Travelling with Anxiety

Do you ever do something and think afterwards how the f**k did I do that? IF ONLY IT COULD BE BOTTLED, THAT COURAGE.

I am talking about traveling with anxiety.

I have suffered with anxiety my whole life. It has limited my life to the extent I don’t go out, and if I do it’s after dark and to the supermarket to stock up on pasta and ice cream.

I have a partner I have been with for a few years. We did attempt to go out as a couple to restaurants and the like, but quickly had to knock that on the head because my anxiety did not make the experience at all fun. Then shit happened and going out at all became impossible.

But.

That said, we have gone on holidays abroad. This is the point I think HOW?

Going on holiday is stressful, if like me you have agoraphobia and anxiety. For my partner it is enjoyable. Yes. Enjoyable. What a strange old word. Let’s break it down.

Travelling with Anxiety


Writing a list. A travel inventory. Nothing must be forgotten. Shades, toiletries – are they in a clear bag and to the measurements required, pads – you never know I might start my period, notebook, books, flip flops, charger – spare charger, snacks, magazine, toilet rolls, an outfit for my hand luggage – in case I puke over myself on the plane (keeping it classy) blanket, towel, sweeteners – am I the only person who feels bad when someone on the plane has forgotten their sweeteners and the cabin crew don’t have any, raincoat, tickets, printout of travel/hotel info, wipes, soap, money – in all currencies, tissues, water bottle.

Yes, this stuff can be bought in Spain or Germany or wherever. Yes, it is ok to forget something. TELL THAT TO MY BRAIN.

Packing the suitcase. Have to remember carrier bags, day outfits, socks, underwear, night outfits, evening outfits, pyjamas, loungewear, OH MY GOD THE SUITCASE ISN’T ZIPPING SHUT.

Traveling to the airport. That involves a train into London, an overnight stay in a hotel, worrying about dinner, and breakfast, trying to sleep in a bed that is not my own, what if my alarm doesn’t ring and we miss our flight, what if I don’t have time for a shower – I don’t want people to think I stink, setting the alarm 8 times so it goes off in the lift, and in the taxi on the way to the airport AND NOT BEING ABLE TO TURN IT OFF, worrying I may have left something in the hotel when I leave – I DIDN’T UNPACK ANYTHING.

The airport. Oh the airport. Trying to navigate the way into the airport, onto the shuttle, finding the toilets, waving off our suitcases, trying to hydrate and simultaneously trying to finish the bottle of water before we go through security, finding another toilet, queue at security, sweating because – you never know – I might get arrested, wondering if you will ever see your hand luggage again when you have relinquished it, the waiting, the delays, wandering through endless cold corridors – which always make me think of the time corridors in Doctor Who – my partner gets thoroughly annoyed every time I mention it,

all this while trying to rearrange my face to appear ‘normal’ while inside I am losing my shit, having no idea what to do with my hands, trying to not get stomped on by people in a bigger rush to get this done with than me,

then asking myself if my face has changed from my passport photo and they won’t let me on the plane, more waiting, waiting, getting onto those stairs to the plane – they frighten me – I don’t like heights, knowing as someone with a large chest someone is going to elbow my boobs, or going to get them in their head or back, and how on earth you get comfortable in a plane seat I do not know. As soon as I am sat in my seat I want to leave. There is no personal space, my knees are in jeopardy, and I immediately get a headache as soon as the plane takes off. 

You think at this point I would have a chance to breathe, but no. I am counting down the minutes until the plane gets back onto solid ground. I’m not quiet about this either.

Being in a foreign country unsettles me. It’s because home is a bit too far away for comfort.

Queuing for the toilet, queuing, more queuing, and finding our suitcases. Is there no better way? Maybe it is just me, but how do I pull my suitcase off that thing without me landing on my backside.

I don’t know why, but we get a coach transfer to our hotel. It is a new kind of hell. Waiting for everyone to get onto the coach, onto the right coach, the relinquishing of luggage again as it goes in the boot, I worry about all of the kids running around, I worry about how the rest of the day is going to pan out now we are actually HERE.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

It takes me 2 days to recover. So why do I do it to myself?

Because my anxiety is limiting, it also limits my partner’s life. I’m not going to tell him we can’t go on holiday, because there’s already a lot we don’t do because of my anxiety.

It’s like a bruise. Curiosity makes me keep prodding it. Travel is exciting. I like the idea of it. I like experiencing new places. New foods and new people not so much. Anxiety inducing.  The holiday we had last year was relatively less stressful, which I think means I may be getting used to it. Also the airport was trying a new way of easing queues and getting people onto their flights quicker. That worked like a dream.

It’s a privilege to travel as well, my family could never afford to take me and my two siblings abroad. I think my parents probably had enough of taking us to stay in a caravan for a week. The memories I have of that are being in a stuffy car, ants and endless walking. I still had anxiety then. I will forever dislike piers. How can walking along slats of wood across the sea ever be fun? I used to have nightmares about falling into the sea. It doesn’t take a lot to fuel my imagination.

