For years, I dreamed about Ecuador. I had visited before but I had a specific trip in mind that included the Galapagos.
I didn’t have any immediate plans to go, but nonetheless obsessively researched the hotels, the destinations, the hikes, the snorkeling, and all that for when we’d go…someday.
I envisioned myself swimming in the turquoise sea surrounded by dolphins; feeling like a real explorer in the wilderness of the Galapagos, and maybe even coming across a huge tortoise on my path. I imagined the cloud forest with the howler monkeys and swinging from a vine like Tarzan Jane.
One day at the end of 2017, I opened my email and HELLO!, there was an invitation for that exact trip. Not a little different. I am talking EXACTLY THE SAME.
Besides the uncanny similarity of the itinerary, that butterflies-in-my-stomach familiar feeling of wanderlust rushed over me. I suddenly had this insatiable urge to go. That rush of adrenaline to explore new, uncharted territory invaded. Inspiration and beauty at every turn and, OMG, an adult trip to boot?!
It took me all of three seconds to confirm, “We are in.”
We splurged on business class tickets, moved our work calendar around, enlisted the abuelos, and even an aunt from abroad to come stay with the kids. Amazing!! A real adventure like back in our pre-kids days.
—
In the months leading up to the trip, I kept having this hesitation about the impending separation. Our second baby, Leonardo, was rather young (13 months old at the time) and was still unweaned–and rather clingy.
I did what any mother would do–consult everyone about what I should do.
“Don’t worry, he will be fine by then,” said my mother-in-law. The nanny agreed, too.
A girlfriend just returning from a trip in Europe (with a baby younger than Leo) promised, “Liz, just get a game plan to wean him and go have some fun!”
A travel colleague chimed in, “The trip is a little long, but it’s totally doable. I would go for it.”
Even my own mother endorsed the cause, “Go ahead, Sweetie, you deserve it.”
While I gathered confidence from others, along with a million reasons why an epic trip was in the making, I was having a hard time shaking that hesitation. Little Leo didn’t seem interested in being weaned anytime soon…nor being very far from me for that matter.
I was sure it would pass.
—
A month out, I met a friend for drinks. As she took a sip of her Pisco Sour, I said: “I am having second thoughts about this trip to Ecuador.”
She nearly sprayed me with her cocktail, then flashed a look of disbelief.
“Liiiiizzzz, porfa, you are being a little dramatic, no?? Us moms dream about these kinds of trips, and you don’t want to go?? Stop this crazy talk.”
Me: “I am conflicted about leaving for that many days. Isn’t this considered abandonment at this age?”
Her: “Ayayayay. I suggest you start practicing leaving him now before you make any decisions. You probably need to just work up to more days away. You will see how liberating it is.”
She did have a point. We had never left Leonardo overnight yet. We needed to test the waters.
Our weekends away in preparation for the big trip were, indeed, a great idea. It was a taste of freedom…what adult life had been before the kids arrived. We delighted in late nights, intimacy, sleeping in, reading a book, journaling, drinking too much wine at lunch and then indulging in a siesta.
—
As we closed in on departure, the nagging uncertainty persisted. Leo was still not weaned and any attempt produced extreme resistance from him. I told myself that everything would work out, and cast off my anxiety as being natural.
I kept telling myself, almost like a mantra, that I deserved the trip and would be strong. In hindsight, I was blatantly ignoring my intuition, and instead, listening to my crazy mind.
The day before our trip, I had one of those break down moments while packing. What the hell was I doing?? I panicked and texted my therapist to see her ASAP. I justified the last minute visit to get Bach Flowers for the kids to cope with our absence. The truth was, I was the one who wasn’t coping. I was totally freaking out.
The session blew open every single fear I had been hiding for months and had refused to confront. I couldn’t contain it anymore. Our dream trip all of a sudden felt like my worst nightmare.
Here I was, about to be torn away from my precious babies by my own doing. How could I have tricked myself into thinking that this trip would be liberating? It was going to be total hell.
What a strange place to be for someone that works in travel, lives to travel, and pretty much thinks about travel all the time. But there I was…and it wasn’t pretty.
As we dug deeper, my therapist suggested that I was reliving some kind of pain from separation in own childhood. She urged me to connect with my “inner child”, to which I could only respond with, “my inner what?”
“Clearly she is scared, lost, crying, and screaming for you to listen,” she continued. I was skeptical. However, I was also on the border of loosing it, so I was open to anything. A guided visualization calmed me down a bit, and I left with a couple strategies to manage stress on the trip. This all seemed like a solid plan…until, of course, I had a panic attack in the middle of the night.
—
The taxi was coming to pick us up at 6am.
I got out of bed around 3am, unable to sleep. I was choked with tears and barely able to breathe. I paced and my heart pounded. Bullets of sweat poured down my back. My mind was spinning of out of control and I felt woozy. That crazy voice in my head would not stop. It kept spewing up the worst-case scenarios that terrified me.
Finally at 4am, I texted a couple friends (on the West Coast) for support.
Girlfriend #1: “Do you have a premonition that something bad may happen?”
Me: “Not exactly, but I cannot get on that plane.”
Girlfriend #2: “I had this same situation when my daughter was going to camp, but I worked through it and she ended up having an amazing time. You have to push past this fear.”
