Who Comes Home From Vacation?

The process of becoming is exhausting.

I know it is a lifelong process, one I will never stop learning from.  But sometimes the “knowing” of where I am versus who and where I want to be is overwhelming.

Just when I feel I am on the right track, my vacations seem to show up. I feel like I am finally getting somewhere, and then I allow myself to pause. To just be. To rest. To step out of the routine that sustains me and do whatever the day brings.

We have all been there. Before we leave, we eat well and exercise more so we can do the long hike or look better as we lie by the pool. We wrap up the loose ends at work so no one project will suffer, and if we are lucky, they might not even notice we are gone. We clean the house, make sure the pets, plants, and children are taken care of, and then walk out the door feeling accomplished, acknowledging that our life is on track and we “deserve” a break.

Once there, despite the best of intentions, we step out of routine, knowing we can get back to it when we get home. Yet it is the return home that is starting to weigh heavily on me.

It isn’t just that I step out of my routine while I am gone. I know I will get back into a rhythm when I return home. What I am noticing is not what isn’t happening while I am away. Instead, I’m  noticing what IS happening.

When I leave my home, my routine, my organized life, I ALLOW old thoughts and patterns and habits to return. It isn’t just that my routine changes; it is that I step back into a version of my self that allowed life to slip just a little every day. Without a plan, I feel like I am floundering, and in that floundering, I find myself doubting.

This was clearer when I was drinking. Vacation, or anything that took me out of my structure, was where I “deserved” to drink as much as I wanted. Which led to eating as much as I wanted, saying what had been on my mind, and questioning who I am and how I am showing up in the world. The me I “deserved” to let out of the bag was most often the self-sabotaging version. The me who said, “If I am not in my ‘normal’ routine, then no one will expect me to be ‘normal.’”

This has been harder to notice in sobriety. More subtle, nuanced. But the same implications are there. I “deserve” to be free to do what I want. But is what I want really serving me? I often see “deserving” as a treat. Something that I normally limit, but now something I can do or be or consume with abandon. The question I keep asking myself is, “If it makes me feel terrible in any way, is it really a treat?”

Don’t misunderstand me. There is nothing wrong with checking out when we need to do so. We all need rest and a break from routine. It is what recharges our batteries and can sometimes take us to the next level.

It is the checking back in that I am struggling with. It takes me longer and longer to get back to where I was before I left. I am more and more resistant to coming back to “normal.” Which identity am I? The one who is true to myself, responsible to others, the one who supports my goals, or the one who abandons them? I know I am all of these identities, but learning to understand which ones are serving me and which ones I need to thank and let go has been challenging of late.

In a meeting earlier this week, Allison Deraney talked about “the ambiguous loss of self-abandonment.” I love this phrase. It IS a confusing paradox: letting go of an identity that no longer serves us while also thanking it for what it has taught us along the way. It also requires being honest with myself about all of my identities. And acknowledging that I will never be the 100% responsible one, no matter how much I have practiced that version, AND I will never be the completely free spirit. I cannot reject all that life has taught me any more than I can be everything that everyone else expects me to be.

In my writing group, we were given the prompt of picking one word, then creating a drawing by writing other associated words. My choice was “identity.” And, for me,  it brought up four subcategories: true identity, false identity, acquired identity, and collaborative identity. This is how I see each:

True identity (what I “know” to be true) is what I recognize inwardly, even when my behavior has not always reflected it. It is what I “know” to be authentically me, even if I do not know how to express it fully. Loving and empathetic may be enduring qualities. Externally, though, people may see only what I DO with them. For example, they might mistake my empathy for unlimited availability.

False identity (how I can abandon myself) does not mean the person who pleased others was fake. My care may have been sincere. The false part is the belief beneath the behavior.  The belief that to be loving, I must set myself aside. Internally, it has made my own intuition harder to hear. Externally, people have come to expect my agreement, accommodation, or emotional labor.

Acquired identity (how I show up for others) is the visible record of how I learned to show up. Some of it is skill, strength, and genuine choice. Some of it may be the way self-abandonment became a practiced role. This is why changing it feels so complicated. The same behavior might express my true empathy on one day and my fear of disappointing someone on another. The question becomes, “Am I choosing this freely, or am I afraid of who I’ll be if I don’t?”

Collaborative identity (how I integrate all three) is the living process of integration. I do not have to discard the woman who learned to care for others. I can let my true identity, my protective patterns, and everything I have acquired inform a new choice. Perhaps I still help, but I check in with myself first. Perhaps I remain empathetic without assuming responsibility for everyone else’s feelings.

I think “ambiguous loss of self-abandonment” belongs between false and collaborative identity. As we stop abandoning ourselves, we grieve what it cost us. But we may also grieve the loss of a familiar way to belong, to feel useful, and to know who we are. Others may still expect that version of us, and part of us may still reach for her. She is neither fully gone nor someone we want to remain. That is the ambiguity.

Maybe this is why coming home from vacation feels so complicated. Away from home, I can step out of the roles and expectations that shape my days. I can sleep later, change my mind, and let the day unfold. There is something true about the woman who needs that freedom. There is also something familiar about the woman who mistakes freedom for permission to abandon herself, just a little, one choice at a time.

Then I come home. I feel relief when I return to the routines that help me see myself again. I also feel the pull of the person everyone knows me to be.  Capable, available, responsible. Sometimes I slip back into her before I have even unpacked my suitcase. She has helped me build a life I love. She has also taught me how easy it is to set myself aside.

So perhaps the question is not which version of me gets to come home. Perhaps it is whether I can make room for all I noticed while I was away. I can bring home the woman who rested without bringing home the habits that leave her feeling lost. I can return to my routines without returning to every expectation I have learned to meet.

I may still need time to find my rhythm. Becoming may always be exhausting. But I want coming home to mean more than getting back to who I was before I left. I want to notice when I am reaching for an old version of myself, thank her for getting me here, and ask what feels true now.

When you step away from your usual routine, which parts of yourself feel free to emerge?  And what old patterns come along with you?

Much love,

Lisa

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Lisa Hamil is a founding member and host for The SOS Collective, an online international women’s recovery and support group.  However, this blog and any classes or coaching offered by Lisa Hamil LLC are separate from and not affiliated in any way with The SOS Collective.