Travel is the ultimate flex these days. Scroll through social media and you’ll see people jetting off to far-flung destinations, basking on breathtaking beaches, soaking up new cultures, and sampling exotic foods — and I’m no different. Wherever I go, I document my adventures online, posting myself in stunning locations and showing off the best moments. But there’s one thing I never share: travel anxiety.
Anxiety that consumes
I’ve lived with general anxiety since childhood — since I was a very young child, in fact. Enclosed spaces have always terrified me, and I’ve considered myself claustrophobic for as long as I can remember. Of course, most people find tight spaces uncomfortable, but for me the fear is crippling — and it’s only getting worse. What started as claustrophobia has spread into almost every part of my life, leaving me in humiliating situations that are not only embarrassing but also emotionally draining. It isn’t just claustrophobia anymore — it’s an all-consuming anxiety.
The dream invitation
As a writer, I’m in the very fortunate position of being invited on incredible trips — and from the outside, it can look as though I’m living the dream. My posts show foreign lands, beautiful boat rides, and picture-perfect experiences. What those images never reveal is the truth: that inside, I’m wishing I was at home in my comfort zone and that makes me feel somewhat pathetic.
Whenever I have a foreign trip looming, I’m not shopping for sunnies and swimsuits — I’m ringing the GP to see what meds might stop the inevitable, sometimes painful, waves of terror. While colleagues and friends buzz with excitement about boarding a plane, I’m over here popping a propranolol and checking for the nearest exits.
So, picture this: you’re invited to spend a few days sailing around the Greek islands on a luxury catamaran — all expenses paid. Most people would be over the moon. Imagine it: stretched out on the deck of a sleek yacht, turquoise waters rippling below, basking in glorious Greek sunshine. The dream, right? Absolute frikking dream, mate.
Saying yes (after saying no)
When my husband told me about the invitation — hosted by a very generous supplier through his job — my first instinct was to decline. I knew it was an incredible opportunity, but all I could see were triggers lined up, waiting to embarrass, humiliate, and petrify me. So I said, “No thanks. You go and have a great time — I’ll stay at home in Leeds.”
But when it came down to it, I couldn’t let the opportunity pass me by. In a moment of very uncharacteristic bravery, I blurted out: “Count me in — I’m coming!”
The fear builds
Once the itinerary landed in my inbox, the first thing I did was punch “Lagoon 46” into Google — the catamaran we’d be living on for four days. Airports, flights, minibuses, even those dreaded buses from the gate to the plane — they all terrify me, but at least I know the score with them by now. Boats, though? That was a whole new ball game.
The boat had four cabins, with a couple in each, plus a skipper. OMG. That meant sharing a relatively small space with people I didn’t know — and the high likelihood that they’d witness my “quirks,” shall we call them, pretty much from the word go.
Nightmare on the runway
The journey out set the tone with a nightmare scenario: the plane was delayed, and we spent around two hours stuck on the runway with the doors shut. My absolute worst nightmare. Me and 200 other people, crammed in a tube that wasn’t moving, with no way out — utter terror.
Now, I know phobias are irrational, and parts of mine are pretty odd. Flying itself isn’t the problem — once we’re moving, I’m fine. Don’t ask me why, I’ve no idea. But trap me on a motionless plane and tell me to wait for two hours, and I’m not just a hot mess — I’m inconsolable.
Fortunately, I was seated next to some absolute diamonds. Instead of tuning out and dreaming ahead to their two weeks of bliss in Greece, they spent those two hours soothing my fears with funny anecdotes and kind words. The crew were just as thoughtful, and without that immense kindness from total strangers, I might well have bolted from the plane and ended up stranded in a gloomy airport hotel for five days.
Athens arrival
Plane journey over — thanks and hugs all round (even my husband thanked the crew and my two new besties for taking such good care of me) — and suddenly I’m ambling down a picturesque marina in Athens, the sun glinting off the sails of a hundred beautiful boats. Does life get any better?
As it turns out, the boat was every bit as blissful as you’d imagine. The cabins were bijou but perfectly fine, the skipper was friendly and welcoming, and our fellow guests turned out to be the ideal companions — relaxed, excited for the adventure, and easy to get along with. We had instant rapport, and suddenly, things were looking up for me.
Finding my sea legs
And that’s how it continued. Aside from a brief dalliance with seasickness — quickly sorted with some emergency Quells from our skipper — we were soon happily sailing the Aegean, bound for the impossibly beautiful island of Poros.
That evening, our group of about 25 spent a magical night in a beachside taverna, waves lapping at our feet as we dined on fresh salads, baked feta drizzled with honey, just-caught fish, and perfectly grilled meats. Later, back aboard Alexandra, I drifted into a restful sleep — even the passerelle (that’s “gangplank” to you and me) was starting to feel less daunting. Pesky things can be disconcerting, especially when they wobble!
The next morning, I was awake with the lark, watching the sun rise from the deck with a fresh coffee in hand. Only the gulls for company and the gentle tinkling of sails as the soundtrack — this must be what it’s like to be a rockstar!
Jewel-like waters and fizz on deck
That day we sailed to an inviting cove with crystal-clear water and tethered ourselves to the other three catamarans in our group. Our skipper sent up a drone, and as I watched the footage of four yachts bobbing together while happy swimmers splashed in jewel-like waters, I couldn’t quite believe I was part of it.
We were even given the chance to try some exhilarating water sports. Now, I may not have been closed in, but the idea of clinging to a rubber ring and being launched 15 feet into the air absolutely terrified me. So, I opted to spectate from the luxury of Alexandra’s deck, sipping a glass of fizz while my fellow revellers screamed with laughter. I did take a dip in the sea — well, when in Rome — but as far as adrenaline rushes go, I’d had my fix just watching the others.
Pride, perspective, and the real message
That evening, over a glass of ouzo, we laughed and rehashed the day’s adventures — with many a bruised limb toasted to in good humour. As I sat in that restaurant, surrounded by friends I’d only just met, I quietly patted myself on the shoulder. I’d done it. I was there, enjoying the trip of a lifetime with my husband and his colleagues, and I was proud of myself.
I faced plenty of other wobbles on this trip — there were tears, there was embarrassment — but thanks to the kindness of strangers, a bit of bravery, and a willingness to push myself, I ended up spending some of the most incredible days of my life. I did things I never thought I’d be capable of, alongside a fantastic bunch of people. It took guts to get there, but the payoff was unrivalled.
So in this final sign-off, I want to send my best thoughts to anyone reading who has faced, or is facing, those rising waves of panic and that all-too-familiar pang of doom in the pit of your stomach. As my stepdaughter always reminds me: these feelings don’t last, and you will be okay.
The world we live in is exciting and beautiful, but it can also be frightening. And I suppose what I’m really saying is this: it’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to say no. It’s okay to admit you can’t face it. But if you do manage to gather the guts to take that brave step — I don’t think you’ll regret it. In fact, it just might change your life.
A final thank-you
I’d also like to say a huge thank you to NRF for hosting such an incredible trip. And to my fellow sailors — thank you for your unwavering kindness and understanding. It truly meant the world. Here’s to the next adventure.
Words – Joanne Brook-Smith
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