The Treasure in Travel: Why Traveling Is One of My Favorite Forms of Self-Care

From the moment I step into a new place, I feel something inside me shift — a loosening, a lightness, a reminder that I am allowed to be more than my daily grind. What started years ago as a spark has now become a rhythm, a promise I keep to myself: twice a year, I travel to see the world and to reconnect with who I am.

Each trip is both an escape and a return; an escape from the weight of constant doing, constant caring, constant responsibility, and a return to joy, breath, and the parts of me that get lost in the noise of everyday life. There is something sacred in the way new streets, unfamiliar foods, and even the hum of an airplane remind me that I am alive and still evolving. Traveling is the cloak I wrap around myself when I give myself permission to pause, to lay aside the expectations I carry and pick up wonder instead. To celebrate not just milestones, but the simple fact of being here, in this body, in this moment. That is why travel has become one of my most cherished forms of self-care: it restores me, inspires me, and keeps me connected to myself.

The Spark It Ignited

The cloak I wrap around myself now — this practice of traveling twice a year for care and celebration — was stitched together long before I realized what it would mean. My earliest memory of leaving home was at nineteen, when I traveled to Puerto Rico on a missions trip. It wasn’t leisure, but it changed me. The island was alive with color and sound, so different from what I knew. Meeting people whose lives looked nothing like mine, yet realizing we shared the same planet, opened my eyes to how big the world really was. That trip planted a seed in me.

Big Ben in London — one of many moments that opened my eyes to how much more there was to see, to feel, to become.

Years later, I had the chance to travel again — this time with my daughter on a school trip to Europe. For ten days, we walked the streets of Paris, Rome, and London, and my mind stretched wide again. I stood in the Louvre and saw the Mona Lisa with my own eyes, after years of only knowing her through textbooks. I touched the ancient stones of the Colosseum and felt the weight of history beneath my fingertips. I remember riding through the tunnel where Princess Diana’s life ended, then standing at the church where she had once walked down the steps in her wedding gown — a moment I vividly remembered watching on television as a child. Being in those places, connecting memories from my own life with the history of the world, was nothing short of breathtaking.

And then came the trip that sealed it. A man I was dating introduced me to traveling for leisure — not for work, not for school, not for ministry, but simply for the joy of it. That was the first time I allowed myself to see travel not as something tied to responsibility, but as something I could embrace for myself. That experience lit a flame in me that has never gone out. Even when the relationship ended, the spark it ignited remained, quietly waiting for me to carry it forward on my own terms.

An Unapologetic Act

That quiet spark — first lit in Puerto Rico, fanned in Europe, and carried forward through that first taste of leisure travel — grew brighter as my life began to settle. And when I turned 50

, I chose to honor it. I gifted myself a cruise to the Bahamas. It wasn’t just a vacation. It was a declaration: I am worth celebrating.

Bahamas, 2013 — where I first pressed pause long enough to feel the sun, the breeze, and myself again.

I can still remember the feel of the ocean breeze on my skin, the endless horizon of blue stretching out in every direction, the sunlight warming me in ways I hadn’t let myself feel in years. On that ship, surrounded by water and wonder, I remembered the parts of me that had been buried under years of working and carrying responsibility. That trip awakened something in me, and from it came a promise: each December, I would celebrate my life with a birthday trip. Not for the sake of luxury, but as an unapologetic act of choosing myself.

Earlier this year, I added a new layer to that promise with a Mother’s Day Getaway to Montego Bay. And somewhere between the saltwater and the sunshine, something shifted again. My creativity returned in full force. My literary voice sharpened, my writing grew clearer, and the words flowed so freely I could hardly keep up. I filled pages of a journal with ideas, reflections, and stories. But more than anything, I left with a renewed sense of myself. My groove came back. Montego Bay reminded me of a truth I now carry into every trip: travel isn’t only about where I go. It’s about what those places awaken in me.

A Life I Can Revisit

Not long after that first season of travel, my life shifted again when I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, and suddenly my world became smaller. For years, survival was my only focus. Flare-ups came without warning, my energy was unpredictable, and my mobility was limited. I poured what strength I had into working and caring for others, leaving little room for anything else.

The past few years have been kinder. My health has steadied, the flare-ups mostly minor. But living with MS has taught me that nothing is guaranteed. I never know when my body might slow down or when a new symptom might change the way I move through the world. That knowledge has given me urgency — not fear, but determination. I live with a quiet promise to myself: do as much as I can while I can.

Traveling has become part of that promise. Each trip is more than a getaway; it is a memory I am intentionally curating for my future self. If the day comes when I can no longer move freely, I want to have a treasure chest of moments to return to: the sound of waves in Jamaica, the warmth of Caribbean sun on my skin, the sight of ancient ruins that have stood for centuries. I want to be able to close my eyes and travel back through memory to places I chose for myself. These journeys are not just about collecting stamps in a passport. They are about creating a life I can revisit, even if my body one day cannot keep up.

The Treasure in Traveling as Self-Care

Living with MS has taught me to hold urgency and gentleness at the same time. On one hand, I carry the determination to do as much as I can while I can. On the other, I’ve learned the deep necessity of slowing down, of choosing rest, of pressing pause. Travel has given me space for both.

For too long, the rhythm of my life was simple: work and care for others. That rhythm shaped me, but it left little space for me. Traveling interrupts that pattern. It loosens its grip and gives me permission to breathe more deeply, to exist outside the grind, to simply be.

From the hammock in the Bahamas to the pages of my journal in Montego Bay, each moment has led me to this life where Melanin Wellness is always in Motion.

When I pack my bags now, it’s about choosing myself and making room for memories that will outlast busyness, deadlines, and responsibilities. Each trip is an investment in my wellness, an act of care that strengthens not just my body and mind, but my spirit. That’s why I’m creating this series, The Treasure in Travel. It’s my way of capturing the reflections, the healing, and the joy that travel brings me. It’s about documenting the places I’ve been, but also the ways those places keep leading me back to myself. As I plan my December trip, I’m not just checking flights or searching resorts. I’m planning for joy, healing and for memories that will carry me long into the future. Because travel, for me, is more than movement across the map, it's movement back to myself.