Women Around the World and the Experiences We Carry With Us

This may not be my most light-hearted post, but I wanted to write about it because I think it’s important.

Often, when I talk about my travels, I hear things like, “I can’t believe you’re going alone,” or “Do you ever feel unsafe?” — and more often than not, those questions come from other women. While I’ve always understood the sentiment behind them, it wasn’t until recently that I started thinking about it more deeply, and how our society has shaped women to think this way.

The truth is, I myself am sometimes surprised that I travel alone. And yes, there are most definitely times when I feel unsafe. For example, I think about what time I am going grocery shopping to avoid walking when it's dark, or if I will wear both headphones while walking on the street, or perhaps if I should wear shorts or not, even though it's hot outside. Frankly, these are things that cross my mind at home too. The sense of danger I feel, often from men, subtly shapes many of my day-to-day decisions. These things are further magnified when I am in another country, because now I have to carry my day-to-day concerns into a place where I may not know the language or customs.

This reflection was sparked by a recent conversation I had with two other women in a hostel. It started when I mentioned that I had gone on a date while traveling, and how much it made me worry about my safety afterwards. For a long time, I felt a sense of shame, that maybe it was stupid to go on a date abroad, or that I should have picked up on the signals earlier in the date and cut it short. I was so embarrassed that I was hesitant to even tell local friends about it, an act that could have saved my life if something were to go wrong. I fear that this is the feeling that so many of us have, and it was through these conversations with other women that I realized this wasn't my fault at all, that this is the experience of so many women. After opening up about this, I wasn’t surprised to learn that all three of us had gone through something similar.

The frustrating thing about this conversation was that these are fears that each of us still carries with us, the nagging kinds that make you question whether it’s safe to walk to the grocery store as the sun is setting, or whether your routines make you too predictable.

Simply existing in the world as a woman means that if you're walking home, you should plan to be back before the sun goes down. It means never arriving in a new city after dark. It means saying you don’t live alone, even when you do. It means that almost every new interaction comes with an internal calculation: What are their intentions? It means that even when you’re scared, you hold your head high and pretend not to be.

After that conversation, I left feeling a little sad. It’s disheartening to realize how much this fear shapes our lives — and that the questions I often get from other women likely come from their own lived experiences. Experiences that may have made them feel unsafe even in their own homes. Experiences that might make them hesitate to travel alone.

We shared tips, stories, and moments of connection. We hugged and said we were sorry—sorry that this is our experience, and the experience of so many others. Importantly, we ended the conversation acknowledging our space and the spaces other women occupy. While it's unfair, it's a privilege to be able to share and support one another, as some women may never have the opportunity to do the things each of us is doing.

Since then, I’ve been thinking more about the comments I get when I mention I travel solo. I can see now that shared fear quietly shapes the way we move through the world. Still, I hope that as more women come together and have these conversations, we can support one another and begin to move through the world with more confidence. I hope we can reimagine what solo travel means for women—not as something we do entirely alone, but as something we do while quietly banded together, always looking out for each other.