When traveling heals: A trip to Scotland helped heal wounds from divorce

I sat at my dining room table in the morning light, hunched over my laptop, attempting to jump start my motivation to get some work finished. Instead, my chin rested in my hands and I was staring blankly at the giant 6-foot-by-8-foot world map I had hung on one of the walls.

My eyes unfocused.

A month earlier, my husband of nearly 13 years moved out. I don’t remember much of what happened in the months that followed, except that in my memories, it seemed like the weather was relentlessly dark and gloomy, though I’m sure it wasn’t, and that I had become numb from pain.

Nothing could bring me joy. I felt as though I was dragging my heavy, lifeless heart behind me by a rope.

My heart sank to my toes the moment I woke up each morning to this alien, sleep-deprived reality. 

This emptiness, this achy body, this anxious gut.

It took every ounce of energy I had to put on a reasonably happy face and attitude for my little girl, and I would go to bed feeling absolutely drained from the effort.

I no longer knew who I was. Puzzling out what my life would look like now seemed mountainous.

I had to get some work done, but my eyes remained focused on the colorful masses of continents. Then, it was as if every cell in my sad body began to spark and tingle with energy – up my arms, then down my back and through my torso. There was a path. It was staring me right in the face. I wanted to see the world. And I had always wanted to start with Scotland.

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