The Trip I Shouldn’t Have Taken

Sometimes the vacation isn’t a break… it’s a mirror.

I planned the trip with the kind of hope that sounds like denial.

Amsterdam. Then LA. Two weeks away from work, pressure, reality... two weeks to fix everything I didn’t want to admit was broken.

It wasn’t just a getaway ... it was a bandage. A last-ditch attempt to stitch together the frayed edges of exhaustion, guilt, and the weight I’d been dragging around for years.

I told myself it was for her.
We hadn’t traveled since the world shut down. I wanted to do something nice ... something that said “I still see you. I’m still trying.”
But the truth?
It was also for me.
I needed to believe I was still capable of good intentions.

But Amsterdam met me with punishment.

My body gave out on day one. Ankles. Knees. Back. Every step felt like shame.
I hadn’t realized how far I’d let myself fall… until I couldn’t walk without wincing.
And I tried to hide it, of course. Smiled through it.
Until the mood followed the pain, and the trip became a countdown ... not a vacation.

Still, we clung to LA like it was Plan B.
Maybe there, we thought, we’ll feel like us again.

But LA didn’t welcome us back.
The places we loved were gone.
The faces had moved on.
And the city didn’t remember us… because we weren’t the same people who left.

What was meant to be healing turned into errands.
Storage units, truck rentals, donation center rejections, hours wasted just trying to throw away the past.

We kept telling ourselves, “It’s fine. It’s all part of the story.”
But the story wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t even dramatic.
It was… tired.
Two people trying to squeeze meaning out of a place that no longer fit.

And then came the flight delays.
The reroutes.
The unexpected hotel nights in cities we never meant to visit.
And finally… home.
Without our bags.
Without our peace.
And definitely without our budget.

We never really talked about what the trip took from us.
Maybe because we knew it was never about the money.
It was about the moment we realized…
we had tried to take a break from our problems ...
but we packed them in our carry-on.

I don’t regret the trip.
But I carry it with me.
Not like a photo in my wallet… more like a scar on the inside of my knee.
Only aches when the weather shifts.
Only reminds me when I try to run.