notes on anxiety, loneliness, and traveling
Sometimes I’d fake a stomachache to get out of going to youth group. I couldn’t explain that I didn’t want to go because there would most definitely be some kind of game. A night alone in my room with my computer screen playing downloaded YouTube videos of old TV shows or reading a book was preferable. Yet on the occasions that I did go, it wasn’t always so bad. Sometimes I’d quietly laugh at something funny the guys did or listen to the latest gossip from the girls and feel a little bit more like a normal teenager. Sometimes I’d even win the game. Other times I’d count the minutes until I could go home and think of a way to get out of next week’s meeting because even though I just did what I was afraid of, gathering the mental energy to try and do it again didn’t sound fun.
This is a small example of what living with social anxiety is like. I think I’ve always had it to some degree. One of my earliest memories was bursting into tears during Little League because I wanted my water bottle but it was sitting near a boy who bullied me and the thought of walking even 10 feet from him was frightening. You could say it was cause he’s a bully but I knew in my heart it went deeper than that. I just didn’t have the words or intelligence to portray that at the time, so I cried to my dad and pointed at my water bottle instead, hoping he’d rescue it and by extension, me. But I’m not a little girl who can be saved by her parents anymore. I have to do the scary things myself. But it gets frustrating and confusing when what I thought wasn’t so scary anymore rears its ugly head again.
I think about it a lot when it comes to traveling. Like many, I’ve had dreams of exploring the world and seeing all that my little corner of Cincinnati, Ohio didn’t have to offer. From the pyramids in Egypt to the ancient streets of Italy to the coast of California, I’ve yearned for it all. Most of my traveling growing up consisted of road trips to Texas to see family. It’s not like we never went anywhere but seeing them was a priority so there was no time or money for places like Orlando or Los Angeles or New York. I did get to see Los Angeles once, but that was also to see family. I loved every minute of it but it only made me want to explore more. I couldn’t wait for my turn. And then I got it.
I got to go to New Orleans with my church’s youth choir. For a whole week, I spent long days volunteering, performing, and running around. I was in awe of the colorful houses and how no two looked the same. Vibrant neighborhoods came alive with music, laughter, and camaraderie. At night I bonded with my roommates, other girls in the choir who I had always admired growing up, and felt special to receive their attention. On our final day, we were allowed to do touristy things, so we went to the French Quarter and had lunch on a riverboat.
NOLA was fun and something I’ll cherish forever, and I can’t wait to go back one day. But the best trip of my life was to New York City. To finally see my dream city up close and personal was… well, a dream come true. I was fascinated by all of it; the little shops in Queens, the after-school daycare we volunteered at in Brooklyn, the Catholic churches where we served unhoused citizens in Manhattan. One day, my volunteer team worked with Meals On Wheels. All we had to do was deliver the meals to residents around the neighborhood. Getting to walk around the streets of New York and see people’s apartments? I soaked up every second of it!
Every day we walked miles, ran to catch subways, and stood on crowded buses. I quickly adapted to this new routine and felt the rush of the subway even when I closed my eyes to sleep. On our final day, we took a tour of NBC studios, saw Times Square, went up the Empire State Building, and explored as much as possible, including Ground Zero, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the Plaza Hotel, and the Statue of Liberty from the harbor. Unfortunately, my first time eating frozen yogurt was in Trump Tower (this was 2012). I know my young brain was romanticizing it and I didn’t know the realities of everyday life in NYC but I was constantly in awe. People walked past icons of Americana on their daily commute. Such beauty and history were just part of their lives.
In my last few years of high school, I took many trips with my best friend and her mom. We went to Columbus to see Demi Lovato, Cleveland to see Ariana Grande, Lexington because we were bored, Hilton Head for spring break. While a little nervous at first, I never gave these trips a second thought. I just enjoyed being in the moment, glad to be far away from my parents and with people I genuinely got along with. Then we graduated high school, they moved away, and my life changed dramatically. I didn’t deal with it very well. But once I was better, I had another trip to look forward to: I’d get to go to Gatlinburg with my best friend and her family then drive back with them to Savannah. It was one of the best summers of my life. I felt like a real adult, miles away from home and going where I pleased. But I had the annual trip to Texas to see family coming up and had no idea how to get there. Taking a plane was briefly mentioned and it filled me with anxiety. So I somehow convinced my mom to drive from Cincinnati to Savannah to pick me up and then we’d drive to Dallas from there. She was pissed about it at the time but now looks back on it fondly.
We spent 3 weeks in Texas that year and it was fun but something was beginning to nag at me and I didn’t figure it out until years later: I hate traveling with my mom, yet it’s the only way I’ve traveled for most of my life. Where did my wanderlust go? Where was that passion, that drive to see places unfamiliar to me? To put it simply, my anxiety buried it. It never left but it took on a different, crushing form. Instead of saving money and booking tickets, I was living vicariously through others because that was the safer option. I’d watch my favorite content creators vlog their fabulous trips, sponsored or not sponsored. I scrolled the Facebook album of my cousin’s study abroad trip. When an old friend spent the summer in Spain with her partner, I cried of jealousy. What had I done with my life in the meantime?
