Embracing Solo Travel

I’m currently sitting in a little pod at the Delta Sky Lounge in the LaGuardia Airport after four days spent in NYC. I’m snacking on a warm Thai tofu eggplant curry and sipping a coffee. I’ve got my well reviewed Beis carryon roller and embroidered LLBean Canvas travel tote by my side. If anyone passed me by, they’d see a calm woman with a computer typing away and might just in fact think that I’ve done this before. It’s almost as if I’ve got the whole travel thing down. Both work and play brought me to the city this time, and for the first time in quite a while, due to a very efficient Uber ride to the airport and a super speedy security line at the airport (TSA PreCheck plus Clear, you’re a hero if I’ve ever known one), I was given the opportunity to sit down and actually reflect about my travel experience. Why is that, you ask? Well, to put it plainly - I took this trip solo. No husband. No kids. Just me.

This is not a big deal to some, but for a stay at home mom of 4, this is quite the rare occasion for me. Traveling has always been something I’m passionate about (which probably comes as no surprise since I started this travel blog). But traveling solo is something  I don’t have a ton of experience with. Going from high school to college to wife to mom in a stair step manner, traveling was always done with family or my husband and then my kids. Traveling far distances generally wasn’t always on the table either, purely due to expenses.

After becoming parents, my husband and I worked hard as a team to make our journey from Point A to Point B as efficient as possible for our group. I took care of the packing, child arranging, and trip itinerary (researching and making plans and reservations for us where need be), and my husband took point on the logistics - booking the tickets, figuring out rewards benefits, arranging transport, and so forth. We both became good in our roles and over time, I didn’t realize how I turned my brain off to the integral aspect of the travel experience that my husband was responsible for.

Then came my first solo trip to NYC in the fall of 2024. Now a mom of 4, slowly destabilizing as an independent adult after reemerging from the postpartum phase, I was in need of a major life shake-up and decided to turn back to professional dreams and aspirations that were pushed to the back burner for about a decade or so. I had the opportunity to take part in a conference in New York City, and my husband encouraged me to go for it. “Book the trip!” he exclaimed. “You’ve got this!”

Off I went to “get this,” and I soon realized I had no idea what the heck to do. Those tens of thousands of air miles we’re always shuffling around? All on my husband’s account. Those awesome free upgrades that you get when you check into a Hilton property? All on my husband's account as well. Feeling downright discouraged and a bit overwhelmed mixed with the guilt of leaving my kids, I felt more inclined to dig a hole and hide there instead of trying something new and stepping into the life shake-up that I yearned for.

Sensing my overwhelm, my husband helped me book my tickets. He also helped me find a Hilton property in Midtown Manhattan that was close to everywhere I needed to be over the course of my trip. All I had to do was actually go.

Once I left the security of my home airport and landed in New York at JFK, I realized that it had been ages since I’d booked an Uber by myself. I pulled out my phone and re-downloaded the app - I hadn’t used it in ages because I was always the one on kid duty while my husband arranged the car services for us. He did such a stellar job knowing where to go and when that I didn’t realize until this very moment that I never actually knew what he was doing or how. I would just follow behind, and wah-lah, we’d be at our destination.

Well, hubby wasn’t here this time. I shakily re-entered all of my information and after some hyperventilating, booked a ride. Since JFK was under construction at the time (when is it not, am I right?), all Uber passengers had to board a bus to go to a designated parking lot about 10 minutes away from the airport terminal. 

Now, it’s late at night - I’m cold, and honestly freaking out. I boarded the bus and wondered “am I going to the right place?” There was no one I felt I could ask - no reassurance offered. And for the first time, I realized how dependent I had become on someone else.

After we disembarked, I navigated my way through the Uber parking lot and found my ride. I loaded my stuff in and so began the drive.

It was at this moment that all of the anxiety inducing thoughts rose to the forefront. I remembered that my husband always puts his navigation on when we go somewhere via Uber - just as an additional aid outside of the Uber app so we are sure we aren’t going in the wrong direction. I did the same. My Uber driver then turned another way - my phone began to re-route with a shaky connection.

I felt embarrassed, but my cheeks got hot, and all I wanted to do was cry. I felt stupid. I felt like this whole idea was dumb. I immediately started talking myself down - scolding myself for thinking that I was even smart enough to go back to work if I couldn’t even navigate how to get from one place to the next by myself. Why couldn’t I just ask the Uber driver why he had gone another way? I didn’t want to be rude. Is it being rude to ask the person you’re paying to take you somewhere why they aren’t going the way your technology says they should? I surely wouldn’t want to tarnish my 5 star customer review.

Nonetheless, the well meaning Uber driver was diverted due to road construction. This made more sense as we traveled on and I was clearheaded enough to see the “Detour” signs all over the place.

However, as people who deal with anxiety issues can attest, when the spiral starts, logic itself isn’t always able to halt an oncoming panic attack.

About 40 minutes later, we arrived at the Midtown Hilton. My husband had texted me during this time, reminding me to breathe and telling me that everything was going to be okay. I made my way up to the lobby and gave the concierge my name. 

