This past week, I travelled 700 miles away from the comfort and familiarity of my home. It was a family holiday that promised new experiences, quality time with loved ones, and a break from the everyday routine. But, as much as I wanted to embrace the excitement, the trip also brought significant challenges—challenges that are often invisible to others but very real to me as a chronically ill autistic person. I want to share some of these challenges in the hope that it will help others understand why travelling isn’t always as simple or enjoyable for people like me.
Travelling such a great distance from home is something that many people look forward to. It’s an opportunity to explore new places, meet new people, and create lasting memories. But for me, as an autistic person, it’s a mixed bag. On one hand, I can appreciate the excitement and the potential for adventure. On the other hand, the prospect of being so far away from my safe space is deeply unsettling.
As someone who thrives on familiarity and routine, I rely heavily on my environment to provide a sense of security. My home is my sanctuary—a place where I know what to expect, where everything is arranged just the way I like it, and where I can retreat when the world becomes too overwhelming. Being 700 miles away from this comfort zone was disorienting. The unfamiliar environment, with its new sounds, smells, and sights, was a constant source of overstimulation. It’s not just that everything was different—it was that everything felt more intense. The distance itself seemed to amplify my anxiety, making it feel like I was disconnected from the places and people that ground me.
Each day of the trip, I found myself becoming more worn down by the constant need to adapt and adjust. Routine is something I rely on heavily to maintain my mental and emotional well-being. When I’m in my usual environment, I have a set routine that helps me navigate the day with a sense of predictability. On this trip, however, nothing was routine. Every day was different, and while that might sound exciting, it was also exhausting. The energy required to keep up with the changes, to process all the new information, and to manage my sensory input was overwhelming. By the end of each day, I felt drained—not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well.
One of the most anticipated aspects of going away for most people is the opportunity to try new foods. Exploring local cuisine is often seen as one of the joys of travel. For me, however, food was one of the main sources of stress on this trip. As someone with many sensory sensitivities, eating unfamiliar dishes can be incredibly overwhelming. The textures, tastes, and smells of new foods are not just different—they can be downright distressing.
Before the trip, I told myself that I would try to embrace the experience and step out of my comfort zone when it came to food. I wanted to be open to trying new things, to taste the local flavours, and to share in the culinary experiences that my family was so excited about. But as much as I wanted to, the reality was far more challenging than I had anticipated.
Each meal became a source of anxiety. I found myself constantly worrying about what I was eating—whether I would like it, whether it would trigger a sensory overload, whether it would be too much for me to handle. My brain was on high alert during every meal, trying to process all the new stimuli at once. It’s hard to enjoy a meal when your senses are being bombarded with unfamiliar sensations, and your mind is racing with worry. I did manage to try a few new foods, but more often than not, I found myself retreating to the safety of familiar comfort foods like mac and cheese, a bowl of chips, or a pot noodle. These simple meals were a lifeline for me, providing a sense of familiarity in an otherwise overwhelming situation.
It’s difficult to explain to someone who doesn’t experience sensory sensitivities just how overwhelming food can be. For most people, trying new foods is an exciting part of travel, but for me, it’s a challenge that requires careful navigation. It’s not just about taste—it’s about texture, smell, and even the way the food looks. All of these factors can trigger sensory overload, making it impossible to enjoy the experience. I wanted to be part of the fun, to share in the excitement of trying new dishes, but the reality was that each meal was a battle between wanting to participate and needing to protect myself from overwhelm.
As if the sensory and routine challenges weren’t enough, my chronic illness added another layer of difficulty to the trip. Chronic illness is something I live with every day, but when I’m at home, I’ve developed strategies to manage it. I know my limits, I know how to pace myself, and I have the tools I need to take care of my body. But on this trip, everything was different.
The amount of walking required during the holiday was far beyond what my body is used to or capable of handling comfortably. Each step became a painful reminder of my limitations. As someone with chronic pain and fatigue, walking for extended periods is incredibly taxing. The pain in my joints, the fatigue that sets in after just a short walk, and the overall discomfort of being on my feet for too long made every day a physical challenge. By the end of each day, I was completely drained—both physically and mentally. The pain and fatigue from walking so much made it hard to participate fully in the holiday activities. There were times when I had to sit things out altogether, watching from the sidelines as my family enjoyed the experiences that I couldn’t physically handle.
This was perhaps one of the most frustrating aspects of the trip for me. I wanted to engage, to be part of the fun, to create those special memories with my family. But my body had other plans. It’s difficult to accept that your body is holding you back, that you can’t do the things you want to do, that you have to miss out on experiences because of your physical limitations. It’s a constant battle between wanting to push through and knowing that pushing too hard will only make things worse.
The mental toll of this was just as significant as the physical toll. It’s exhausting to be in pain all the time, to have to constantly assess how much energy you have left, to make decisions based on what your body can handle rather than what you want to do. It’s a daily reminder that you’re not in control, that your body has the final say, and that no matter how much you want to be part of the fun, sometimes you just can’t.
When the holiday finally came to an end, I found myself with mixed feelings. On one hand, I was grateful for the memories we had made. There were beautiful moments on the trip—moments of joy, laughter, and connection with my family. But on the other hand, I was relieved to return to the familiarity of home. Coming back to my safe space, to my routine, and to the environment where I feel most comfortable was a huge relief.
The trip served as a stark reminder of the challenges I face every day as a chronically ill and autistic person. It highlighted just how difficult it can be to navigate new environments, to manage sensory sensitivities, and to deal with the physical limitations of chronic illness. These challenges don’t go away just because I’m on holiday—in fact, they often become more pronounced. It’s important to acknowledge that while the holiday had its beautiful moments, it also had its struggles. These struggles don’t negate the good times, but they are a significant part of my experience.
For those who wonder why I might not always seem as enthusiastic about going away, or why I might need more downtime than others, I hope this post provides some insight. Travelling isn’t just about going to new places and having fun—it’s also about navigating a host of challenges that others might not even realise exist. It’s about managing sensory overload, dealing with physical limitations, and constantly adapting to an unfamiliar environment. It’s about balancing the desire to create new memories with the need to take care of yourself.
I’m learning to navigate these challenges with patience and self-awareness, but it’s not always easy. It requires a lot of energy, a lot of self-compassion, and a lot of understanding from those around me. I’m grateful for the support of my family, who did their best to accommodate my needs and make the trip as comfortable as possible. But even with that support, the challenges were still there, and they were still significant.
As I reflect on the trip, I’m reminded of the importance of self-care and of being gentle with myself. It’s okay to struggle, it’s okay to need more time to recover, and it’s okay to acknowledge that travelling isn’t always as simple or enjoyable as it might seem. It’s all part of the journey, and I’m learning to embrace it—challenges and all.