As I watched my car drive away, loaded with backpacks, dorm décor, and first-semester nerves, it felt like something shifted. For years I centered my life around the rhythms of my kids — school drop-offs, late night study sessions, weekend errands, family dinners. I love them; this was natural. But the silence after they finally went back to campus wasn’t just quiet — it felt unfamiliar. Empty. So I decided to do something crazy: book a cruise by myself.
At first, I suspected I'd feel awkward, maybe lonely. I wondered: Would I look silly dining alone? Would I miss the animated chaos of family life? Would I talk to strangers or retreat into my phone? But what surprised me most was how deeply restorative it was. This trip — though brief — became a turning point: a chance to forge clarity, pleasure, and rest on my own terms.
This article unpacks what it was like from first anxieties to the moments I wished would never end, what I learned about solitude, what discomfort taught me, and why everyone — parent or not — should occasionally set sail with themselves as the center of the journey.
Chapter 1: Setting Sail The First Awkward Days
The Decision
After my youngest left for college in late August, I had a weird mix of relief and loss. My home felt quieter; routines collapsed. I considered many options: a weekend retreat, visiting friends, or just staying home. But then I thought: why not go on a cruise? I had always wanted one, but family schedules made it tricky. Booking solo meant everything would be entirely for me: the schedule, the meals, even the times of letting the sea breeze hit my face.
Boarding & First Moments of Discomfort
Walking aboard alone, I saw couples holding hands, families discussing itineraries, groups gathering. I had a suitcase, two books, and what felt like a million questions in my head. Where should I eat? What excursion should I take? Would I feel conspicuous? I booked a cabin with a balcony, thinking the sea would be my companion.
The first dinner was the worst. I wore something pretty, sat at a table set for four, and avoided eye contact. I brought a book. I watched other guests: laughter, clinking glasses, the energy of shared travel. I felt both invisible and self-conscious.
Chapter 2: Finding My Rhythm
Dining Alone & Presence
Instead of hiding, I made a conscious shift. Next evening I didn’t bring a book. I let myself just be at dinner: watch the sunset through windows, observe the staff’s routines, listen to sea waves. I ordered something I loved. I thanked the server. I rooted my attention in the moment.
A table for one became a favorite seat. It was my space to reflect, not retreat. I realized how little time I’ve given myself to simply look and think — without checking messages, without “helping” someone else, without fulfilling someone else’s schedule.
Exploration at My Pace
Excursions were optional. Some I joined (hiking a coastal trail, exploring a port town), others I skipped to lounge, to nap, to journal. I delighted in the ability to linger where I pleased, or stay back when I didn’t. No urgency. No “catching up.”
I also discovered hidden nooks on the ship — a quiet deck, a library corner, a shady spot by the pool — places where solitude felt luxurious. The ship’s schedule no longer dictated me; I did what felt good.
Chapter 3: Solitude as Self-Care
Embracing Discomfort
There were moments I felt uncomfortable — missing my kids, feeling guilt over taking time for myself, wondering if others judge. I realized discomfort is often what signals growth. I sat with the awkwardness rather than distract from it.
That tension between wanting human connection and enjoying being alone taught me this: solitude doesn't equal loneliness. Sometimes it equals liberation. The freedom to make decisions solely for my wellbeing — that became precious.
Hearing My Internal Voice
Without constant family obligations, I heard thoughts I hadn’t in a long time. What do I want? What have I postponed? What excites me now, as opposed to what felt necessary because of roles and responsibilities? I found ideas stirring: small creative projects, places I want to travel, books I want to read, rhythms I want to hold when I return home.
It felt like discovering parts of myself I set aside — the “me” outside the roles of mom, wife, organizer.
Chapter 4: The Transformative Moments
Quiet Retreats
One evening I sat by the ship’s outer deck, watching the sunset spill across the ocean. There was no rush, no photos to post, no one to phone immediately — just the shifting hues, salty breeze, waves. It was a moment of clarity, a reminder that beauty doesn't need audience.
Conversations with Strangers
Cruises are strange in that you are surrounded by strangers, but social pressure is minimal. I met two women also alone: one a recent retiree, another someone between jobs. Over shared cocktails, we talked about life transitions, about letting go and new beginnings. Those brief human connections — without the baggage of everyday roles — surprised me with how comforting and enriching they could be.
Choosing Myself
At the end of the cruise, I realized how many decisions in life I had deferred: where to eat, where to go, how to spend time. I had given so much of myself away to caring, coordinating, making sure everyone else was okay. On this cruise, I became the priority. And I discovered joy in that.
Chapter 5: Practical Tips for a Solo Cruise
If you’re considering your own journey alone, here are what I found helpful — what made the difference between feeling awkward and feeling empowered.
