Home Alone Abroad for Holidays: Solo Travel as Self-Care

I made a promise to my mother when I was fifteen, standing in Pearson Airport with a modeling contract in my backpack and terror in my chest. She drove me there herself, gripping my hands in the departure lounge before I boarded my flight to Milan.“No matter where in the world you go,” she said, “you come home for Christmas. Promise me.”I promised.And for twenty years, I kept that promise. Shoots in Seoul that ran until December 23rd, fashion weeks that bled into the holidays, heartbreaks in Rome, even a stint in the Middle East, I always found my way back to Richmond Hill, Ontario. Back to my mother’s house, where the tree went up by December 11th, the smell of sauce hit you before you opened the door, and enough food to feed all of Woodbridge magically appeared.But one Christmas, at thirty-five, I broke that promise. And it might have been the best decision I ever made.The Annual Interrogation BeginsSix months earlier, the family group chat had already begun its annual assault. "What time should we expect you?" "Should I make the guest room ready?" "Your cousin Sarah is bringing her new boyfriend, you'll love him!" Each message felt...