Image shows author walking through greenery.
Photo by Ruby Bailey-Proe

It is ironic that holidays, the periods of rest you take from work, are typically the hardest on my body and leave me wrecked for days. After turning 18, I began to travel without my family, interrailing across Europe and flying out to meet friends, and my sentiments towards holidays changed. On one hand, I knew how precious these experiences were and how privileged I was to be able to go abroad. I would probably only get the chance to visit x spot once and had to make the most of the little time I had. Not a single moment could be wasted! Yet my body thought differently and was very vocal about it.

I would love to spend hours perusing galleries and museums, soaking up their antiquity and beauty, but my sense of awe would be sharply interrupted by a stabbing pain in my lower back or behind my shoulder blade. I would rock from my left foot to my right, trying to shake the pain away, but it always lingers. It is a shame that the activities I love the most are the worst for my back:the standing for hours, the slow walking, the lack of seating, and lack of prolonged rest made exhibits almost impossible for me. I could manage a few hours, if that, and then I was done for the day. Combine this with carrying a bag of all my belongings and the endless walking around cities, I would be exhausted after a single day.

I never feel inclined to listen to my body, in fact, I often ignore it. I tell myself that it’s just for a week, I can push through it, I can’t possibly take rest days on a holiday. I can’t waste the little time I have. But at the end of the day, when I cannot move and feel like if I lie down, I won’t ever be able to get back up, I realise that there must be balance. My body keeps the score, and my actions are not sustainable.

Rest days are another awkward thing. I always feared spending most of the day in bed to emerge and my host remarking about how late I had gotten up, suggesting places for me to go, and when I replied, ‘I am going to stay in and read,’ they seemed disappointed. I use excuses such as ‘I’m feeling ill’ or ‘have a migraine’, because I feel like ‘my back hurts’ isn’t a good enough excuse to stay home. ‘I have a bad back too!’ people reply, and I have to awkwardly show photos of x-rays and explain my medical history to near strangers so they may understand.

Travelling alone is better for me. I can stop in cafes and read, wander slowly through cities, and come home in the early afternoon for a rest. I feel like I don’t have to justify myself to anyone, and I can plan accordingly.

Travel days are the worst. I love to be independent, catch a train to a different country and spend the day, but this summer, when attempting to book interrailing tickets, I realised that I couldn’t do all of the changes with my luggage and I would also struggle with a flight. I ditched the interrailing idea and chose flights instead, which I managed but it rendered me exhausted. The changes from buses to trains, running to catch my connection, and the standing around for hours, gets harder and harder every time I do it. This summer was a wake-up call for me: something must change – I cannot do this anymore. I can’t keep ignoring my body.

Realising how limited I am when travelling alone makes me feel bound and restricted. I want to spend my youth being independent, but I’m not sure it’s realistic. My mind and body are at odds with one another and I don’t know how to get them to talk to each other again.

I always find it awkward to explain myself to friends: telling them I can’t do x activity because of my back, that I need more rests planned into the itinerary, that I need a good bed to sleep in. I often feel like a burden because I find myself frustrating, and so I fear others will too: what if it ruins the trip? Recently, I only told a friend on the last day of a trip that the sleeping arrangements weren’t working for me. She said that I should’ve told her earlier and that British people needed to stop being so polite. I know that I could’ve told her, but two things stopped me. First, she had kindly allowed me to stay with her family and I did not want to seem ungrateful for their hospitality. Secondly, I find it exhausting to always have to make adjustments, to always be telling people what I can and cannot do, even after years of friendship. I jokingly complained to her that she knew I had a bad back and how did she not know that sleeping affected me? She told me she simply hadn’t thought about it. The sentence echoes in my head, reverberating in different voices from the many people who forget about my accommodations. I feel invisible and unheard, and then I feel guilty because maybe I should’ve told them again. I find it so hard to manage: if I am incessantly talking about it I can feel the metal consuming my whole and turning me into a titanium statue. On the other hand, if I stay silent, my spine screams louder and louder until I am unable to get out of bed.

My mum is the only person I can go away with who makes it all ok. She takes my bags, and chooses rest stops, intuitively knowing that I need them. She plans rest days versus. heavy days and figures out the best sleeping arrangements. Her level of care and diligence proves to me that I am not a burden and I can be accommodated, but I have to wonder if that is simply because it is the love and care of a mother. I worry I won’t be able to find that acceptance and understanding elsewhere in my life. I also don’t want to treat people like my mother, and I don’t think it’s fair to expect that from people. I feel stuck between asking and not.

And here I am, not recounting my summer travels and all the amazing things I experienced but stuck on the bad feelings and pain that I haven’t figured out how to manage yet. While away, I long for home and fear the travel pains that reignite the fire behind my right shoulder that lingers long after.

I understand how privileged I am to be able to travel, and that’s why I want to make the most of it, but I think I’m coming to the realisation that I can’t just ignore how shit holidays make me feel, mentally and physically. Something has to change and I’m not sure how to figure that out.