When I booked that Antarctic cruise, I thought I knew what I was going for…

Wendy Byard
13 minutes ago
3 min read

But, there was something else, something people don't talk about when they talk about Antarctica

When I came home, there wasn’t a dramatic moment where everything suddenly made sense. No bold declarations. No instant clarity. Just a quiet knowing that something inside me had shifted, and that I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

That trip wasn’t about ticking off a destination or proving I could do something extraordinary. It was about choosing myself in a way I never truly had before.

Not in words.

Not in intentions.

But in action.

For a long time, I’d believed that happiness came from outside of me — from relationships, from being needed, from giving enough that everything would eventually feel balanced. I was generous with my time, my care, my energy. But somewhere along the way, I realised I was waiting. Waiting for life to give me permission to feel fulfilled. Waiting for someone else to meet needs I wasn’t even fully admitting I had.

Antarctica stripped all of that back.

In a place so vast, so quiet, so indifferent to expectation, I couldn’t distract myself anymore. There was no performing. No pleasing. Just space... and the realisation that if my life was going to change, it had to start with me taking responsibility for my own happiness.

Not selfishly.

But honestly.

The day after I returned home, COVID hit and suddenly, the world stopped. Lockdown was enforced. There were no distractions. No momentum. Just time; long, unfamiliar stretches of it, and space to sit with what I’d uncovered.

That’s where the real work began.

It didn’t happen overnight. It still hasn’t. Choosing yourself isn’t a single decision, it’s a practice. Some days it comes easily. Other days it feels uncomfortable, unfamiliar, even lonely. There were moments of doubt, moments of fear, moments where I wondered if it would have been easier to slip back into old patterns.

But something had changed. I could feel it.

Solo travel became part of that ongoing choice; not because it’s always easy, or brave, or empowering in the glossy way people like to talk about, but because it gives me space to listen. To check in with myself. To notice what I need rather than what’s expected of me.

Sometimes it feels exhilarating.

Sometimes it feels challenging.

Sometimes it feels quiet and deeply grounding.

And all of it is okay.

I don’t travel solo because I have no fear. I travel solo because I’ve learned that fear doesn’t get to make all my decisions anymore. I don’t wait for the perfect moment, or the perfect companion, or the perfect version of myself. I go as I am.

Antarctica didn’t change my life by itself.

But it was the moment I stopped waiting for my life to change.

And I’m still choosing that...again and again, in ways that feel right for who I am now.

If you’re standing at the edge of something new, unsure, or quietly longing for more, know this: you don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t need a grand plan. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is make one small, honest choice to put yourself first — and trust that the rest will unfold in time.