Vacation-Me vs. Nervous-System-Me: A Love Story
Last year was hard and wonderful — full of growth, celebratory trips, and self-discovery. It also came with a HEAVY credit card debt as a result of all of those trips (yikes!) and an even deeper understanding of myself. Which was cool! But high key sucked in the moment.
You see, I’ve struggled with anxiety since I was a child. I had my first panic attack in second grade, and my mom had to come pick me up from school. It resurfaced in middle school, this time a bit more refined — like it had developed a personality. Less nebulous than my 8-year-old experience, more like something I could observe, track, and even predict. It formed a pattern:
An inciting incident — often a parent not answering their phone or returning home on time
A thought: “Something terrible must have happened.”
A spiral into catastrophic details — losing a parent, planning a funeral
Emotional and physical distress that consumed me entirely
Rocking on the floor, crying, panic-calling over and over, tunnel vision, hyperventilating
I promise this background is important. Bear with me.
I lived in this cycle until one big event finally pushed me to approach my parents at 13 and say, “I think I need to see a therapist.”
How Virgo Sun, Cap Rising, and only child of me.
Through CBT (and a delightful therapist who sparked my desire to get a Ph.D. in counseling psychology — until I forgot to take the GRE my senior year of college), I learned to catch my thoughts and rationalize them.
Voilà!
I was cured!
For the most part.
Then came college. The anxiety and symptoms began to morph. They weren’t triggered by spiraling thoughts anymore, but by stress — stress that felt untouchable and out of my control. A new beast entirely.
Fast forward to today: 30 years old, and my anxiety now? It comes out of nowhere. Truly.
I wake up to an easy schedule, a job I love (really), chores that feel meditative, flexibility in my days. I live in eternal sunshine outside my front door. My son is a delight. My marriage is thriving. I’m settling in. So where is this anxiety coming from???
That’s the problem — I don’t know. And not knowing means I can’t rationalize it away. I can’t pinpoint a stressful situation or thought to unpack. It’s just… there.
So now that you understand the backstory of the mental illness I’m trying to befriend and learn from, let’s talk about this trip to Bali — and the anxiety that’s been revving up so intensely it got me out of bed at 4 a.m., hair and makeup done, sitting down to journal THIS post.
Before we go on: I’m HYPED AS FUCK for this trip. The magic of Bali is legendary — my Instagram DMs are flooded with people telling me so. I’ve got a two-hour chakra-focused massage booked, complete with crystals, oils, and sound healing. I’ll be visiting temple ruins. I’m staying at a stunning resort on a mountain, overlooking the ocean. It’s the dreamiest thing.
But hype and dread can coexist, okay?!
My in-laws are in town to watch Hawthorne while we’re gone (bless them — I married into the sweetest family). Yesterday, my father-in-law asked, “Is it flight anxiety? Do you have travel anxiety?”
Hmm… not quite.
Yes, the thought of flying over the Atlantic for 10+ hours messes me up a bit, but I can compartmentalize that. When I get on a plane, I actually feel like the main character. I only racked up real flight experience last year, so it’s still exciting: cute airport outfit, venti coffee, plane productivity. I feel like a glamorous, important version of myself.
And I know flying is statistically safer than driving. So no — not flight anxiety.
Travel anxiety? That’s closer. It’s the anticipatory anxiety about the trip, but even that doesn’t fully cover it.
Here’s the truth: my life is RUN by routine. When things don’t go as expected, my nervous system flips me the bird and throws a tantrum. I NEED to know what to expect. I have an intricate nighttime wind-down routine. I crave comfort, safety, predictability. I tried to will "spontaneity" into my personality during my Seventeen magazine quiz era — it never stuck.
So when a big trip is approaching — especially one this big — my anxiety starts building about 72 hours out. Not about the travel itself, but about the disruption of routine, the unpredictability, the knowing that my nervous system is about to be shaken up.
First, the airport.
Will we make our connections?
Any visa hiccups?
Will my carry-on meet Emirates’s ✨ absurdly ✨ small requirements?
Will I sleep on the plane and avoid jet lag?
WILL OUR BAGS MAKE IT TO INDONESIA?
Then, the arrival.
How will I react to the 14-hour time change?
Will I have the energy and presence to soak in this once-in-a-lifetime trip?
I already know that even in beautiful, relaxing settings, my nervous system buzzes in unfamiliar environments. I don’t fully relax, even if it looks like I am. The impact of elevated cortisol reveals itself only when I’m back home.
And of course, the regular flavor of anxiety: missing my son, worrying about him while I’m half a world away.
Then there’s the work side of things. Yes, I earned this trip through Young Living (my main source of income — you can learn more about that here), but I’m also a social media influencer (I think?). I need to document my days, share the magic with my community (because your support is the reason I get to stay home with Hawthorne so of COURSE I want to give you ALL of the experience so you feel like you’re there with me), and also make sure I’m creating engaging, high-value content. To some, that might sound unnecessary — but this is how contribute to supporting my family. And this trip offers unique content I can’t recreate later.
So while this is a trip meant to reward and rejuvenate, many of us will still be working. And that adds yet another layer of pressure:
Will I be able to enjoy it while capturing it?
And here’s what always happens: a dysregulated nervous system. I get snappy, on edge. Anxious. Sometimes, even depressed. Low self-esteem. And when I return, I need days to recover from constant socializing (I’m an introvert, even when I’m buzzing with joy around my people), from jet lag, from sensory overload, from being out of routine. I'm energetically sensitive. I always have been.
This anxiety? It’s the anticipation of knowing my nervous system is about to take a hit. That I’ll need recovery time. And that there’s not much I can do about it.
And still — I’m excited.
Oddly, this whole experience is beautiful every time. Each trip teaches me something. Each time I learn more about my edges, my boundaries, my emotional landscape. I learn what I’m capable of and where I need more protection, more grace.
As of now, I know what the next few days will hold: revved-up anxiety. Sunday (the day we leave) will be filled with jitters and stillness, a turning inward as I prepare (all day since my flight is at 8:55pm!) to go. I know that once I’m at the airport, adrenaline (and the magic of my ovulatory phase) will carry me through. I’ll get on the plane, eat the decadent airplane meals like it’s my first time (because it will be), feel amazed. I’ll laugh with my friends, marvel at the beauty of Bali, lean into the sacred energy of being there around the New Flower Moon. I’ll socialize, meditate, soak it all in.
And when I return, I’ll know how to come back to myself. I’ll raccoon. I’ll be gentle. I’ll re-regulate. I’ll be okay.
So this anxiety?
Lame. 0/10. Do not recommend.
But will I be okay?
Absolutely.
And am I enjoying the lifelong process of learning how to take care of myself in uncomfortable situations?
With my whole heart, yes.