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Thanks for reading!

https://ko-fi.com/klpoetry

4 Questions with James F. Miller

1, Tell us about you, and your writing (themes, influences etc.)

I am an outdoorsman, survivalist, recovered addict, musician, father, and so much more. I began writing in elementary school as song lyrics. This changed to poetry around middle school. I have been in and out of multiple colleges with various majors since the late 1990s. My range of interests is exceptionally large. Music management and live sound were my life for many years after I concluded my 8th semester in college. It was on the road, in the steady presence of excess that I found my weakness. My first book A Footnote for Tomorrow was about my struggles with addiction and my journey along the way to recovery. My second book is about the decline of society, morals, and values as both a broad spectrum and as it applies in the building block of society, the modern relationship.

2, What are some of the ways in which you promote your work, and do you find these add, or eat into, your time writing?

I promote via social media, occasional advertisements, and have a lot of help from outsourced marketing people to assist with my promotional activities. I could not say that it eats much into my time, because the bulk of my sales come through random meetings and conversations or successful marketing campaigns. I don’t really spend as much time writing as I spend on rewrites and editing of those hour or two here there writing sessions.

3, What projects are you working on at present? 

Presently, I am finishing up what will be my third full length collection, A Lesser Man, it’s a collection of poetry about person’s battle to find their way and identity in life, romance, career and especially faith. Those ups and downs turn arounds and revisions that we make along the journey that is defining us finding our own definition.

4, What does poetry mean to you?

Poetry is that first big, deep, fresh breath of air that starts our days off. Without its release, I am not sure I could have been able to keep my composure to make it as far as I have in any aspect of my life. It’s as vital as water and food, it is the sustenance that sustains us.

James Miller is a poet from the Midwest. His passion for writing began to burn for him once he learned to write in cursive.  Putting pen to page is what makes him feel alive.  His book, A Footnote for Tomorrow, has held the No. 2 spot on Amazon Top New Releases list and remained in the top 10 for two months.  He has been published in the Tecumseh Review (Vincennes University, Indiana), in 2000, as well as various anthologies between 1997 and 2000.

Jim was born in 1970s in a small town in northern Indiana.  His early life was spent between Indiana, Florida and the New York area. After his many years in college, he took to the road and travelled the country in a quest to find himself and some meaning or purpose in life.

During his academic career, James studied English, creative writing, journalism, advertising, philosophy and music/audio recording. During that time, he attended several smaller community colleges including Vincennes University where he studied English-Creative Writing, Journalism and Music-Audio Recording.  During his time at VU he held an editor position on the school’s newspaper, The Trailblazer, for four semesters. 

When he is not writing, working on the family business or at the auto factory, Jim likes to throw on a backpack and hike or load up the kayak and head out into nature. He’s a curious man who will speak to anyone willing to have a meaningful conversation. 


at the door – a poem

Photo by Luis Quintero on Pexels.com

my backpack sits slumped over

from where it was thrown –

coming in from going out –

gathering dust –

and when lockdown was announced

there the backpack remained –

the shoes piled around it,

like loose stones around a rock –

the contents of time suspended –

loose mints, and receipts –

a water bottle, and pens separated

from their lids –

pads and wipes –

lip balm –

a notebook –

and until i remembered

to throw it in the bin –

some days later –

a half-eaten lunch –

i didn’t dare to peel back the foil it was wrapped in.

Kate ©

good old desk – a poem

a desk was part of the bedroom furniture, as a child –

essential for completing homework on –

and making shapes with play-dough –

and as an adult – practical questions

do we need a desk, is there room?

can we really afford a desk?

use the coffee table for completing paperwork instead –

with laptops on – laps –

slumped on the sofa –

lack of concentration –

Kate ©

Going back to the early 2000’s. What I read as a child.


Hello. Hope you’re ok.


I spent a good chunk of time trying to find one of my favourite reads from my childhood last week and, after finding it, I went on to find other books that unlocked memories. I was born in 1995, not a time of great diversity in publishing if we’re looking at this list and as for Diary of a Chav <puffs out cheeks> I should mention a lot of these books I read because they were there and I could find them in charity shops or the public library. Trying to read a series of books (in order) proved impossible and I liked authors I knew had other books to read. I found comfort in familiarity.
I might try getting a hold of some of these books and re-reading them. Possibly setting myself up for disappointment.


  • Dustbin Baby – Jacqueline Wilson

  • The Granny Project – Anne Fine

  • The Famous Five – Enid Blyton

  • Diary of a Chav – Grace Dent

  • Just Henry – Michelle Magorian

  • Noughts and Crosses – Malorie Blackman

  • Lucky Star – Cathy Cassidy

  • Ally’s World – Karen McCombie

  • The Babysitter’s Club – Ann. M. Martin

  • Blitzed – Robert Swindells

  • The Shell House – Linda Newbury

  • Pink Knickers Aren’t Cool – Jean Ure

  • There’s a Pharaoh in our Bath – Jeremy Strong

  • Matilda – Roald Daul

  • Lady Daisy – Dick King Smith

  • Trust me, I’m A Troublemaker – Pete Johnson

What do you think, have you read any of these books?


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