The Travelling (pt. 1)

Usually, as soon as I’ve finished one piece of writing, I like to have a little rest to free my mind from the pressure I had been placing upon myself to complete it. I realised I was treating this like a well-earned break, which just kept extending. It was as if writing and sharing my story was a chore, and not entirely my choice. I was repeatedly muttering: “I need to do more writing and finish my blog,” and not “I get to write. I get to finish my blog. I get to share my story”. Do you notice the difference? I was framing it as if it was some sort of obligation instead of a commitment that I feel passionate about.  

In order to break the cycle this time around, I’ve joined a writing group called Shut Up & Write – they are located all over the world, but the one I have joined is in Glasgow’s West End. It is at this group meet-up that I am currently sitting, sipping my oat milk flat white and coming back to my ‘why’ – why did I start sharing my journey in the first place? It was never about being perfect and having all of the answers. It was never about preaching simple fixes to help chronic pain. It was about sharing a raw, honest, and maybe sometimes humorous account of my journey, and the ups and downs which accompany it.  

For those of you who don’t know me personally, I’m from a very small Scottish town. In this town, everybody knows everybody’s auntie’s dog’s twice-removed cousin, and why they got fired from their last job. The older I got, the less I enjoyed the relentless gossiping and narrow-minded perspectives (not from everyone, but enough to notice). I’m certain it polluted the town more than the fumes from the petrochemical plant itself. It isn’t a bad place by any means, but I felt this urge to see what else the world had to offer. However, the dream of travelling the world had to be put on hold, and was replaced with a dream to be taken off my pain medication and walk around unassisted.

Throughout the rehabilitation I’ve mentioned in previous posts, I was eventually becoming stronger, and my aches and pains finally started behaving themselves. The idea of me travelling no longer felt like a mythical concept. I was also now sober from the tramadol cocktail I had been consuming for years. Of course, I was scared, but I felt confident in my ability to trust my body again. After depending on others for so many years, I craved freedom and independence.  

Telling my parents that I was going solo backpacking felt arguably scarier than the plan itself. I knew there was a small possibility that they’d have an aneurysm. However, I was finally in a position where I was able to choose me, and it felt incredible. I wouldn’t say they rallied behind my decision - of course they had their doubts and questions. But ultimately, they knew they couldn’t talk me out of it, so their anxieties eventually turned into support.

The next barriers to overcome were the travel restrictions placed upon the world during the pandemic. I was fortunate to still be working during that time – which honestly kept me sane – so I kept saving my pennies until the restrictions loosened enough to book my flight. I was feeling more grateful than ever to have my health, and so a delay to my Southeast Asia plans wasn’t exactly the most pressing issue.  

At that point, I’d worked hard to kickstart my career as a Biomedical Scientist, and had been in my role for two and a half years. This was just over the threshold for requesting a career break – so, I decided to shoot my shot and request 6 months of leave. I sat down with my manager, took a deep breath, and explained my plans to travel and my reasoning behind them.

To my surprise, my over-justification was met with genuine understanding and enthusiasm – in fact, my manager even joked about wanting to come with me. She reiterated how much they wanted to keep me in the role, so would do everything she could to get the request approved. Sadly, H.R. had other ideas. They declined my request as the service was already short-staffed and they felt it was too much of a risk in case I didn’t return. I knew it was a big ask, but I can still recall feeling hard done by. “Fair enough”, I thought, and handed in my resignation notice anyway.  

Dramatic? Perhaps.  

Worth it? Most definitely.  

Not long before, I required a doctor’s note just to carry controlled medication across borders. I had been off it for two years, so I definitely no longer needed it. I knew, deep down, that I was ready for this. I could feel it in my soul.  

I still remember the thrill rippling through my body booking that first flight - Glasgow International to Colombo, Sri Lanka, with a stop-over in Doha. I had never even stepped foot in Asia before - yet here I was, bold as brass, booking a one-way flight to Sri Lanka on my own. I planned to spend just over two weeks in Sri Lanka before backpacking through Thailand and beyond.

Well, I use the term “backpacking” … After some online research, I intentionally bought a suitcase which could convert into a backpack. Most blogs warned against suitcases in Southeast Asia due to the rough pavements, sandy beaches and chaotic island-hopping. But, I knew my body’s limits. Despite my new-found strength, carrying that extra load on my back full-time would more likely cause more harm than good.

Yes, there were a few situations where it was less than ideal (huge thank you to James for carrying my suitcase across a pathless beach in Koh Rong Sanloem!), but overall, it was the smarter choice for me. I also got a smug little kick every time I wheeled it past sunburnt backpackers battling a chronic hangover in 35°C heat.

The months leading up to my trip passed in a blur. I’d feel a surge of excitement, and then a rush of panic and doubt. Is this excitement or anxiety? Am I doing the right thing? What if I have a bad pain flare up? What if something terrible happens?

Admittedly, I spiralled. But then I caught myself. What even is the ‘right thing’? What if something amazing happens? Spoiler alert: it did. A lot of amazing things happened. I reminded myself that whatever happens, happens, and I’m capable of figuring anything out along the way.  

That being said, I don’t think I anticipated quite how many challenges I’d go on to face during the seven months that followed. Managing my condition and pacing myself was comparatively the easy part. Navigating the standard travel logistics, various currencies, and language barriers? Also surprisingly doable.  

But, oh boy, some things were really sent to test me.

There was a cloned bank card, a near-death experience on a boat, a stolen backpack, wrong flight and bus bookings, narrowly avoided moped crashes, countless illnesses, multiple heartbreaks from falling in love forty-seven times, all topped off with my phone being stolen two weeks before flying home.  

Still – I wouldn’t change a thing, and I’m very aware of how cliché that sounds. I truly had the time of my life, even when I didn’t realise it in the moment.

Stay tuned for part 2, where I dive into the situations, challenges and unexpected lessons that unfolded throughout these seven months. Disclaimer: this will not be your typical travel blog.  

As always, thanks for reading ☺️

Much love,

Kirsten xox