The Unexpected Benefits of Travelling Solo with a Chronic Health Condition

Does having a chronic health condition mean you can’t travel solo?

Absolutely not. In fact, solo travel with a chronic illness can be one of the most empowering, healing, and self-affirming things you ever do.

In this post, I want to share some of the unexpected gifts I’ve discovered through travelling solo with a chronic condition.

The Hidden Power of Solo Travel with a Chronic Illness

Reclaim your freedom

At first glance, the idea of travelling solo with a chronic illness might feel daunting—or even unwise. But, for many, it can be profoundly rewarding.

When you set off on your own, taking your health into account every step of the way, you’re doing something powerful: reclaiming your freedom on your own terms. And within that freedom, something shifts—physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Shaping Travel Around Your Health – Not Despite It

there are no rules

One of the most important mindset shifts I’ve had to make is this: you don’t need to travel like everyone else to travel well.

Your health doesn’t have to be a barrier—it can actually become your guide. When you stop trying to “push through” and instead shape your travel around your own needs, you create a more enjoyable, sustainable, and enriching experience.

You don’t have to do everything the guidebooks say, there are no rules – travelling is whatever you want it to be.

Solo travel with a chronic illness might sound intimidating—but it can also be one of the most freeing and empowering things you ever do. The key isn’t to ignore your condition or push through discomfort. It’s to honour your health and design your travel around your needs so that you feel safe, grounded, and able to enjoy the journey on your own terms.

You don’t have to compromise for anyone else. You get to put your wellbeing first.

My Own Journey of Travelling Solo with a Chronic Health Condition

in search of healing

I’ve written about my own challenges—both physical and mental—in other blog posts, so I won’t go into the full story here. If you’re curious you can read more about it here.

In brief: three years ago, the day my partner broke up with me unexpectedly, I began experiencing numbness in my legs and pelvis. Within hours, I struggled to walk without support. It happened twice in the space of two weeks—the second time was much worse and lasted longer.

You can imagine the unbelievable level of fear I was feeling.

I spent a week in an Italian hospital undergoing test after test, all of which came back normal. The neurologist suggested the symptoms were trauma-related and might resolve over time.

But they didn’t resolve—not fully.

Three years on, I still live with a shifting mix of symptoms: numbness, heaviness, tingling, and tightness in my left leg. Some days, walking 50 metres feels like a challenge. Other days, I feel more robust and can manage longer distances. I’ve not had one day without symptoms.

I also experience pressure in my lower back, digestive issues, numbness in my mouth and arms, and occasional balance problems.

I’ve seen neurologists in four countries—Italy, the UK, Malaysia, and Sri Lanka—and had multiple MRIs and neurological exams. Neurologists have suggested Functional Neurological Disorder (FND).

FND is a strange and difficult condition to understand. There’s no clear physical cause—yet the symptoms are very real and can be deeply disabling. It sits in a grey area between neurology and psychology and not fully understood. It’s thought to be caused by a mix of stress, trauma, nervous system dysregulation and changes in brain processing.

Depression: The Silent Companion

Wading through water

Alongside the physical symptoms, I was hit with a wave of emotional pain on a level I’ve never experienced before. The combination of heartbreak and health collapse in one fell swoop led me into a deep depression.

Losing my sense of physical independence felt like losing part of my identity. I grieved the version of myself that had once travelled solo without limits, walked for hours, swam 60 lengths in 45 minutes, and carried a backpack without thinking twice. I felt like I had been cracked open—by lost love, by a body I could no longer trust, and by the sheer loneliness of it all.

To top it off, I was nearing 50. I felt sure I should have had my life figured out by 50, and instead it had dramatically shattered into pieces.

My depression was quiet—a slow retreat inward. I felt a deep, never-ending fatigue and a disconnection from the world around me. I moved through the days as if underwater. My world quietly folded in on itself and felt unbearably small.

Why I Chose to Travel Solo Anyway

determination & becoming whole

Being told “there’s nothing wrong” while living with debilitating symptoms is disorienting, to say the least. Part of me didn’t believe it—I was convinced I had MS. Another part of me became determined to heal.

I also knew that staying in the UK wasn’t going to give me the answers—or the healing—I needed.

Solo travel has long been a part of my life. The idea of giving it up felt unbearable. But for the first time, I was properly scared of going out into the world alone: scared to be in unfamiliar places, scared to take public transport, scared I might lose the ability to walk again.

I thought my solo travel days were over… at least until I “got better.”

And yet—something in me refused to give up.

I have a strong, determined streak, especially when I care deeply about something. And what I cared about was healing. I wanted to find spaces that helped me relax, reconnect with myself, and perhaps slowly start putting the pieces back together.

So I went.

I took long solo trips to Malaysia, Thailand, Sri Lanka, and Morocco. Along the way, I explored traditional Chinese medicine, Ayurveda, hammams, breathwork and meditation. I sought out slow, nourishing experiences that helped my nervous system settle.

