Vacation anxiety is real. The word “vacation” promises relaxation—but for some of us, it delivers logistical chaos, sensory overload, and emotional Jenga.
The fantasy: Spontaneous plans, lightly packed bags, and carefree vibes.
The reality: Spreadsheets, spirals, forgotten deodorant, and crying in the airport bathroom because you brought the wrong cardigan.
🧳 The Suitcase Is a Lie
When neurotypical people say, “Just throw stuff in a bag!” I know they mean well. But my brain can’t “just” anything. Packing for a trip with executive dysfunction is like prepping for a space mission using only Post-it notes and vague vibes.
Questions I ask myself while packing:
Do I need a backup toothbrush for the backup toothbrush? Will I be perceived if I wear this shirt? What if I suddenly need six pairs of socks per day? What if I forget my meds and spiral into the void?
Every item is a debate. Every zipper a threat. I am both underprepared and overpacked. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m doing it with urgency.
✈️ The Airport: Sensory Dungeon of Despair
Let’s talk about security lines. The lights are bright, the rules are vague, the bins are dirty, and no, I cannot take off my shoes without a minor crisis. Someone’s yelling. The announcements are screaming. The fluorescent lights are judging me.
I am sweating in places I didn’t know could sweat.
I am masking so hard the TSA agent is now my emotional support person.
And don’t even get me started on the boarding process. The combination of standing still, being watched, and needing to move quickly is psychological whiplash. I will 100% trip, drop something, or forget where my arms go.
🧠 Your Brain on Travel
If you’re neurodivergent, you’re probably not just managing a schedule—you’re managing a dozen invisible systems at once:
Sensory regulation (why are plane seats made of noise and regret?) Emotional energy (socializing with strangers and small talk fatigue) Task-switching (packing, navigating, translating your needs in public) Executive function breakdowns (oops, forgot to eat for 12 hours)
Travel isn’t inherently bad—it’s just cognitively expensive.
❤️ We Can Still Go, But On Our Terms
Here’s what I’ve learned to do (sometimes):
Make packing checklists that include things like “emotional support hoodie” and “snacks that don’t crunch too loud” Choose one “hard thing” per day and schedule recovery time Build in quiet time and downgrade the pressure to “make the most of it” Let go of the idea that travel has to look a certain way
Rest can exist on the road—but it might look like hiding in a hotel room eating familiar crackers and not feeling guilty about it.
✨ Reminder for the Road
If you feel like vacation is work, that’s not a personal failure. That’s your body telling the truth.
As writer and disability activist Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha says:
“Care is not a luxury. Access is not a favor. And being able to leave the house—or not—is not a moral issue.”
📝 Journaling Prompt:
- What does an actually restorative trip look like for you?
- What do you need to feel safe and regulated in a new place? What kinds of travel (solo, local, familiar) feel more manageable? What would change if you planned a vacation around energy instead of expectations?
Related post: Understanding Anxiety: Symptoms, Causes, and Coping Strategies
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