Traveling as an Act of Self-Care

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Traveling as an Act of Self-Care

It goes without saying that a large part of travel involves planning and preparation, especially for those who choose to go solo.

For disabled travelers, that planning often starts long before tickets are booked, and it tends to carry a little more weight.

Traveling solo as a disabled woman can be both therapy and a path to personal growth. Beyond the courage required to navigate cultural differences, there are additional barriers to confront: the physical ones, and perhaps the most challenging of all, the mental ones.
Bianca

Self-doubt is often the greatest obstacle. It surfaces as you mentally rehearse possible scenarios, triggers, and risks. The what-ifs and the why am I doing this? Questions tend to linger, quietly but persistently, in the background.

Yet those questions, uncomfortable as they may be, are not signals to stop, they are invitations to listen more closely to yourself. Preparation is not about eliminating fear; it is about giving it less power. Researching medical facilities, packing medication with redundancy, arranging accessible transportation, and learning how to ask for help in advance are not signs of weakness. They are acts of self-respect, ones that people with disabilities are rarely encouraged to prioritize. So really, isn’t that already a huge step toward self-love?

Then comes the judgment.

Sometimes it’s subtle, wrapped in curiosity. Sometimes it’s blunt. People want to know how: how do you manage? how is that even possible? As if travel were a privilege reserved only for those whose bodies move through the world uninterrupted. There is often disbelief that someone who navigates life with fewer guarantees would choose something as “optional” as travel. As if joy, exploration, and rest must be earned through ease. I beg your pardon?

At first, you may feel obligated to explain yourself. To justify the precautions, the calculations, the courage. To reassure others that you are being “responsible enough” to deserve the experience. But constantly translating your existence for public consumption is exhausting. Over time, you learn that not every question requires an answer, and not every curiosity deserves access. Choosing not to explain becomes another quiet act of self-care. The freedom that comes with realizing you owe nothing to anyone is hard to put into words.

And this is where something quietly radical happens.

You stop shrinking. You stop negotiating your right to be there. You realize that your body, however it moves, sees, processes, or heals, is not a limitation that requires a disclaimer. It is simply the body you travel with.

There will still be looks. There will still be unsolicited advice from people who have never packed medication in three different bags “just in case”, or who believe spontaneity is the gold standard of meaningful travel. There may even be well-meaning concern that sounds suspiciously like doubt. But by then, something has shifted. You no longer feel compelled to perform resilience or explain logistics. You are not on a panel. You are on vacation.

Travel, in this sense, becomes an act of self-care not because it is easy, but because it is intentional. You rest when your body asks for it. You adapt when plans change. You choose comfort over pride, accessibility over aesthetics, and joy over proving a point. That is not giving up, it is listening. And listening to yourself, especially in a world that rarely does, is a deeply political act.

There is also humor in it, whether you plan for it or not. Laughing at the absurdity of being “overprepared.” At the irony of being called brave for doing something you simply want to do. At the realisation that while others are stressing over missed connections, you already have a backup plan, and a backup for the backup. Who’s the reckless one now?

Little by little, travel stops being about overcoming something and starts being about honoring something. Your needs. Your boundaries. Your curiosity. You learn that self-care is not always candles and quiet. Sometimes it looks like navigating a foreign city with confidence, advocating for yourself in another language, or choosing to go anyway, fully aware, fully prepared, and fully present.

And maybe that’s the most powerful part of all: allowing yourself to experience the world not in spite of your disability, but alongside it. Not as a challenge to conquer, but as a life to be lived. On your terms.