Travel helped me find myself again

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Travel helped me find myself again

Anyone familiar with retinitis pigmentosa knows just how progressive it is, and how seeing becomes more challenging with each passing year. My symptoms began with light sensitivity, struggling to see properly in very bright or very dark environments. At first, that felt manageable: sunglasses during the day, holding onto a loved one’s arm at night.

The white cane

The real challenge came later. When I started bumping into objects I used to avoid effortlessly. When curbs disappeared beneath my feet, sending me tumbling to the ground. At that point, and after collecting a few scars, a white cane stopped being an option and became a necessity.

Accepting that I needed a cane made me feel physically sick. It was noisy. It drew attention. And the sudden arm grabs from strangers trying to help were overwhelming. That fear kept me confined to my home far longer than I care to admit. How was I supposed to face the world like this? It all felt too much.

Luckily, my love for travel saved me.

I remember listening to friends’ stories of crossing continents and wishing I could still do the same. I thought back to my time in Australia, when I could wander freely and take in its beauty. Was I really never going to feel that thrill again, the rush of not knowing exactly where I was? That did not feel right. It could not be the end of my story.

Courage

A few therapy sessions, many hours of meditation, and countless walks around familiar neighborhoods with my cane slowly helped me build the courage to venture out again. My first destination would be Marrakesh, Morocco. I booked just five days and promised myself I would not push beyond my limits. I was in control of every step and every decision.

That, I have learned, is part of the magic of solo travel, especially as a disabled person. You move at your own pace. You choose what feels right. For me, it is actually the most accessible way to travel, as I need not only physical accommodations but also mental space. Time to adapt to new environments, to pause, and to focus on walking safely without overstimulation.

Morocco

Upon arriving in Marrakesh, I faced my first challenge. I had arranged a driver to pick me up, but he was holding a sign with my name on it, something I could not see. Because I was not yet comfortable advocating for my needs, it had not occurred to me to request phone contact in advance, something I now always do. An hour later, we finally found each other. From that moment on, the trip was pure joy. I only wished I had stayed longer.

On my first day, I took a slow walk to Jemaa el Fnaa Square, enjoyed breakfast, and listened as the city unfolded around me. I wandered past food stalls, soaked in the street music, and explored the medina at my own rhythm. While tourists are sometimes pressured by vendors in commercial areas, my cane seemed to shift the dynamic entirely. I was treated with respect and never bothered. Quite the opposite, in fact. When I got lost, more than once, people willingly walked alongside me to guide me to my destination.

The following days were spent in a desert camp, where I was supported, assisted, and treated with remarkable kindness by both locals and fellow travelers. I was guided up and down stairs, helped in the dark, and accompanied during evening shows. That experience made me realize something profound. My disability did not close doors. It opened conversations. It created moments of genuine human connection I might never have experienced otherwise.

Renewed confidence

My last day in Marrakesh was filled with gratitude, joy, and a renewed sense of confidence. That confidence came from refusing to give up on myself and from finally understanding, deep down, that I am no less worthy than anyone else, disabled or not. As I packed my bag and prepared to return home, I realized that something fundamental had shifted. I was leaving Morocco with the same cane I had arrived with, but I was no longer carrying the same fear.

Going home did not mean returning to my old limits. I brought Marrakesh back with me in the way I moved, the way I trusted myself, and the way I took up space in the world again. Travel gave me more than memories. It gave me permission to live fully, visibly, and unapologetically. And from that moment on, I knew my life would never be the same.