For 22 years, I was a military wife, putting aside my needs to support my husband’s career — all for the promise that after retirement, when our children were grown, we’d travel the world together.
In 2018, retirement finally came, and not long after, our nearly 25-year marriage crumbled. When his military career ended, it felt like he lost his sense of purpose. I tried to hold things together, but the unhappiness and bitter fights left me drowning, too.
It wasn’t love that kept me there, but fear. I came from a toxic home and no longer had contact with my family, so I worried that without my husband and children, I’d have no one. That fear kept me complacent until the pain of staying was greater than the fear of leaving.
Our divorce was finalized in February of 2022, and just before, I had moved to Hawaii to stay with a recently widowed woman.
I gave myself a year to heal
It was time to figure out who I was on my own. I walked for exercise, but over time it became an act of penance.
Some days I covered more than 12 miles, each step bringing realizations about my marriage and myself. I realized that I’d been a people-pleaser who sacrificed my own needs for others, only to resent them for it.
During that year, I dove into therapy, read voraciously, leaned on female friendships, and stayed close to my sons through video calls and visits. I worked hard to unlearn the habit of putting everyone first, but me.
Near the end of 2022, I was fulfilled but restless — ready for something new.
First stop: Thailand
On December 31, I booked a solo flight to Bangkok. I had little savings but wanted to see the world.
When I told friends and family, everyone — including my adult sons — asked if I was afraid. I was nervous, but fear was no longer in the driver’s seat of my life.
“You’re so brave, Mom,” my oldest son told me. I may not have felt it then, but I promised I would be what he saw in me.
Two days before my 43rd birthday, I landed in Bangkok. I was consumed by the food and temples, and by the freedom of being entirely on my own.
Six days later, in Chiang Mai, I visited a massage studio that employed former female prisoners. My late mother had once been incarcerated, and I felt drawn to the place. After the massage, my masseuse asked if she could braid my hair — that small act of kindness made me cry.
In Thailand, I felt free. Some days I slept late and ate too much; others I explored sacred sites. It was the first trip I’d ever taken where I didn’t have to conform to someone else’s desires.
I was living for me.
Second stop: Vietnam
Eleven days later, I flew to Hanoi and was struck by the city’s chaotic yet charming atmosphere. Crossing the streets felt like an act of courage — all it took was confidence and a steady pace forward.
One afternoon, I hopped on the back of a motorcycle with a kind man named Lee, who offered to show me his city. Instead of landmarks, he took me to the sites where bombs had struck during the Vietnam War. He told me that his family had fled to Cambodia during the city’s destruction.
“Hanoi people are strong,” Lee told me. He was right. They had lost everything and rebuilt. I realized the city’s vibrant pulse came from determination and grit — from picking up the pieces and starting over.
In a small way, I was doing the same.
Ready to start over
I ended my trip with a cruise and some kayaking on Ha Long Bay, where the quiet and gray skies gave me time to reflect. I hadn’t just dreamed of adventure; I made it happen and proved my son right.
Once home in Hawaii, I decided to bring my gap year to a close and restart my career as a freelance writer and book editor. It was time to get back to the business of living — but this time, on my terms.
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