It’s not like I was never asked to travel. My friends and I constantly discussed ideas for trips but they never made it out of the group chat, as the saying goes. I always had some excuse. I couldn’t fly because I was too anxious. I couldn’t take a Greyhound to this concert because it was outdoors in the summer, it’d be too hot. When discussing travel ideas, I’d genuinely be excited and offer ideas for places to go but I’d also secretly hope my friends would forget about it so that I wouldn’t have to go through with it. Because even though the desire to go was big, the anxiety was bigger. It’s one thing to take the same trip you’ve taken every year since you were 2 months old with the same people. It’s another thing to go somewhere new with no adults around and test the boundaries of your friendship–friendships are always tested on the group trip, and I got firsthand experience of this.
In 2022, after enough years of crying under my covers feeling sad and jealous for not going anywhere, I took a trip to Columbus with my two (now ex) best friends. We wanted a quick, simple getaway and Columbus was close, affordable, and big enough to have several things to do. The same things that excited me about the trip also made me nervous. I’d been to Columbus before but it had been a while so it was like going somewhere new. We could do whatever we wanted because we were the adults. But we were the adults. There was no group chaperone or parent to take care of us if anything went wrong. But I was at an emotional and mental low point in my life at this time and I wanted to go on this trip to try and forget about all of that. So despite my nerves, I went. I thought the anxiety would go away once we got there but it kept coming back in waves that threatened to drown me.
In “the intimacy of sharing a meal” I detailed how my social anxiety affects my appetite which then affects my anxiety and snowballs until a simple dinner date seems impossible, let alone a whole trip where meals have to be decided on and I can’t get by on protein bars and fruit. There were times when I was able to calm down and have fun but I was nearly always worrying. What if I got sick? What if something went wrong? When would our next meal be, where, what would I eat, and how would I eat it? Would this place we’re going to be too crowded? All of this combined made me a not-very-fun person to be around and it got to a point where I was so anxious that I stayed at the hotel alone one night while my friends went out. I genuinely needed the break but I cried in the hotel room because I wasn’t out having fun like I was supposed to and I knew my friends were mad at me for it.
When I got home from Columbus, I thought everything was fine. I wasn’t completely satisfied but I thought the trip had ended on a decent note. Until my friend texted me, why did you even come on this trip? It led to a discussion about how I’ve let my anxiety stop me from living my life and I wasn’t trying hard enough to overcome it. That discussion hurt a lot–it still does–partly because I know it’s true. I felt like I had tried as hard as I could on that trip but it still wasn’t enough. My therapist told me that I had a right to set my boundaries and that it didn’t seem like my friends were trying hard enough to be more understanding but it still eats away at me. I think about it now and still get angry because they acted like I ruined our trip when in reality I think the trip brought out a lot of ongoing issues between us. But then I feel guilty for feeling angry because I try to see it from their point of view even though I know they wouldn’t do the same for me. It makes me worry that I’ll always let my anxiety make me a burden to other people.
Awful memories of that trip in mind, I got my next opportunity to travel solo when my cousin offered to fly me out for her birthday in 2023. I told her I needed to take some time to think it over because flying makes me anxious, and not for reasons people may think. My older brother is a pilot–I know the reality of plane crashes is very minimal. What makes me afraid to fly is the prospect of being in a contraption with hundreds of strangers and I don’t have the option to leave. But after an entire summer of trying to have “main character energy” I decided to go because what truly makes a main character is growth and change, and getting on a plane solo for the very first time is definitely a catalyst for that.
The same worries flashed through my mind, now made even worse by the prospect of flying across the country alone. It was funny to me though, because on the few occasions that I did fly with my mom, I was always the cool-headed one who knew where to go and what to do despite the nerves bubbling inside me. Why couldn’t I apply that same attitude to myself? My therapist encouraged me to be open about my anxiety because that takes its power away. But having done that in the past with negative results, I worried about what my cousin would think if I talked too much about how worried I was. Would she get annoyed? Think I’m not a real adult for not shutting the fuck up and just doing what I’ve wanted to do for years now? Would my anxiety affect me so much that I shut down? How the hell am I going to fly by myself? What would it be like once I got there? Would I be fine or would I short-circuit?
But I armed myself with some hydroxyzine (that I ironically ended up not taking because I was too anxious about side effects) and felt on top of the world when I got on that plane. I had done it! I felt no anxiety all that whole weekend, not even when it was time for me to get back on a plane to go home. I actually talked to my fellow travelers, offering them gum for the ascent and asking what they were reading. In a way it felt nice to be a stranger among strangers, all going towards one place and bonding in small ways in the meantime. If I could do this, then I could go anywhere! My world-traveling dreams would become a reality!
