Coliving, In Sickness & In Health
Traveling solo sounds romantic… until you’re crawling to the door for soup and hugging the toilet bowl at 3am, wondering if the local cats will make a meal of you before an actual human finds you.
I’ve been feeling off for a couple of days now. It started with a queasy stomach and escalated into the kind of migraine that demands total surrender. These multi-day, ragey headaches are what finally got me to a doctor last year for an MRI, and led to the discovery of Fred.
Fred, in case you haven’t met him, is my tiny, well-behaved brain aneurysm. He’s doing exactly what we want him to do: nothing at all. He was a surprise, for sure, but not the explanation I was hoping for.
Turns out, Fred wasn’t the root of these headaches. No, I’ve now earned myself a new badge: a more severe type of migraine that sometimes yanks me out of a dead sleep, steals whole days from me, and makes me question whether I should be travelling solo at all.
The one that scared me enough to call a doctor hit last winter, in Mexico. Friends had just left after a lovely visit, and I stayed behind for a few more weeks of sun, sand, and solitary writing time.
I was alone in a studio apartment when I woke one night clutching my head, feeling like someone was both crushing my skull inward and clawing their way out at the same time.
For the next three days, I could do little more than crawl to the foyer to collect soup and meds from a Rappi driver — because we do not let strangers know our apartment number in every town — and crawl back to bed or the bathroom floor.
I’ve had migraines before, once or twice a year, but never like this. Nothing even close. They were always fairly predictable, starting with an aura around my eyes, quickly sending me to the comfort of a cold and dark room, and culminating in the rejection of my stomach contents, followed by a 12-hour sleep. It was all over in under a day.
These new headaches were unrelenting, the pain unlike anything I’ve experienced. I couldn’t make my way to an airport and go home during one of these if I tried. They’re incapacitating.
I called my husband back in Canada daily, demanding the same thing over and over: You know where I am, right? You know who to call if you don’t hear from me?
It was scary in a what-if-this-gets-worse-and-no-one-finds-me kind of way. When I was a single mom in Canada, a friend and I used to joke that we should check in on each other daily when the kids were with their dads, just to make sure the neighbourhood cats didn’t find our bodies first if we slipped in the shower.
We all have those morbid little thoughts, don’t we? (I mean we do… right?!) Well, those anxieties pack themselves right alongside your flip-flops and travel adapters. We don’t get to leave them at home.
I talk a lot about the fun side of coliving… spontaneous dinners, late-night convos, the joy of finding “your people” in unexpected places. But when you’re unwell, it can be a lifeline.
Last night, one of my housemates brought me lemon-ginger tea and a glass of juice to make sure I was staying hydrated. A few others texted offers: tea, meds, a bite to eat. No pressure, just quiet kindness.
These people don’t know me well — we’ve only shared this space for a short time — but that’s the beauty of coliving. It fosters connection. It gives you a soft place to land, even when you’re not at your best… a place with solitude and independence when you need it, with the option of tapping out and asking for help when you need that, too.
I’ll still travel solo. I’ll still seek out solitude when I need it.
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But the more I travel, the more I’ve come to appreciate the value of a good coliving crew… the kind of people who show up with tea when your head is splitting, and who remind you that wherever you are in the world, you’re not entirely alone.
Independence and interdependence don’t have to cancel each other out; they can coexist, beautifully.
Creating Your Solo Travel Safety Net, In Case of Sickness
Even if you’re fiercely independent (hi, yes, guilty), a little planning goes a long way when things go sideways. Here are a few small ways to build a buffer of safety and connection while traveling solo:
Share your location details. Leave your address and landlord or host contact info with someone you trust back home. Make sure they know how to reach you — and importantly, someone local who is not you — in a pinch.
Check in daily. A quick emoji, a voice note, or a “still alive!” text is enough. Create a simple check-in ritual with your partner, friend, or even a fellow traveler.
Join local WhatsApp or Facebook groups. Look for digital nomad or expat communities in your area. They’re great for local tips and emergency advice when you need help fast.
Keep your phone charged and topped up. Always have access to data and local emergency services. A power bank and local SIM can be actual lifesavers.
Save emergency contacts in multiple places. Program them into your phone, write them down in your wallet, and keep a copy in your daypack. Redundancy is your friend.
Find someone local and reliable. Identify one or two people in your neighbourhood who know you’re there — the restaurant owner around the corner, the barista you chat with each morning, or the receptionist at a nearby hostel. You don’t need to spill your life story… just establish a little friendly rapport. Build a micro-community of people you can reach out to if needed.
Until next time, may the border guards be kind and your carry-on always fit the overhead space,
✌🏻 Miranda
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Well put, Miranda! This is something most people don't consider/talk about but it's so vital! Over the years I've noticed I'm often the person who's asking "where's this person? I haven't seen them for a while" in my transient communities. Sometimes it borders on the intrusive :p but I found it to be very helpful most times. During COVID, a group of us actually created a shared document with next of kin and insurance details, which is also a great way to help, in case of emergencies.
Anyway, hope you're feeling better!