The Way Down

On being needed, learning to let go, and why sometimes the greatest gift of travel is hearing someone else say, “I’ve got you.”

Right now, a Grit & Grace journey is unfolding in Bali.

And I am watching it from my couch in Guelph.

Proof that being needed isn’t the same as being valuable. And letting others carry what you built doesn’t make it any less yours.

That was definitely not the plan.

A medical issue stopped me from getting on the plane at the very last minute. Bags packed. Visa ready. Checked into my flight. And then, suddenly, I wasn't going.

The good news is that I have since been cleared by my neurologist, and I am healing well.

The harder part has been accepting that something I created, something I love deeply, is happening on the other side of the world without me.

And it is happening beautifully.

Cat and Cass stepped in. My longtime partners in Bali stepped up. Women rearranged their lives and plans to make sure the women travelling with Grit & Grace were cared for.

Again and again, in different ways, I heard the same thing.

I've got you.

Those three words have stayed with me.

Because usually, I'm the one saying them.

Not necessarily out loud.

But every time a woman arrives on one of my journeys, that is what I want her to feel.

I've got the transportation.

I've got the rooms.

I've thought about where we're eating.

I know what time we're leaving.

I've checked what you need to bring tomorrow.

I've asked the questions you didn't know you needed to ask.

I've thought three steps ahead so that, for a little while, you don't have to.

Not because you can't.

That's important.

The women who travel with me are some of the most capable women I know.

They run businesses. Manage households. Raise families. Build careers. Care for parents. Navigate divorce, retirement, loss, reinvention, menopause, empty nests, new relationships and entirely new chapters of their lives.

They are perfectly capable of booking a hotel room or finding their way from an airport.

That's not the point.

The point is that they have been capable for a very long time.

And being capable can become exhausting.

I understood this differently when I became a stepmom.

I stepped into a family already in motion, and suddenly I could see the sheer amount of invisible information, labour and the mental load women often carry.

The schedules.

The appointments.

The preferences.

The things that need replacing.

The thing someone needs next Tuesday.

Where the thing is that apparently nobody else in the house can find - even if it is right in front of their nose.

The questions. So many questions.

And it helped me understand something about the women I travel with.

Sometimes we don't need another wellness retreat promising to transform us.

Sometimes we just need someone else to carry the bloody list.

Maybe that's one of the reasons joining a group can feel so different from simply taking a vacation.

You can absolutely travel alone. I think every woman should experience that kind of independence if she wants to.

But travelling solo and joining a group on your own are two very different things.

When you join one of our journeys, you may arrive alone, but you don't stay alone for very long.

You arrive among women who often don't know each other either.

Women at different stages of life, carrying completely different stories.

And then something happens.

Someone tells a story over dinner and another woman says, "Me too."

Someone is nervous about doing something and another woman walks beside her.

Someone needs quiet.

Someone needs laughter.

Someone needs to talk.

Someone discovers that the woman sitting across from her has been carrying something remarkably similar for twenty years.

There is something powerful about realizing that your particular version of life isn't yours alone.

And because the logistics are being carried for you, there is finally room for those moments to happen.

You aren't researching restaurants at breakfast.

You aren't negotiating transportation.

You aren't figuring out which direction to walk.

You aren't asking everyone else what they want to do today.

You just get to be there.

That is what "I've got you" means to me.

It doesn't mean I think you need looking after.

It means you deserve, occasionally, not to be the one looking after everything.

And apparently, I needed to learn that lesson myself.

Because being on the receiving end of "I've got you" has been surprisingly uncomfortable.

I am used to being needed.

By my family.

By my businesses.

By the women who travel with me.

And when you become very good at being the person who knows the answer, fixes the problem and remembers the details, it is easy to start attaching part of your identity to it.

Maybe even your value.

So what happens when other people step in?

What happens when the thing you built keeps going?

What happens when you discover that people can, in fact, find some of their own answers?

Apparently, in my case, you get a little grumpy.

And then, eventually, you start paying attention.

This whole experience has reminded me of trekking to Everest Base Camp.

On the way up, I loved having somewhere to go.

Every day had a goal.

Walk. Breathe. Pay attention. Keep going.

Then I reached Base Camp.

We turned around.

And I was grumpy as hell.

My guide understood before I did that I had attached so much meaning to reaching the destination that I had forgotten something rather obvious.

The trek wasn't over.

The descent was part of it too.

Going down still required effort. There were still climbs. There were still long days and tired legs.

There just wasn't a summit ahead of me promising that every difficult step was taking me somewhere.

I've thought about that a lot these past few weeks.

I am very good at the climb.

The next trip.

The next idea.

The next launch.

The next country.

The next thing that needs me.

I am less practised at the descent.

At stillness.

At letting something be complete.

At allowing somebody else to carry something.

At receiving the same care I am so comfortable giving away.

And I don't want to wrap all of this up with a tidy little lesson because I don't think I'm there yet.

I am still figuring it out.

I can be grateful and angry. Relieved and disappointed. Proud that Grit & Grace can function without me and a little unsettled that Grit & Grace can function without me.

More than one thing can be true at once.

Perhaps that's part of the descent too.

What I do know is that this experience has made me even clearer about why I believe so deeply in the way we travel.

It isn't really about whether you are brave enough to travel alone.

It isn't even entirely about the destination.

It is about what becomes possible when, for a little while, you are freed from being responsible for everything.

You can walk into a place you've never been before.

Sit at a table with women you didn't know a week ago.

Listen to their stories.

Tell some of your own.

Laugh until your stomach hurts.

Try something that scares you a little.

Be quiet without explaining why.

Remember parts of yourself that got buried underneath all the roles you've accumulated.

And discover the enormous relief of hearing:

I've got you.

Not because you aren't capable.

Because you are.

You have been for years.

Maybe you just don't have to prove it every single day.

I'm still learning that one myself.

And for now, I'm trying not to rush down the mountain simply because I've been told I can.

I'm trying to pay attention to the way down.

And, for once, let someone walk beside me.

If you enjoy these stories, I share the more personal, behind-the-scenes pieces of my life, my travels and Grit & Grace with my newsletter subscribers first. The newsletter is where I tend to go a little deeper, share what is happening before it makes its way here, and sometimes write the things I am still figuring out.

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And if you're the woman who has been carrying the list for everyone else for a very long time, maybe one day you'll step off a plane and hand it to us for a while.

I've got you.

Penny