Grieving Your Identity Never Ends: Disability and Travel

me trying to get alone time on an Ireland trip in 2011,
moments before someone boy wanders over
and prevents me from getting that alone time

Exactly seven months ago I wrote a blog post on grief for my past identity and who I always thought I'd become, and who I now can't be due to my disability. You'd think I might have made some progress since then, but to be honest it feels like I'm constantly finding new parts of myself to grieve, aspects of my identity that I hadn't even thought of in years or decades but were once so important to me.

If you know me currently, you probably think I abhor traveling. I find any excuse to avoid it no matter how much I actually want to be at the destination. If you knew me when I was younger, you probably remember me as a really annoying travel companion.

When I was a teenager (and maybe younger, I don't remember much from my single digits), I loved seeing and exploring new places. I never traveled for leisure - my family was too poor for vacations that weren't just camping in the woods somewhere - so I didn't see much of the world, but the opportunities I did have were amazing. I traveled around the United States for various Highland Games and Scottish Harp Competitions (where we also camped, but still). I went to Scottish Arts camp several years in a row. I got to go to Ireland three times with my high school dance company. I loved every single trip and every place I visited shaped who I am today in some form or fashion.

But the actual traveling part has always been difficult for me. In hindsight, I acknowledge that a lot of my difficulties stemmed from being neurodivergent, mentally ill kid with chronic pain who had zero diagnoses and accommodations and didn't even know I needed them. I would get so upset about my routine constantly changing, about spending so much time in cars or airplanes, about never knowing exactly what or when I would eat, about not having the option for silence and solitude. I don't think I ever had full on meltdowns, but I know I was incredibly grumpy and not fun to be around, and later I'd be ashamed of myself for being so childish when no one else was having problems. But I would still go.

Now I don't. There are so many factors to travelling that I now have to deal with. Where am I staying? Will I have a quiet place I can retreat to if I get overstimulated? Will there be ramps or elevators? Will whoever I'm with plan on walking around a lot and will someone be able to drop me off where I can sit? Will I even have access to a chair that wont make my hips and back ache? Is there even a point in going if I can't participate in the group's plans? Will I be able to eat when and what I need to? What if I have a flare up or a migraine? If I fly will I be able to keep my cane with me? What even are flight regulations for canes? Will people think I'm a paranoid hypochondriac? What if I actually am a paranoid hypochondriac? Will I just turn the whole trip into a nightmare for everyone else because I can't keep up and take out my pain on them? Will I be able to bring the four pillows I need to prop up my body so I don't subluxate anything in my sleep? What if something happens to my cats while I'm gone (one time my shitty roommates let Palmer get out and he was lost for a whole weekend and I didn't even KNOW and yes I'm still pissed about it)?

Anyway I usually just say no now.

But I don't have a lot to do these days besides think, and inevitably I've started remembering all those trips I used to take. Highland games with all the people in kilts and the constant bagpipes and the pre-competition nerves and that horrifying moment when I mispronounced Edinburgh when introducing my set and I still think that's why I didn't win that time. I remember visiting Ireland and falling in love with the rain and the green and the people and the art and thinking that I'd never stop going back there no matter what. I think of all the people I met who I thought I'd know forever. Teachers and mentors I wanted to impress. Friends I wanted to write letters to until we were old.

I stopped traveling for harp in high school when I had to choose between it and dance - but then I started traveling for dance. Later in college I got to go to more dance conventions and showcases, but by then I was starting to fall apart and spent most of the time sitting alone in coffee shops, only showing up to the concerts I was in.

And now I'm completely fallen. I drove to the liquor store the other day and that was the first time I went outside in weeks. I regretted it too, because kept missing turns because of traffic and the cashier asked if I was on a roller derby team and I just didn't know how to respond to that. I said I wasn't coordinated enough for that even though I was a professional dancer so I should be pretty damn coordinated.

Anyway.

I keep dreaming of a time when my life "calms down." As if my pain will even out and become more predictable, or I'll finally be given some treatment that helps, or I just get used to it. I don't know.

I've been reading a lot of historical romance and listening to a bizarre amount of 60s-80s rock and folk and being sad about it. I have no idea if it's helping, and I have no idea what that says about me or my mental state, but there you go.