“There’s no reservation for you, lady,” she said coldly. I shakily got out my phone, showing her the reservation number in the Hilton app. “This reservation isn’t under your name. Did your husband make the reservation for you or something?” she asked. I nodded yes. “Well, where is he?” she asked. I explained that I was traveling alone and that my husband wasn’t here. “Well, I can’t check you in, because you’re not him. So you can find some other place to stay.” I was truly flummoxed. I had stayed at Hilton properties for many years. I had never come in contact with anyone who was so rude, and I also was sure that in the history of travel, I was not the first person to stay at a hotel without their fellow account holder in tow. I sat down, the anxiety attack that was already looming dizzying my stability and will to stay upright. I went back to the counter, and when I did so, the receptionist rolled her eyes, kind of like “oh, this amateur con artist again.” However, at this point, it was almost 11:00PM,  I really needed a good cry, and I had no intention of traipsing through Manhattan trying to find a new place to stay. “Excuse me, ma’am. Can I call my husband so you can talk to him and we can get this straightened out?” She looked at me, un-amuzed. “Look, you can call anyone on your phone and he can tell him that he’s your husband. Why would I believe him?” I straightened up. “Well why don’t you call him so he can confirm?” I stared at her intently, not letting the daggers in her eyes pierce me. I gave her my husband’s name and she looked him up on her computer. She called - and he didn’t answer. Why?  Because he was in the middle of bedtime routine back home, putting all 4 kids to bed. She looked at me, bemused. “No answer," she said smiling. 

I sat down. I called him - and he didn’t answer. I called again. No answer. Then on attempt number three, “what’s wrong? Are you okay? Sorry, I was rocking the baby to sleep, I didn’t have my phone. Are you in your room? Do you love the room? I got you on a higher floor with….” But he couldn’t finish because he could hear my uneasy breathing on the other end, and my now failing attempts to choke back tears. I explained that they weren’t letting me check in and wouldn’t because he wasn’t with me. “Can you hand her the phone?” he said in disbelief. I explained that she would only be able to confirm he was himself through a call from Hilton. He reminded me to breathe and that everything was going to be alright, once more. I marched (okay, more like wobbled) back to the counter for our continued unpleasant interchange. “Please call him again,” I asked. The concierge stared at me. “I’ll wait right here at the desk while you call.” She reluctantly did so.

I could immediately tell when my husband answered the phone. I kept my eyes fixed on hers as she explained to him why she refused to check me in “for his security and well being as an esteemed Hilton super duper member or whatever.” She didn’t want to change her tune. But she got my keys for me and handed me an extra complimentary water bottle. I was proud of myself that I didn’t open it and spill it all over the reception desk. I felt so sick to my stomach that I honestly thought I was going to throw up. I went to the little cafe and grabbed some food to take up to my room. I ascended up to the 30 somethingth floor and went inside.

The room was lovely. I plopped down and sank into the nearest chair. I felt tingly and scared. I barely was able to get from home to the hotel room on my own. I was away from my kids for the first time ever. I was scared and sad. I was mad and on edge. 

I did my deep breathing exercises. I ate some food. I hydrated. I took a shower and prepped the best I could for the next day. But my resident anxiety attack didn’t care. I turned off the lights, exhausted, and all of the stress and fear and sadness and guilt enveloped me. I couldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t breathe. It felt as though I was having a heart attack.

I grabbed my phone and tried to find a way to rebook my flight home - having not done that before (since my husband usually did that), I threw my phone across the room, feeling even worse. I then went and picked it up (I’m not the short-tempered thrower type, so I felt bad and also knew that I needed not to break my phone). I logged onto the Hilton app. I realized that my stay was by no means refundable. More guilt crashed over. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be without my kids. I was never going to be able to be the girl who jetted across the country for work. What the hell was I thinking?

This memory, this night, is a painful one for me. As someone who didn’t experience panic attacks until after having children and experiencing severe postpartum depression and anxiety, this night was one of the worst of my life. The anxiety attack lasted for hours. Finally,  at about 5:00AM, my body surrendered to sleep. 

And then my day started at 7:00. 

Feeling as though I’d been hit by a literal truck, I got out of bed, put a cold wash cloth under my bloodshot puffy eyes, caked on some extra makeup to disguise my blotchy face, and I marched downstairs and out onto the streets of the city. I ducked into Starbucks and got grande coffee. I stood outside the conference and realized something: I made it. I did it. It wasn’t the most graceful journey, but I was here. My kids were just fine. The world had not stopped turning. There were so many reasons I wanted to be here, and I was. I could either stare at the fumbled football or pick it up and keep going.

So I did.

Fast forward to this year. I’ve just finished up at the same conference for a second time. I’ve made my own travel accounts. I have like 20 points and get no free water or extended checkouts, but I’ve figured out how to do all the things. I also much prefer Marriott to Hilton (hello Bonvoy member status - just saying). 

This is my third solo trip without my children. They still love me and I’m still an ever present mother, now contributing to our family in a different way than before.

The anxiety from before doesn’t reside in my heart and body the way it did last. I slayed it. And yes, it still rears its ugly head once in a while, but it is not as mighty as it once was.

I passed by the Hilton that I stayed at last year (I did not stay there again because, well you did just read about my experience last time) and I nodded to the girl that did check in there last fall. She is with me, and always will be.

Traveling alone is hard. You’re all you’ve got. Your brain works harder when you’re in the driver’s seat with no co-pilot. You might feel uncomfortable. You might need to ask for help. But when you say yes to the trip, when you do it, you will 100% get to experience the world in another way.

And that is worth it.