Solo Story: Holding Joy & Sadness

A couple of months ago, I took a solo cruise that ended up being more emotional than I expected.

At the time, I recorded a few short reels from different ports along the way — one from the ship, one from Puerto Plata, and one from St. Thomas. In the moment, they were just little check-ins. A way to share where I was, what I was feeling, and what solo travel was bringing up for me that day.

But looking back now, those small moments tell a bigger story.

This wasn’t my first solo cruise. I’ve cruised alone before, and I know the rhythm of it now. I know how to get myself to the ship. I know how to find my cabin, go to the solo meetups, eat dinner by myself if I need to, make small talk with strangers, and eventually find my way into the trip.

But this cruise felt different.

It was my first significant solo trip since my life went a little sideways the previous spring. I had taken a few smaller trips, but it had been about eight months since I had gone anywhere big on my own.

And I’ll be honest.

I was nervous.

Really nervous.

That surprised me a little, because I had done this before. But knowing how to do something doesn’t always mean it feels easy.

The anxiety crept in before I even left home. The what-ifs got louder. The emotional weight of doing something big by myself again felt heavier than I wanted it to. And once I was on the ship, I realized this trip wasn’t just going to be about where I was going.

It was going to be about what I was carrying with me.

And that’s something I think we don’t always talk about enough when we talk about solo travel.

Even when you love it, it can still be hard.

Even when you’ve done it before, it can still feel scary.

Even when you know you’re capable, you can still feel shaky.

For me, solo travel has always been difficult from an emotional standpoint. There is freedom in it, yes. There is beauty in it. There is empowerment in it. But there is also a certain kind of vulnerability that comes with being the only person responsible for yourself, your emotions, your decisions, your comfort, and your courage.

And yet, I keep showing up.

Maybe not perfectly.

Maybe not confidently every time.

Maybe not without tears, anxiety, second-guessing, or moments where I wonder why I put myself in these situations.

But I keep showing up.

And each time, it gets a little easier.

Each trip teaches me something new about myself. It reminds me that I can be nervous and still go. I can feel uncertain and still board the ship. I can carry grief, anxiety, disappointment, change, and hope all at the same time.

That’s one of the things I love most about solo travel.

It pushes me outside my comfort zone in ways I don’t always ask for, but often need.

It reveals the parts of me that are still healing. It shows me where I’m stronger than I thought. It reminds me that growth doesn’t always look graceful. Sometimes it looks like taking a deep breath in an airport. Sometimes it looks like walking onto a cruise ship with your stomach in knots. Sometimes it looks like smiling at strangers when what you really want is something familiar to hold onto.

And sometimes, showing up counts even when it’s messy.

Especially when it’s messy.

When Life Back Home Comes With You

A few days into the cruise, I woke up in Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic.

The day before had actually gone really well. I had met some other solo travelers, started making those first connections, and felt like I was beginning to settle into the trip.

Then, the night before we arrived in Puerto Plata, I got some unsettling news from back home.

Not the kind of news that completely derails everything, but enough to throw me off. Enough to shift my mood. Enough to make the ship feel a little farther away from home and home feel a little heavier than it had the day before.

That morning, I felt disconnected.

And that, for me, is one of the harder parts of solo travel.

When something happens back home, you don’t always have someone right there to comfort you. There may not be someone sitting beside you who already knows the full story, understands your history, or can immediately help ground you.

You might be surrounded by people and still feel very much on your own.

That can be hard.

It doesn’t mean solo travel is bad. It doesn’t mean you made the wrong choice. It just means that part of traveling alone is learning how to care for yourself in those moments when your nervous system gets rattled and there isn’t someone else there to steady it for you.

For me, on that particular morning, grounding looked like the thermal spa.

I knew I needed to come back into my body before I tried to go ashore and experience Puerto Plata. So instead of forcing myself to be cheerful or rushing into the day as if nothing had happened, I gave myself a little space.

I went to the thermal pool. I let the warmth do what words couldn’t. I sat. I breathed. I let myself feel a little unsettled without letting that feeling take over the whole day.

And after that, I was ready to step off the ship and see what Puerto Plata had to offer.

That’s something solo travel has taught me too. You don’t always have to push through immediately. Sometimes you need to pause first.

Sometimes the brave thing isn’t rushing into the next adventure. Sometimes the brave thing is recognizing that you’re off balance and giving yourself what you need before you keep going.