Then I came back home and the comfort of familiarity kicked in. The cruel thing about anxiety, especially social anxiety, is that repeated exposure is the key to getting over it. But what you need to expose yourself to is what makes you anxious in the first place, so it feels safer to keep avoiding it, even if that means staying stuck and miserable. Once proud of my solo trip, I now feared it again and worried it wasn’t enough. All I really did was see family just like I had been doing my whole life. The only difference was how I got there and who I went with. Taking a real trip, either by myself or with friends, would be my biggest challenge yet, and facing it felt impossible. I was once again living vicariously through others, looking at blue waters and architectural wonders and amazing food through my phone screen under the covers. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just do it? Even wondering about these things made me feel ashamed because aside from economic reasons, the only thing standing in my way was me. I once again thought of that trip with my ex-best friends and felt like the way I’ve let my anxiety stop me isn’t just a character flaw; it makes me unlovable, a bad friend, too much to deal with.
I was scrolling Instagram one day this past April when I got an ad for Titanic: The Artifact Exhibition. Curious, I clicked and discovered that the exhibit would be in none other than Columbus! My fascination with Titanic runs deep; it’s been a lifelong interest of mine and something I shared with my late uncle. I knew this exhibit had been around for years and I couldn’t believe it finally came to a place near me. I just couldn’t pass it up. So I decided that this would be the perfect opportunity to take a little trip for myself and test the waters of traveling again. I bought my ticket, booked my hotel, and waited for the day to come, curious to see how I would act. I didn’t feel the nerves until the day before the trip but they were manageable. I decided to drive up to Columbus the day before the exhibit to give myself enough time for the journey and see whatever else I wanted to see, then go home the next day after the exhibit.
The morning of, I did what every anxious girl with food issues does: drank a protein shake so that I could get enough nutrients without having to force a whole meal down. I knew that once I got there, I’d have to get real food first, so I stopped at a little coffee shop in German Village and settled on a safe option: an egg sandwich. A familiar food full of protein, my anxiety about needing to eat quickly went away as I centered myself and focused on just enjoying the bites I was taking and getting used to the new atmosphere. But even as I was proudly finishing the crumbs of my lunch, worry about what to do for dinner crept up inside me.
After lunch, the first thing on my agenda was The Book Loft. It’s a two-story book store with over 32 rooms stacked with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves AKA my dream. I had come here on the trip with my friends and remembered how I had wandered through the store without them. Should I have stayed with them? The store was packed for a Monday afternoon but it being a rainy day, many people probably ventured inside to get a break from the weather. The corridors in the shop were tight and winding; nearly every minute you could hear someone mutter “excuse me” as they tried to get past. It was kind of nice, us all being packed together like that. The layout of the store demanded us to be close to one another. I wish I had struck up a conversation with someone. After buying way too many books, the rain still hadn’t let up, so I went to another place that I had gone to last time, Easton Mall.
The mall itself wasn’t that interesting, although they had the fanciest AMC theater I had ever seen and I was tempted to see Challengers again but dinner time was approaching, which led me to my next dilemma. Where would I eat? Since I was alone, I wasn’t too nervous about it because there was no pressure to immediately decide. I briefly considered the challenge of sitting in a real restaurant, with a waiter to tend to me and a menu to peruse, but none of my options seemed very appealing so I settled on Shake Shack, which was a happy medium because it was fast food but I sat there in the restaurant to eat. Surprising myself, I ate everything and then even got some ice cream! I would have never been able to do that on my previous trip. The rain had finally let up and at first I was tempted to chill back at the hotel but I had come all this way, so I settled on a place I saw a sign for and got intrigued by, Inniswood Metro Gardens.
There’s something about walking right after rainfall. Exploring right after a good rain has always been a favorite activity. The earth feels more alive, as if the rain has drawn out its essence. The smell in the air excites me, makes me feel closer to nature than sunny weather. When I got to Inniswood, I was one of maybe 6 people in the entire park. It was the most beautiful park I’ve ever been to. I spent hours just walking, admiring everything and taking in the feel of the damp air. The park left me in awe. How amazing was it that I was alive to witness this beautiful creation? I was so glad I didn’t go back to the hotel. But it reminded me of when my friend told me that on our trip, I was “always” suggesting we go back to the hotel. Was I really suggesting it that much?
