This piece was written by one of our dear readers—a woman with something real to say. Each month, we handpick the best submissions for Dear Reader because we’re after that PROVOKED bite: truth, intelligence, and heart. These stories come from women our age—women who’ve lived enough to know better and still care enough to tell it anyway. Because being seen and heard matters. Because storytelling is how we stitch ourselves to one another. And because when one woman speaks her truth, another finally recognizes her own.— Susan Dabbar, Editor in Chief
A snorkeling trip, a tossed conch shell, and a solo vacation that turned into something far greater than a dip in the ocean.
I called out “divorce” from the back of a boat in Turks and Caicos.
Then at the direction of the captain, a boy tossed a conch shell into the sea. And just like that, the old me was sinking with it.
Throughout our 13-year marriage, my then-husband was our travel agent. He chose the destinations. He booked the plane tickets and lodging. He took ownership of every detail, down to the activities we did and the restaurants we ate at. I was fed up with someone else making decisions for me. I was tired of someone else telling me what I should want to do. I was done acquiescing. Done being agreeable. Done being silent. Done shrinking my wants, needs and opinions to accommodate someone else’s.
And I’m not alone.
Now more than ever, women are booking solo trips after major life transitions to reclaim a sense of freedom, autonomy, and the pursuit of their own interests. From Eat Pray Love-like excursions to divorce glow-ups on TikTok, solo travel has become the spark for personal growth and self-discovery. So much so that women make up 71 percent of solo travelers, and about 47 percent of those women are divorced, separated, or widowed.
But even as I stepped off the plane in Turks and Caicos, I questioned if I was ready for this level of independence, if this trip was going to be the best thing ever or a terrifying experience I never wanted to think about again.
Coming Out of My Shell
I got my answer on a snorkeling excursion I signed up for on a whim.
At one point, the boat crew members dove off the boat and retrieved a couple dozen conch shells, one for each group traveling together. After the captain counted the shells, he announced that we had one extra. Then he handed it to a teenage boy and explained his tradition of tossing extra conchs back into the ocean.
“There is so much in life to celebrate,” he said. “Who came to Turks and Caicos to celebrate?” Hands raised.
“Honeymoon?” he suggested. A few hands.
“Anniversary?” More hands.
“Family vacation!” someone exclaimed.
The captain looked around for more contributions.
“Divorce!” I called out. Some passengers chuckled. Others nodded as if they knew exactly why a divorce was deserving of a getaway.
But it was true. As soon as the words escaped my mouth, I knew that’s exactly what I was looking to celebrate. When I first told people I was getting a divorce, most shared their condolences. But I also remember one friend congratulating me. And on that solo trip, I realized what she meant. I realized my independence from a bad marriage was something to be congratulated.
The newness of my split had long worn off, but I was celebrating the path my divorce had created for me. It was no longer something to mourn. Somewhere along the way, it transformed into a celebration of a new life and a rejuvenation of spirit.
“We throw this conch back to the ocean,” the captain continued. “To celebrate.”
On the count of three the boy threw the conch into the ocean. I exhaled, unaware that I’d been holding my breath. It was as if the old me was released and was sinking along with that conch, a sort of burial at sea. I learned many lessons from the old me, but this trip was about moving on, about shedding my baggage and completing the metamorphosis into the person I wanted to be from then on. Ultimately, that’s what this trip was about. Without knowing it, the ceremonious tossing of the conch was exactly what I’d been seeking.
Declaration of Independence
I surprised myself during the seven days I was in Turks and Caicos. It was more than simply digging my toes in the sand on Grace Bay Beach. I started the trip with a list, and I checked off every box.
I dined at local restaurants, munching on conch fritters and sipping on rum punches, toasting myself and my freedom. I rented a bike and rode to a grocery store, returning to my inn with fruit and snacks in the basket, no fear of getting lost because I knew I was capable of finding my way. I bought a day pass to the closest all-inclusive resort, satisfying my itch for adventure by figuring out how to paddle board and flying on a trapeze. I walked endless miles collecting shells, reflecting not on all the things that went wrong in my marriage, but instead, feeling proud of the new, hardfought life I was creating.
I wasn’t bored.
I wasn’t lonely.
I wasn’t invisible.
And this solo trip wasn’t a vacation. It was a declaration. The new me booked my own plane ticket, announced my divorce from the back of a boat, and needed no one’s permission to celebrate myself.
That trip showed me how comfortable I was being alone. A year earlier when I was newly separated on the road to divorce, I could barely stomach the thought of simply dining at a restaurant by myself. But I didn’t think twice about doing everything alone for an entire week. I enjoyed my own company. I didn’t feel conspicuously unaccompanied. I felt empowered. Strong. Motivated. Happy. Adventurous. At peace.
And fiercely independent.
When I got back on the plane to return home, it was that sense of inner peace and confidence I vowed to bring back with me. As I snapped photos from the sky of the swirls of blue and green water I had only hours earlier been floating in, I thought about my mindful walks down the beach, the blazing red sunsets, and the thrill of accomplishing something I never imagined I would have the courage to do.
As the captain of the snorkeling trip reminded me, there’s so much in life to celebrate. And as I marched on in my journey of self-discovery and reinvention during my week in Turks and Caicos, I celebrated the new woman I had become. Maybe she was there all along. But after my solo vacation, I knew I was never letting her get away.
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