It’s inspiring to see young women breaking through the internet with their success stories. South Asian girls, in particular, are breaking barriers and living their dreams. Watching women travel alone or run a photography/ artsy social media channel is incredibly uplifting. I often wonder how they overcome safety concerns or the weight of family expectations. How do they simply pack a bag and set off on a hike? What do their families say? What are their concerns? What are their inspirations?
I’ve often wished I could bypass my obligations and immerse myself in nature. Recently, I hinted at a weekend trip with my youngest son, never expecting my husband to agree — but he did. I was on top of the clouds. A semi-solo trip. A step closer to scratching an item off my bucket list. The excitement was quickly replaced by nerves. A six-hour drive seemed daunting. Where would I stop? What if there was car trouble? Was it safe for a hijabi on the road, alone? Was I risking my son’s safety just to chase my adventure?
Feeling uncertain, I texted my oldest son, asking if he’d join us. To my surprise, he said yes. My three boys are adventurous, but hikes and national parks are not their usual idea of fun. Thrilled by their willingness, I packed our bags with two outfits each and the essentials. I hired extra house help for my mother-in-law and cleared out the calendar to ensure the trip would be stress-free. For the first time in years, I felt on the brink of becoming one with nature — imagining the beauty of a high-altitude sunrise.
But as the trip drew closer, reality set in. Being away for the weekend meant my husband would eat his meals alone without the kids. The kids had been off for two weeks, and he hadn’t had one meal with all three together. Everybody had their own idea of fun and mini travels, so the six of us were rarely home together. So, we planned a family dinner on Thursday night to discuss the itinerary, lodging, safety measures, and most importantly, to share a meal together. I also wanted to establish some house rules for the road. However, the evening took a turn. Sarcasm from the teens wore thin on both my husband and me. Then one of them broke the silence, admitting they were going on this trip for me, not because they wanted to.
I appreciated their honesty, but my heart broke. Out of the 300-plus days I spent scrubbing the house and ensuring everything ran smoothly, they couldn’t spare 30 hours for something I truly wanted. Disappointment consumed me. The room felt darker, my heart heavier, and my soul quieter. Despite their attempt to act normal the next day, cracking jokes and living life as usual, I felt lost in a void.
I wasn’t mad at my kids — I was mad at myself. Why do I shackle myself to endless worries and responsibilities, unable to breathe freely without guilt? I wish I could pick up the keys and hit the road without hesitation. I want to jump into the pool of freedom, but the problem is, I can’t swim — and I’m not sure I’d survive the fall.
Maybe it’s not about jumping into the deep end but learning to wade in slowly, one step at a time. Perhaps my journey isn’t about conquering nature but learning to conquer the fears that hold me back. And for now, that realization might be the first step towards freedom.