I wasn’t always alone—my son and a couple of friends joined me at different points, and I loved and was grateful for those times.

But something unexpected happened: I began to realise that solo travel with a chronic condition wasn’t a risk—it was actually what helped me feel most at ease in my body and mind.

When I travelled alone, I could shape each day around how I felt. I didn’t have to explain, apologise, or keep up with anyone. I could rest when I needed to, move slowly, and follow my own rhythms.

I began to reclaim something I thought I’d lost: trust in myself. And from that, a new relationship with my body—flawed, unpredictable, but still mine—started to form. The fog of depression slowly began to lift, not in dramatic moments, but in small quiet acts of self-trust: taking a walk in nature, bathing in the ocean, drinking tea on a terrace in the sun and through therapy, daily meditation/yoga and mind awareness.

My symptoms haven’t miraculously vanished, but I do have a new sense of wholeness which seemed unimaginable at one point.

The Surprising Gifts of Solo Travel with a Chronic Condition

Here are some surprising gifts I’ve discovered through solo travel with a chronic health issue:

1. Total control over your schedule

When you’re traveling alone, you don’t have to explain why you’re tired, why you need to rest, or why you’re skipping that hike or that guided tour. You set the pace—and change it as needed.

You can:

• sleep in without guilt,
• take breaks when your body says so,
• cancel a plan without disappointing anyone but yourself—and even then, you get to forgive yourself instantly.

Freedom is crafting a trip that supports your well-being, not fights it.

2. Deeper self-Awareness and intuition

Solo travel encourages you to listen to your body—and trust it.

You start to:

• tune in to your symptoms earlier,
• get better at predicting your limits,
• recognize what helps you stay grounded and feel safe.

Your body isn’t the enemy—it becomes your travel companion and guide.

3. True autonomy and empowerment

Living with a chronic illness can sometimes feel like your independence is slipping away. This was one of my biggest fears—and yet solo travel flips that on its head.

Every time you:

• navigate a foreign city
• figure out a transport system
• handle a symptom flare on your own
• advocate for your needs in a hotel, restaurant or airport…

… you remind yourself: I can do this. I’m capable. I am not my diagnosis.

You don’t have to feel strong every moment to become stronger through the experience.

4. A deeper, more intentional travel experience

Perhaps your body asks you to travel slower (mine certainly does) – and that’s not a negative. When you travel at a slower pace, you often connect more deeply with where you are. You notice the quiet details others miss.

You can:

• rest in parks and watch the world pass by.
• build relationships with locals with a new openness.
• learn to savour, not rush.
• you slow down enough to really be where you are.

A book that beautifully captures this art of slowing down and savouring solo travel is Alone Time by Stephanie Rosenbloom—I highly recommend it.

Chronic illness can teach presence. Solo travel lets you practice it.

5. Discover new activities and re-define your joy

When you travel solo with a chronic health condition your usual activities might not always be accessible—but that opens the door to unexpected activities.

You might:

• embrace wellbeing experiences,
• try new physical activities that feel good,
• fall in love with slow, meditative walks instead of hikes,
• take local culturally orientated classes such as cookery and crafts.

Because you’re listening to your body and your intuition, you often say yes to things you never would’ve considered before—and that can lead to entirely new sources of joy.

Redefining adventure on your terms doesn’t limit your experience—it expands it.

6. Connection to Yourself – and to Others

Ironically, solo travel often brings you closer to people in quieter, more meaningful ways. Whether it’s a kind stranger offering help, or a shared moment with another traveller, you build spontaneous connections without draining your social battery.

But most importantly: you connect to yourself.

You are able to:

• prove to yourself that your life isn’t on hold.
• build confidence in your ability to adapt, care for yourself, and live fully—even with challenges.

Final thought:

Having a chronic health condition doesn’t disqualify you from solo travel- it can deepen the experience

Solo travel with a chronic illness isn’t about escaping your condition—it’s about learning how to move through the world with it. It can feel like an act of quiet defiance, a declaration that yes, you deserve joy, independence, and adventure too.

Related Posts

A Budget Ayurvedic Retreat in Sri Lanka for the Ultimate Detox: Nature Lanka

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Dar Al Hossoun’s earthy Hammam & Spa in Taroudant

A Marrakech walking tour with Free Tour– to soothe solo travel nerves

Pure Nature Cabana in Tangalle: inspired by nature & crafted with love

The Heart Space – holistic healing in the heart of Penang

51 and Consciously Single

I’d Love to Hear From You!

Have you travelled solo with a chronic condition? Or are you thinking about it? Feel free to share your thoughts or experiences in the comment section below.

If this post resonated with you, please consider sharing it with someone who might need this kind of encouragement.

Would you like to connect with other solo travellers with chronic health conditions?

Would you like to connect with a wellbeing practioner?

Orchids to Olives

Journeys of self-discovery, wisdom, healing and friendship