.
I was a mess. I’d backed myself into a sink-or-swim situation where there was no turning back. Luckily, by the time I was sitting at the gate waiting for boarding to be announced, I’d begun to calm down. I don’t know if I’d slipped into survival mode or if my nervous system had simply settled, but somehow, I made it, and I did, in fact, have a seven-day holiday.
Now, let me be clear, I want to be the heroine in this story, and in one sense, I am. But the truth is, I didn’t thrive on this holiday. In fact, it felt like a trip very much about finding the balance between survival and nervous system regulation.
Since coming home, people have asked me, “Did you have a good holiday?” And the thing is, I can’t lie. I didn’t. But it also wasn’t a bad holiday either.
Of course, there were moments when the magic of my surroundings left me in awe. Feeling a little more confident, knowing what to expect in that part of Italy, I even struck up a few conversations with people here and there. But there was also so much that made me uncomfortable, and, perhaps even more unsettling, a lot that I simply felt indifferent about.
And that’s important: the indifference.
I wanted to muster the feeling, to manifest the joy and happiness, but I couldn’t. It’s hard to generate emotions, no matter how much you pretend, fantasise, or jump up and down trying to summon them. They just weren’t there.
So I began to notice the subtleties instead, the moments of simply feeling okay. The tiny pockets of relief. The fleeting awe. The comfort of a soft bed, the safety of my apartment. I had many small, lovely experiences, but nothing concrete or dramatic.
It made me wonder: has my nervous system learned that only the tangible highs or the crushing lows are worth noticing? Have I taught myself that “average” is boring? What exactly was I expecting?
Carl Jung theorised that we have an innate motion to always expand into our fullest potential, so was my need for movement and excitement a trauma coping response, or had I plateaued and my inner self simply needed to grow more?
The truth is, it could be either or both, and the key is in the quality and motivation behind the urge:
What I kept telling myself was: I am safe. It’s okay not to feel whole in these moments, and it’s okay if I don’t feel like pretending I’m having a good time.
I’ve lost count of the times people have said, “You are so brave, what you did is so inspiring.” But I don’t feel that way. Mainly because I’ve always refused to let anything stop me from living my life, if I’m told I can’t do something, I’m generally spurred on even more to do it to prove to myself that fear has no control over me.
I long to go away and feel amazing, to come back a different person. But, if I’m honest, I long for that in everyday life too. I’m tired of having to search for the subtle moments, the small softness. Sometimes I just want to feel it fully, the joy, the lightness, the effortless aliveness I imagine other people seem to access so easily.
I sometimes wonder if there’s something wrong with me. I watch people around me laughing, having exciting adventures, and I question… would I feel the same if I had their adventure? Or have I refined myself to the point where I expect something so particular that, unless it hits that exact note, I’m left feeling unfulfilled?
I know I cannot settle. I feel a physical repulsion when I’m told I’ll have to compromise, especially in romantic relationships. I’d rather be single than navigate a compromise I know would grow into something immovable.
I can honestly say that I don’t know how to navigate this stage, this limbo. I certainly know that control is not available to me, and my desires feel almost non-existent. I’m not an unhappy person, nor am I dealing with depression, but I do feel a little lost.
Which, if I’ve understood correctly, is exactly where the spiritual magic happens. Perhaps I’m struggling with my ego versus my inner being; I don’t really know. The point is, solo slow living is hard. And although solitude is important and solo living has been glamorised, I don’t believe humans are meant to be separate from each other.
Last night I spoke into the ether. I said, I relinquish control. Whatever this is that creates and connects us cosmically, I give you licence to take over. I surrender to the process. I will follow your nudges and act on the urges you send me. I cannot paddle upstream anymore. I am tired, confused, and ready to feel better.
So, dear reader, I’ll let you know how that goes.
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Hello, I am Anna the creator of WellbeingWinnie – my dream that grows bigger and more exciting everyday, inspired because of an illness called myalgic encephalomyelitis (M.E) which I have had for 25 years.
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