Learning to Love Myself Through the Highs and Lows of Travel

Travel is always a transformative experience for me. I never feel like I come home completely the same. Travel, especially long-term travel, seems to have this way of pushing you: mentally, emotionally and physically. It’s in these moments that you often find the most growth, I think. You discover you have a perseverance you didn’t know about, get in touch with your nurturing side, forge a stronger bond with someone or even, for some, that travel isn’t what you thought.

In September of 2017, Matt and I took off for what we call “The Big Trip”. 12 months of travel with a one-way ticket to Bangkok and only adventures ahead. I had no idea that 111 days into the trip we’d be on a plane back to Missouri. Not because travel wasn’t what I thought it would be, but because my body had, in my eyes, had failed me.

For a little over a decade, I have struggled with all sorts of issues when it comes to my reproductive organs: pre-cancerous cells, benign masses and cysts. I am no stranger to biopsies, trans-vaginal ultrasounds, CT scans, and even having my cervix manually dilated a time or two. Luckily, I’ve not had cancer *knock on wood*, and truly, have been very fortunate that nothing has created further complications, like losing an ovary. But it wasn’t until 2017 that all of this really started to catch up to me and bring me down.

For a good chunk of the spring before we left, I had this pain in my abdomen that was pretty persistent, but especially throbbed if I did something physical – like lifting something. I didn’t think much of it until it got to where sitting really irritated it. Matt urged me to make an appointment with my doctor. The night before my appointment, I was awakened by this sharp pain, like I had been stabbed in the abdomen. I was drenched in sweat and the pain was just throbbing. I crawled downstairs to the bathroom and by the time I got there, I was in so much pain I was vomiting. I only had about 4 hours until my appointment, so I managed to pull it all together and go back to bed. Turns out, I had an ovarian cyst that had ruptured. I was very lucky that it wasn’t on a vessel or anything and I just had to deal with some pain for a few days. However, I had a few other small cysts, but the doctor wasn’t concerned about those. They were really small and she thought they would probably dissolve on their own, but I was to come back in if I had persistent pain again.

It wasn’t until November while we were in Cambodia that a familiar pain started occurring again. At first it was just during/after sex. Then it was anytime I had to pee. Then it was when I had my pack strapped on. Suddenly, it was all the time again. I waited until that point to tell Matt that the pain was back – we were now back in Bangkok for a couple of weeks before flying to Bali for Christmas – a destination I was dying to show Matt.

Matt made me put my health first, and I’m glad he did because it turned out that I had a very rapidly growing cyst on my ovary, situated right on a vessel. My would-be surgeon in Bangkok told me I could fly home, but that the pressure would likely cause the cyst to rupture and because of its placement it would (best-case scenario) cause me to lose an ovary, or (worst-case scenario) cause me to bleed out. Those are pretty shocking words to hear and it turns out, I was about to have emergency surgery in Bangkok, Thailand. All-in-all, I was very lucky. I had a successful surgery, an amazing surgeon, fantastic care and no complications. This is the part of the story that I’ve told many, many times.

The part of the story I haven’t told yet, is the story of the years that have followed. The story of the mental and emotional struggle of my body letting me down.

Matt and I were on an adventure of a lifetime. We had worked really hard for almost 2 years to be financially set for taking a year off. We had scrimped, pinched pennies, gone without little luxuries and sacrificed to make sure we could end a year of travels still 100% debt free. And then, 111 days in, 254 days short, we were boarding a plane and heading back to Missouri.

The day-of through the first week after my surgery, all I wanted was to go home. It seemed somewhat serendipitous that the time we needed to go home happened to be during our first real bout of homesickness: Christmas time. The moment surgery was potentially on the table, I told Matt that I would need to go home afterward. I couldn’t mentally handle a month-long recovery away from the comforts of home. I wasn’t prepared for that. We agreed it was the right move.

The regret, depression and anger at my body didn’t start until just after Christmas, or maybe even New Years. The joy of seeing everyone for the first time had passed. My pain was much better and all I wanted was to travel again. But there were all these factors that prevented me, and us, from just jumping right back into travel.

Was our health or travel insurance going to reimburse us for this $6,000 bill we just paid out of pocket? Did I need to work to save up some extra money? Would it be worth it to go back to Asia when we knew we had to be in Europe in only a few months? Did I feel up to traveling yet? Did I have any cysts growing again?

Suddenly, I was just consumed with so much anger at myself. At my body. At all the facets of my being that seemed so out of my control. How could my body have betrayed me in such a seemingly-vicious way? It took away this beautiful, once-in-a-lifetime adventure with my husband. We were missing out on so much every single day we were home, and it was all my fault.

I worked at my parents’ greenhouse in January and February, in addition to my blog, hoping to make up some of the money we had lost battling it out with my health insurance provider who concluded in early January, that my emergency surgery was “elective,” which drove me even more insane. Had I really consented to what seemed like a dire surgery and in all reality I just elected to have an unwanted sac of fluid removed that never would’ve harmed me? How could I be so stupid? Matt was a saint and submitted everything to our travel insurance anyway and helped me make lists of things I could to do help our chances as we re-submitted our claim with our health insurance, like letters from my doctors.

By February, we had decided to cut our losses and just get on with the trip, sans that extra $6k that would’ve been oh-so-helpful, but having at least made up a little of it while I was able to work for my parents. Deciding where to start was a tough and tricky thing for me too. We were going to be departing just in time for me to celebrate my birthday somewhere. The original plan was to still be in Asia. India has been a dream of mine to visit (still to this day), sitting at the top of my bucket list. We had planned to celebrate my birthday during the Holi Festival which fell just a few days beforehand. Then we were to escape to the mountains for my actual birthday. Except now we were only 2 months out from when we had to be in London, did it make sense to fly all that way just to turn back around? Should we just start in Europe and spend less on transportation? What about that dream of Holi? Matt had also vocalized that it scared him to potentially be far from sound medical care because you just never know… Which is true.