Returning to a Place That Remembers

Then came St. Thomas.

This port felt different for me before I even stepped off the ship.

I had been there many years ago with my husband and my daughter, and I knew it might bring things up. I expected some emotion. I expected a few memories. I expected that quiet little ache that sometimes arrives when you revisit a place connected to a life that no longer exists in the same way.

But even when you expect it, grief has a way of catching you.

There is something strange about returning to a place that remembers a different version of you.

The same views.

The same breeze.

The same blue water.

But a totally different me standing there.

When I looked out at St. Thomas, I wasn’t just seeing the port in front of me. I was seeing who I had been when I was there before. I was remembering my husband. I was remembering our daughter younger. I was remembering the version of our family that stood in that same place years ago, not knowing how much life would change.

And there was gratitude in that. There really was.

I’m grateful for those memories. I’m grateful that I had those moments with him. I’m grateful that there are places in the world that still hold pieces of our story.

But there was also sadness. A quiet ache.

The kind that comes when you realize how much has changed and how much you’ve had to become since then.

That’s the complicated thing about grief and travel. Places don’t just hold scenery. They hold versions of us. They hold memories, milestones, ordinary moments, conversations, meals, walks, laughter, and sometimes the last time we experienced something before everything changed.

Going back can feel beautiful. It can also hurt.

And both can be true.

Healing Doesn’t Mean Pretending You’re Fine

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned through solo travel is that healing doesn’t mean pretending the hard feelings aren’t there.

It doesn’t mean forcing yourself to be grateful every second. It doesn’t mean standing in a beautiful place and scolding yourself because you should be happy. It doesn’t mean sadness is a failure.

For me, healing often looks like letting the feelings exist and still choosing to keep going.

It looks like standing in St. Thomas and allowing it to be what it once was and what it is today. It looks like remembering my husband with love, missing the life we had, and still recognizing the life I’m building now. It looks like letting joy and sadness sit side by side without trying to make one cancel out the other.

Because that’s real life after loss.

You can be grateful and grieving.

You can be proud of yourself and still feel fragile.

You can love the adventure and still miss who you used to share adventures with.

You can feel peace in one moment and ache in the next.

None of that means you’re doing it wrong.

It means you’re human.

Showing Up Counts

This trip reminded me that solo travel isn’t always about confidence.

Sometimes it’s about willingness.

The willingness to go even when you’re anxious.

The willingness to try again after life knocks you sideways.

The willingness to sit with discomfort instead of running from it.

The willingness to meet new people, even when part of you wants to hide.

The willingness to return to places that hold memories and trust yourself to survive the feelings that come with them.

That doesn’t mean every moment feels empowering.

Some moments feel messy. Some feel lonely. Some feel tender. Some feel like you’re doing something brave and uncomfortable at the exact same time.

But showing up still counts.

Even if you cry.

Even if you feel anxious.

Even if you need to take a break.

Even if you don’t do everything on the itinerary.

Even if your healing looks different from what you imagined.

There is no perfect way to rebuild a life. There is only the next honest step. And sometimes, for me, that step looks like boarding a cruise ship alone. Sometimes it looks like finding my people at a solo dinner. Sometimes it looks like grounding myself in the thermal spa after unsettling news from home. Sometimes it looks like standing in a port filled with memories and reminding myself that joy and sadness are allowed to coexist.

What This Trip Taught Me

This solo cruise didn’t magically fix anything. Travel rarely does. But it gave me space to notice where I am now.

It reminded me that I’m still capable, even when I feel nervous. It reminded me that I can be thrown off and still find my way back to myself. It reminded me that places can hold both old memories and new meaning.

Most of all, it reminded me that I don’t have to wait until I feel completely healed, completely confident, or completely ready before I go.

I can go as I am.

Anxious.

Hopeful.

Grieving.

Growing.

A little messy.

Still showing up.

And maybe that’s what healing looked like for me on this trip. Not a grand transformation. Not a perfect travel story. Just me, standing in the middle of my own life, letting it be complicated, and choosing to keep going anyway.

So whatever you’re carrying from the world or from your life, I hope you remember to give yourself the grace you deserve.

You don’t have to be fearless to begin again.

You don’t have to be fully healed to take the trip.

You don’t have to have it all together for showing up to count.

Sometimes, the journey is simply learning that you can carry joy and sadness at the same time — and still find a little peace along the way.

Grieve. Go. Grow.