My child is too anxious to travel. We have tried, and failed, to travel as a family on a few occasions. Last year we were all geared up for a road trip to a nearby town with a reputation for amazing pizza, only to call off the trip at the last second because Carson couldn’t face it.
I sympathize with my child’s anxiety, yet at the same time acknowledge that it sucks. I used to love travelling. Before my child was born, I was one of those people who lived to travel. I obsessed over the next destination and researched it for months in preparation. Hello autistic brain!
Flash-forward to the birth of my child 15 years ago, and travel has been off the cards for my family. For several years my parents (saints that they are) have stepped in to give my partner and I some much-needed time away. To mark 25 years of marriage, we took a week-long trip down south to escape the brutal Canadian winter. Let me just acknowledge right here that I’m keenly aware of our stupid luck and ridiculous privilege.
Over the last couple of years, though, travel has changed for me. I’m not sure whether this is a middle-aged-autistic-woman thing or a me-thing. In any case, my sensitivities have become more acute, and I have become less adaptable in many ways than when I was younger. You would think the reverse would be true, since older adults develop coping mechanisms and workarounds. Perhaps there is a level of burnout that I am not addressing here.
Burnout is the raison d’etre for vacation. My partner and I do not speak to other guests or chitchat with staff. We do not attend entertainment. We do not have drinks by the pool. Instead, we take long walks along the beach. We read books and listen to our respective podcasts or playlists. In other words, we engage in parallel play. At meals we talk to each other. We are compatible in this way. It wouldn’t work on holiday (let alone for the past 25 years) if either of us wanted to party or socialize.
Normally the beach is my happy place. The in-out sound of crashing waves is meditative. The rest of the time I listen to Lana Del Rey on loop. Even this type of holiday is proving hard for me. I felt much more anxious this time around. I stimmed constantly, pulling at my hair and picking my nails.
On vacation so many variables are out of your control, from the food you eat to the bed you sleep on—and that’s without even mentioning the special hell that is airports and flights. There are the constant interactions you must have with staff (largely handled by my partner). The last day of the trip was fraught. The build-up threatened a meltdown. Overwhelmed, I walked out of the restaurant at breakfast. My partner wasn’t upset; he understands.
At the airport I tried to shut out the crowds and unbearable echoes with noise-cancelling headphones. I retreated to a special lounge, but it too was busy and loud with wailing babies. I could empathize; I also wanted to wail.
I love travelling but lately not so much. As a result, I’ve gained a better understanding of why my child chooses to stay home, where everything is predictable and safe.
I used to feel sorry for all the experiences Carson was missing. The excursions! The culture! Now I realize that the novelty that makes travel exciting for one person is what makes it intolerable for another.
No matter how well you pack and plan (and trust me, I am a kitchen-sink packer), it is impossible to prepare for every eventuality and replicate the conditions of home entirely. So many aspects of travel require you to surrender to your surroundings. For most neurotypical people, that surrender—that escape from daily routine—is what makes travel appealing.
Autistic folks live and die by our routines. That’s not to say travel is impossible, and every autist is different in terms of what they can handle, but let’s not mince words here: travel is h-a-r-d.
This latest trip has made me rethink what I can and cannot handle in terms of travel. Just typing this sentence fills me with sadness and nostalgia. I do not want closed doors when the world is wide open. I do not want my autism to limit my life in any way. But it does. That’s the reality not everyone talks about in their cute TikToks. If going on vacation makes me more dysregulated, then maybe it’s not a vacation, after all.
How do you cope with the challenges of travel?
I definitely have encountered these issues as an autistic traveler, but not traveling alone and having someone to confide in about difficulties helps.
Julie, I felt your words so deeply today. I can relate both on a personal level and because I have several neurodivergent children. I used to love traveling, and now it is a cause for great anxiety. I can still enjoy time away, but the shift in what's familiar - my own bed, my kitchen, my food - is difficult.
With my children, I have to plan ahead for every small change that might (probably will) create waves of anxiety for them. I try to keep the routine as close to what we have at home as possible. Road trips work best in this way, because we can stop at rest areas to eat a picnic lunch and stretch our legs. We're not beholden to airlines and crowded gates. So that does limit where we're able to go, at least for now. But at least we can still explore.
I've found there are many hidden treasures very close to home. I'm satisfied with taking small steps with my family to discover them.