The next day was the main event: the Titanic exhibition at the COSI museum. I don’t have words for how beautiful and amazing this exhibit was. I couldn’t believe all the artifacts they had! The exhibit was arranged as if you’re a passenger boarding the ship, starting with a boarding ramp, then an introductory room detailing the ship’s history and initial discovery, then exhibit rooms moving from 1st class down to 3rd class, then finally rooms detailing the events of the sinking in chronological order. You get a ticket with a real passenger’s name on it and any available information, then at the end of the exhibit, you scan your ticket and find out if they lived or not. I got a second-class female passenger named Irene, a nurse traveling solo to meet family, so my chances of survival were good. Turns out, Irene was one of only 14 second-class female passengers to perish. Her body was never found. Anyway…
I stuck around the museum for a while, perusing the other exhibits, before heading to another park for one last little thing to do before making the trip home. As I navigated Columbus all by myself, I began to wonder if the reason I enjoyed it so much more this time was because I was alone.
I genuinely do enjoy my alone time. I thrive on it. But sometimes finding the balance between being alone and being lonely is tricky. This is made more difficult with my social anxiety. Being alone means being safe in a lot of situations. I don’t mean physical safety, but emotional and mental. Sometimes going somewhere alone intimidates me but other times I prefer it. Because when I’m alone, I don’t have to worry about the other people who are with me. If I go somewhere alone, it’s all up to me. I can go where I want, do what I want, and most importantly, leave when I want. If I get anxious while out alone, I can try and calm myself down without worrying about putting on a mask to appear fine to the other person, or worse, getting so anxious that I shut down and appear bored, uninterested, or rude. When I’m alone, I can make all the decisions, and that control makes me feel safe.
This is so funny to me because when I do go out with people, I’m always telling them the decision is up to them, that I’m fine with anything, and it’s true. I guess it’s the anticipation that stops me. If I make plans with someone, it feels like I’m stuck, no matter how badly I want to go. I have to go because this person is looking forward to it, and even though so am I, if there’s even a little bit of anxiety about it, it snowballs. The other person is counting on me to be there and it feels like I have no escape route. What if I get sick? What if I get so anxious that I need to leave? What if something goes wrong? For some reason, telling the other person, “I feel sick/anxious, I think I want to go home,” is so humiliating, and based on past experiences I’ve had where I have done this very thing, it makes me feel like a selfish person who ruined things for everyone.
This is what makes trips really hard for me, especially group trips. A group trip is basically one long social event that I cannot leave. If I feel anxious about anything, this anxiety is compounded by all the other things, making the anxiety bigger and bigger. My best friend now mentions us taking trips together. We both want to go back to NYC. But I get that sinking feeling in my stomach and hope the conversation changes quickly. It feels impossible. But I want to do these things! What is life worth if not for seeing the wonders of the world with the people you love? I want to travel with friends, I want to travel with lovers, I want to travel alone, I want to do it all without thinking twice about it. I used to, so what is stopping me now? I don’t have an answer other than I got too comfortable in my little bubble at home. As much as I hate to admit it, I got too comfortable being alone.
It’s not like I can hop on a plane anywhere right now and be fine just because I’m alone. Tackling somewhere like Los Angeles alone is a lot different than wandering Columbus, a city that’s an hour and a half away from me, alone. I need to work up to that. But I fear that I enjoy being alone too much because it is safer. I fear it’s ruining my chances of connecting with people and taking opportunities. When I got back from Columbus feeling wonderful, I wondered if I played the trip too safe. All I did was return to somewhere I’d been before for a couple of days. What real chance did I take? What real challenge was there? I can hear my therapist telling me not to discredit myself now.
I can see myself years from now, still playing it safe, still going it alone. I think solo travel is important and beautiful, don’t get me wrong. But even if I push myself and travel to more new places alone, will I always be thinking what it would be like to bring a friend? Bring a lover? Being alone means I don’t have to expose the ugly, undesirable parts of myself and offer them up for judgment. Being alone means I don’t have to challenge myself as much because I only have my own needs and desires to look out for. But isn’t one of those desires of mine to wholeheartedly throw myself into something new? New friends? New lovers? New situations?
New destinations?
Thanks for reading! Have you traveled anywhere recently? Where would you love to travel? What are some traveling memories you have?
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I feel like nobody talks about these specific traveling struggles (and the struggle of feeling stagnant at home while it seems like everyone and their mother’s in Europe) I appreciate your unfiltered vulnerability in this piece 🫶
I felt all of this so hard! Eating was a constant issue for me when I went to London a few months ago, especially with meeting so many new people and going new places. My social anxiety simply couldn't handle it and I ended up eating in (partly also cuz it's expensive as hell in London) rather than going out. I think it was the worst it's acted up since college. BUT when I was by myself, I was fine for exactly the reasons you talked about! It's so much easier to be on your own and I also sometimes worry I've gotten too comfortable by myself, but I'm also working on being more comfortable being around people and doing new things because I want so badly do all of it!
I sometimes get down on myself for having such a hard time doing these things, but reading articles like yours really help to remind me that I'm not alone in how I feel and what I'm experiencing 🫶🏻 thank you so much for sharing <3333