-
Pick your cruise thoughtfully
Smaller ships or ones known for solo travel are kinder. Amenities, cabin layout, social features matter. Research single supplement fees or solo-friendly cabins. The cruise industry is starting to offer more solo cabins and reduce single-occupancy surcharges. -
Plan, but leave space for spontaneity
Reserve a few excursions, book dinner reservations if required, but leave unstructured time. Sometimes the best parts happen when you wander, rest, or simply watch the sea. -
Bring small comforts
A good book, journal, comfortable shoes, a swimsuit for lounging, a good pair of earplugs if you need quiet — little things make solitary time feel luxurious. -
Be visible & friendly
I made eye contact, smiled at crew, said yes to small social interactions (poolside drink, shared table). It invites connection if you want it, and makes you feel more anchored when you don’t. -
Practice being present
Resist the urge to fill silence with phone use. Let yourself notice sounds, smells, light, small moments — the sea, ship horns, distant laughter. Presence turns alone time into restorative time. -
Reflect & journal
I ended each day by writing something I noticed, something I was grateful for, something I want to bring back home. It helps consolidate lessons instead of just letting days drift.
Chapter 6: What I Learned About Life Back Home
The lessons didn’t vanish when I returned. The cruise became a reset, not just a pampered break.
Reclaiming Boundaries
I came home with more clarity about saying “no” — not out of avoidance, but preserving space for my own needs. Whether it’s limiting commitments, saying yes only to what feeds me, or simply setting aside time each evening to be undirected.
Self-Priority Is Not Selfish
Realizing that putting myself first sometimes allows me to show up more authentically in motherhood, marriage, work. I learned it's OK to ask, “What do I want for today?” rather than always: “What does everyone else need?”
Letting Go of Perfection
I realized that expecting everything to be “just right” — the perfect schedule, the perfect dinner, the perfect social setting — often saps joy. Sometimes “good enough” is enough. Sometimes imperfect days yield surprising clarity.
Embracing Discomfort
I returned more aware that discomfort doesn’t always mean something’s wrong; often it’s a signal I’m growing. It allowed me to be more patient, more flexible when things aren’t ideal, more kind to myself when I miss something.
Chapter 7: Common Misgivings & How I Overcame Them
Even with good intentions, solo travel has mental hurdles. Here’s what I worried about — and how I faced them.
-
Feeling judged or out of place: Dining alone, walking alone, shifting routines — I thought people would notice. Sometimes they did; sometimes they didn’t. Mostly, people are kind or indifferent.
-
Safety concerns: I picked reputable cruise lines, stayed with ship’s activities when ashore initially, trusted my instincts — but as I felt more confident, I explored more.
-
Homesickness & guilt: Missing family, feeling as though I was “escaping” when I should be present. Talking to them, sharing photos, making space upon return helped.
-
Cost and logistics: Solo cabins or single supplements can cost more. But I found deals, booked ahead, accepted smaller cabins, focused on what I valued (balcony, view, itinerary).
Chapter 8: The Bigger Trend Solo Cruises & Why It Matters
This isn’t just my story; travel industry data suggests more people like me are opting for solo travel via cruises.
-
A National Geographic Traveller report shows that cruise operators are increasingly offering solo cabins, reducing or waiving single supplements, and designing itineraries with solo travellers in mind.
-
Platforms like Windstar Cruises have published guides and articles about preparing for a solo cruise — emphasizing the benefits of freedom, rest, self discovery.
-
Experts note that solo cruising offers both comfort (security, services, amenities provided) and opportunity: connection, choice, introspection, which appeal especially to those stepping into new life phases (e.g. empty nesters, post-career transitions).
This trend matters: it reflects a shift toward valuing personal fulfillment, mental wellness, and choosing time for oneself. It challenges cultural norms that so often define identity by family obligations or external productivity rather than internal flourishing.
Why I’d Do It Again And You Might Want To
When I look back, the decision to cruise alone after my kids went off to college was less about vacation and more about reclamation. The sea’s horizon reminded me there’s more than routines. The quiet dinners taught me how to prioritize myself. The conversations with strangers reminded me that connection doesn’t have to feel forced.
Would I do it again? Absolutely. Not as a once-off indulgence, but as a recurring pause — a ritual: a reminder that I still matter, that my preferences still deserve respect, that my life can be ordered around clarity rather than always around others.
If you’re considering something similar — stepping away, traveling alone, creating space for yourself — don’t hesitate. Choose a ship, a destination, time in the cabin, time out on deck. Let discomfort show you what you’ve held too tightly. Let solitude teach you what you might have forgotten: that your life is yours, and sometimes, saying “I’m going alone” turns out to be saying “I’m going back to myself.”