We decided on Portugal for the first stop of “The Big Trip 2.0”. It was another place I’d dreamt of and I thought we could make something special of it still, even if it wasn’t Holi. Suddenly, it was only a few days before it was time to depart again and I started to get that build up of excitement again, but it felt like every time I got excited again, I started to get a nagging fear. I had this fear that my body would let me down again. A fear of needing another surgery. A fear of missing out on more of our big adventure. It was exhausting going from one extreme to another and it made me, again, really angry at myself. Why was I unable to relax? Why was that fear the only thing I was able to focus on for so long?

Luckily, we had an amazing omen come our way when our travel insurance provider, World Nomads, came through for us 3 days before we left Springfield and covered not only our massive medical bill, but an additional $2,000 in bills like missed flights, unexpected flights and other things we couldn’t cancel from the original plan. That was $8,000 back into the travel fund. Suddenly, everything was feeling great.

Portugal ended up being a perfect destination for my birthday celebration, and it seemed so silly to have been so upset about that. We sailed on through the rest of our time in Portugal, then to Spain for a few days before heading across the Strait of Gibraltar for 20-something days in Morocco (another dream destination I was so sure I was going to love). Turns out, for the most part, I was wrong about Morocco. Tangier exhausted me, but I was on the high of being somewhere new. Chefchaouen charmed me. Fez broke me down and Marrakech didn’t raise my spirits any. We just didn’t love Morocco. But we had already booked a flight for the Netherlands a little over 3-weeks out, so we had to try to make the best of it. Suddenly, I was angry at myself again. If I hadn’t needed that stupid surgery, we would’ve been in Sri Lanka at that time, probably loving every minute of it. Then, the fear set it. What if I needed emergency care here? Would it be safe? Just one anxiety after another.

This was the pattern for months on end. Going from super highs to super lows. I would have an amazing experience and then immediately mourn all the amazing experiences I just knew I had missed out on over the 2.5 months we were dealing with my body. I felt weak. I felt powerless and I just was sad. I was so worried that Matt was angry with me or upset that my body’s failings had caused him to miss out on that time as well. The guilt was so overwhelming at times that I couldn’t express it because I knew I would just fall apart.

I was just stuck in this self-destructive cycle. I stopped being as active because I was afraid of hurting myself doing things I loved so much, especially hiking. I have a few scars from my surgery that I became obsessed with hating. I was afraid of remote destinations because what if. These were things I hadn’t really experienced before. But each and every action fed all the negative feelings rolling around my head and I knew that I had to get out of it.

We still had about 6 months of travel ahead of us and I was wasting it letting small things set me back and scare me. Matt took over the reins in planning a great deal of the next destinations which took so much off my plate. I don’t know that I ever told him how huge that was for me. He did such an amazing job and I was able to kick back and focus on enjoying all the big and little moments.

I don’t have a revolutionary moment of when I started to let these things go, but it little by little I’ve forgiven my body for letting my down. I remember far more amazing moments, than small internal meltdowns or big external meltdowns. Slowly, the highs of travel started to stay highs. I didn’t have those pangs of sadness for the time I had felt like I had ruined. I shed that bubble-wrap mentality and felt more comfortable doing things like hiking, carrying more weight and craving activities I used to love, like yoga. I stopped being angry at the scars on my body that are visible in every bikini I own. I stopped telling myself that my body let me down. I started appreciating each day of that adventure with Matt, and the days that followed it.

I’m so glad I was able to start putting that behind me before I watched the whole trip pass me by. I’ve not told many people about these feelings because there are so many worse things happening in other people’s lives and I recognize that. Also, for every bad moment that I had, I still had so many joyous moments during this time, and I never wanted Matt to think that I didn’t love this whole journey with him, because I did.

In addition to feeling better, I am able to look back on all the good those 2.5 months away from travel brought us.

First of all, Matt… All I can say is how did I get so lucky? I am grateful for him every single day. The amount of stress we were under while I was going through all that in Thailand was enough to break a couple. Not even end the relationship, but to cause fights or bickering and even resentment. Instead, it brought Matt and me closer. We learned a lot about our marriage and about each other through that and came out feeling stronger together and more secure in our love, respect and value in each other. His unwavering patience and love through my physical recovery and, even more, my emotional recovery was the stuff of legends. 

Also, We also were able to visit Matt’s Oma, who I also loved dearly, a few more times before she passed away the following September. Additionally, my grandparents flew us down to Florida to spend a week with them, just the four of us. This grew to be even more special to me after my grandpa passed unexpectedly a little over a year later.

I learned a lot about my home community in that time, as well. It was during a lot of this time that we decided on the Ozarks as our home base instead of Asheville as we had originally intended. We found joy, peace and support in having my crazy-huge extended family so close by.

I’m still working on loving and trusting my body, but I’m getting better at it everyday. In fact, finally writing this and acknowledging these feelings and disappointments is a huge step in that process.

I don’t know if my reaction to a relatively simple procedure would’ve had as big of an impact on me if travel wasn’t such a major factor in my life. If I hadn’t been missing out on travel, would I have been so upset? I’ll never know. What I do know, though, is that travel helped bring me back out of this. The trials and the successes taught me how to understand and love myself again. And, hopefully, how to understand and love others better as well.

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