Travel Anxiety

Most people, when they’re off on holiday, are excited. 

Not me. It would seem for this trip I’m riddled with anxiety.

I didn’t recognise it at first, but on my 10th or 12th time of unpacking and repacking my suitcase, it dawned on me that’s what it was.

But stupidly each time I packed and repacked I didn’t downsize what I’m taking.

And considering that each member of the road trip was under strict instructions to pack light.

A memo I obviously failed to digest.

As always anxiety is a complex mixture of different pots being stirred together resulting in a rather icky mess.

I’m anxious about being away from my husband and kids. 

Will they manage to fend for themselves whilst I’m away? Yes of course they will, but being overseas mean I can’t just drive home.

I’m anxious about being away with people who are practically strangers. Like, we all get along and have a laugh, but we’re not in tune with each other. When we need quiet times alone when we’re just having a little rant to clear the air. What if they don’t recognise my 5 min outbursts are just that and that they will pass quickly.

Engage with me in those moments and I risk ruining everyone’s day.

I also have anxiety about coming home.

That sounds daft, doesn’t it?

I’ve got in my head that these 2 weeks away will somehow change me. But how can experiencing all these new wonders not? I’ve been so sheltered in my little world. I never caught the travel bug as a teen so there was no gap year for me. In fact, had I not been invited on this trip I don’t think it would be something I’d have initiated it myself.

And finally, when I get home I’ll have only 2 weeks left in a job I’ve grown to hate before moving to new pastures. I’ll be the new girl again and that’s scary. Especially when I believed after my business closed that I’d become unemployable. 

So I embark on this journey with anxiety but a determination to make it a trip of a lifetime.