This went on for at least 30 minutes to no avail.
At 5am, my husband appeared. He looked at me and said, “Are we going or not?”
I broke out in tears (again) and wailed, “I am so sorry. I can’t!!”
And poof, just like that, the trip ended before it had ever begun.
He didn’t say a word; he didn’t have to. I could feel his disappointment. I knew that he felt I was making a huge mistake. He knew I would regret it. But I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave.
In that moment, as everything crashed down, never once did he make me feel unheard or unseen. He stood by me quietly and lovingly while I fell into a very dark place.
The taxi came, and went, without us.
I collapsed, a heaving mess. I felt relieved that I wouldn’t be separated from Micaela and Leonardo and would see them when they woke up. That relief lasted only a few minutes. The realization of my decision, and the massive collateral damage that it would cause, suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks.
You probably know that feeling…it’s the one that kicks you in your stomach when you know you have royally effed up absolutely everything. Oh no, oh no, OH NO. Oh yes, dear Liz, you caved to the loca living in your head.
A tsunami of shame, of humiliation, and regret washed over me from head to toe.
—
The rest of the day was surreal, like a slow motion fog. I hadn’t slept, not even 30 minutes. Any attempt to chill was impossible as I was too high on a cocktail of stress hormones.
As our travel plans went down in flames, I sensed from afar the collective disappointment of everyone waiting for us in Ecuador. I was deeply sorry about my behavior and what it had brought onto everyone who had put so much work into planning our trip. However, what totally crushed me was knowing on a deep level that I had not shown up for myself.
I had ignored my heart, my higher self, my inner voice, whatever you want to call it. She had been trying to tell me FOR MONTHS, “Hey Liz, now is not the time for this trip. Just wait a little longer till Leo is bigger. Ecuador will still be there next year.”
I heard her, and then decided to blatantly ignore her. I could have stepped gracefully out of the trip at an earlier stage, and everyone would have understood, but no, I had to try to prove her wrong. That recognition hurt beyond belief.
Here was the situation: I had completely failed myself.
—
Around 1pm, I decided to brave the dreary, cold day for a walk. I needed to clear my head or find some coffee in the process.
I found an audiobook of a favorite teacher, Marianne Williamson, and randomly clicked on a track. Here she was, talking about mercy. Isn’t it funny how the message you need shows up exactly when you need it?
Mercy is one of those words I had only grasped on an intellectual level until that moment. As she explained, when you have totally blown it, and you start cleaning up the mess and making amends, the universe opens up an opportunity to show you how miraculous it truly is. Mercy is practicing self-compassion in our darkest hour and completely surrendering.
I had nothing to loose at that point, and I definitely needed some self-compassion. I felt awful. Forgiveness and humility were the only path. I decided I was going to write everyone, especially myself, a heartfelt apology, as soon as I got home.
I had own this.
As I walked into the house, my husband said, “You won’t believe this. My brother is arriving tomorrow from Canada on a surprise visit.” Let’s see…his brother whom he hasn’t seen for years is arriving mañana? A visit that we would have missed had we gotten on the plane that morning?
And some people still think we live in a random universe??
—
That arrival was a blessing.
We went to countryside to my in-laws’ farm. I needed distance from Santiago to try and put the whole event behind me. Nature is therapeutic and I felt some sense of grace surrounded by her. I didn’t do any work for over a week. I went for long walks. I read. I played with the kids. I tried to stay present—it was the only way I could avoid feeling the intense shame. I fought the urge to look at our itinerary and torture myself by imagining all the amazing things we would be doing every day.
Nobody in my family asked me about what had happened. I didn’t talk about it either…mostly because I couldn’t—at least not at that point. I was too ashamed, too embarrassed, too hurt. I had too much to process.
I knew, though, this was an important turning point in my life. In failing myself, I had to give myself permission to be in that unknown, uncomfortable place for a while. I couldn’t act immediately like everything was fine. It wasn’t. Skipping over it was not possible, at least not if I wanted to learn, and eventually grow, from it.
Time, though, is a wonderful healer. Months passed and I got to the point where I could talk about the “bail out.” First with my husband, then with family and close friends. I found that shedding light and giving a voice to what happened made my burden feel less scary, less heavy, than going it alone. For the first time in a very long time, I was willing to show that I wasn’t perfect. Yes, I was completely capable of making a very bad decision. That willingness to talk about my failure was ultimately what allowed me to let it go and move on.
Funny enough, just around that time, an opportunity to go on another trip (without kids) appeared. It looked like the Universe really wanted me to face this issue sooner than later.
—
Fast forward a couple months. I am having déjà vu. My husband and I are departing on a trip to Peru the next morning. I am having the same sleepless night worrying about our departure.
The taxi is downstairs waiting for us.
But this time is different. This time, my heart says, “YES, Liz, go!!”
I take one last look at our sleeping babies. I feel tears well up, but I am peaceful with my decision. My inner child feels happy (I think? I hope!). Now IS the time. The kids need us to give them the space to be without us—and us without them. Leo is nearly two–bigger and more independent. We are ready for adventure, couple time, and I desperately need to rekindle my wanderlust.
And just like everyone said it would be, the trip to Peru was totally liberating,…I just had to liberate myself first.
