Yes. Me. One kid, two dogs, a house that produces laundry like it’s being paid per sock, a vacuum that never stops running… and I still make it happen.
And before you give me that “must be nice” look, let me stop you. It’s not glamorous. It’s not bougie. It’s not me sipping champagne in a ballgown like Cinderella at midnight. It’s survival. It’s the one thing that keeps me from turning into the mom version of Ursula when someone dares to ask for a snack five minutes after dinner.
Anyway, picture this.
The holidays end. The decorations come down… or, in this year’s case, stay up because I simply did not have the emotional bandwidth to fight with the tree. Suddenly my house looks like a battlefield: half‑built Legos everywhere (I swear they multiply like the brooms in Fantasia), two dogs staring at me like they haven’t eaten in 47 years, and my child and husband arguing over what’s going on the TV like it’s the final round of Family Feud.
And then, this is the best part, one night I’m breaking up a dramatic standoff between my kid and the dogs over a blanket. A BLANKET. Not even a special one. Just… a blanket.
I finally plop onto the couch, shove the Lego version of the Pixar out of my way, and think:
When was the last time I did something just for me? Not for my kid. Not for work. Not for the house. For me.
And like clockwork, every year, right around that moment, this tiny sparkly idea floats into my brain, probably riding in on leftover wrapping paper like it’s a magic carpet:
What if I took my annual solo trip… now?
And friend, I do. I book it. I go. And here’s why I keep doing it.
Because I need a real reset. Not the “I took a long shower and hid from my family for 12 minutes” reset. Not the “I went to Target alone and pretended it was a vacation” reset.
A real reset.
A trip where I don’t cut anyone’s pancakes. A trip where I don’t share my dessert. A trip where I don’t hear “Mom!” even once unless it’s from another mom who also escaped.
It’s the one time a year I get to remember what I like, what I want, and who I am outside of being the family cruise director.
And honestly? My brain needs the break. Packing lists. School reminders. Dog meds. Permission slips. “What’s for dinner?” “Where’s my hoodie?” “Why is the dog wearing my hoodie?”
The mental load is constant. A solo trip is the only time my brain gets to exhale.
I wander. I read. I eat food while it’s still hot — HOT! I let myself be spontaneous, which basically never happens unless someone spills something.
By day two, my mind feels quiet in that magical Disney‑movie moment where the music softens and the main character finally breathes. It’s giving Moana‑standing‑on‑the‑shore energy.
And here’s the sweetest part: every year when I FaceTime home, my tiny human says the same thing, “Mom, you look happy.”
That’s when I know I’m doing the right thing. They’re not seeing me abandon them. They’re seeing me take care of myself. They’re learning that rest is okay. That independence is healthy. That moms are humans with dreams and interests and needs.
Every year, on that trip, I meet the version of me I don’t want to lose. The one who existed before the schedules and the snacks and the constant “Mom, look!” She’s fun. She’s brave. She’s still in there, she just needs a little uninterrupted time to come out.
And when I come home? Oh, friend. The reunion is pure magic. The hugs are tighter. The patience is deeper. The chaos feels… charming again. Like “Ha-ha, look at us, we’re adorable” instead of “Why is everyone yelling?”
And you know what always pops into my head around then? That line from Grandmother Willow in Pocahontas:
“Sometimes the right path is not the easiest one.”
Solo travel isn’t always the easiest choice — mom guilt is real, logistics are real, and the dogs act like you’ve abandoned them for 12 years — but it’s the right path. For me. For my sanity. For my family.
Because taking that time away helps me come back softer, happier, and way more like the mom I want to be… not the frazzled version who’s one spilled juice box away from a full Ursula moment.
As Walt Disney said, “All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them.” Sometimes that courage looks like booking a room for one or heading out on a girl's trip.
And listen — it doesn’t have to be a week in Europe. Sometimes it’s:
A night at a local resort A day trip to my favorite city (AKA Main Street USA) A spa day followed by a quiet dinner, preferably at the Grand Floridian A quick cruise if I’m feeling spicy (Virgin Voyages… adults only… say less)
It doesn’t have to be big. It just has to be mine.
And if you ever want to start your own solo‑trip tradition, I’m right here. Whether you want a beach, a foodie city, a wellness retreat, or a Disney day where you ride exactly what YOU want, I can help you plan it.
Because you deserve a getaway that fills your cup. And I make it simple, stress‑free, and sprinkled with a little magic.
Every year, I take a trip for me. And every year, it makes me a better mom, a better human, and honestly… a happier version of myself.
Whenever you’re ready to start your own tradition, friend, I’ve got you.
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