What My Travel Taught Me About Caregiving

Last month, Chris and I were fortunate to travel through Australia and New Zealand with our closest friends and find vulnerability and joy in the three-week, “bucket list” trip. What an adventure seeing the architectural masterpiece of the Sydney Opera House, the vast underwater brilliance of Australia’s Great Barrier Reef, and the incredible overwhelming beauty of New Zealand’s Milford Sound! That trip reminded me that every journey, whether across oceans or within our own homes, is shaped by the people who walk alongside us.

This beautiful experience also reminded me that not all journeys take place on a map. Even though caregiving is often described as a responsibility, it is also a kind of travel, full of detours, unexpected beauty, and moments that demand presence. As conversations about caregiving rise to the surface, I find myself reflecting on how deeply interconnected we all are and how the landscapes we move through, both literal and emotional, shape the way we care for one another.

I didn’t expect my time in these two countries to echo the cadence of caregiving, but it did. Maybe it was the way the land itself holds stories of resilience and interdependence. Maybe it was the people, the guides, the strangers, the joyful interaction with the caregiving mom and daughter I met—each one reminding me that none of us moves through the world alone. Or maybe it was simply the gift of slowing down long enough to notice how much caregiving and traveling share the same heartbeat. Chris and I smiled at each other and remembered our own caregiving for Robert as we observed the sacrificial love and care offered to several persons with disabilities.

On the traveling road, you learn to notice things: the shift in temperature before a storm, the way a rocky coastline curves, the music enjoyed by other cultures, the quiet generosity of someone pointing you in the right direction. (That input is a frequent need for me!) Caregiving requires that same attentiveness. It requires you to tune in, to read the room, to sense what someone needs even when they cannot say it out loud. In both spaces, your presence becomes a form of love.

Travel rarely goes as planned; however, we were grateful for the uninterrupted movement. Flights can run late, and luggage can disappear. Stormy weather can produce flight rerouting. Or you take a wrong turn on your exploratory walk and happily end up somewhere even better than you intended! Caregiving is no different. Plans may shift and needs ultimately evolve. You learn to adapt, to breathe through the unexpected, to find your footing and balance however conditions change. There is a comfort in realizing that unpredictability is not failure. It is part of the winding path.

One of the strongest themes in today’s caregiver conversations is the idea that caregiving is not a solo act. It is a community network of shared effort. Our trip made that truth feel even more real. Every step of our journey depended on someone else’s knowledge, service, or kindness. Caregiving works the same way. Even when one person carries the heaviest load, the surrounding community—made up of friends, neighbors, teachers, medical teams, and church members—shapes the experience.

As I thought about this cooperative effort, another caregiver conversation came to mind that is just as important but often more difficult to voice. It centers on restorative rest. Who does or does not receive it? Who feels guilty for wanting to receive it? Travel has a way of reminding you that rest is not indulgent. It is healing and necessary. It is what allows you to return home with a fuller heart and a clearer mind. If caregiving is a long journey where pacing yourself is crucial, then rest is the place where you refresh your soul.

During our travels amongst the ebony and ivory shorelines, majestic mountains and quiet rainforests, I kept thinking about the landscapes we move through as caregivers. Some days feel like steep mountain climbs, and others feel like still quiet waters. But every moment shapes us, especially the ones that feel like rushing waterfalls of hope.

This trip gave me perspective as I consider the love and care I had for Robert. My travel seems intertwined with my purpose. It reminds me that no matter where I go in the world, it is held together by people who show up for one another over and over again.

Find rest in travel when you are able, dear caregiver. It needn’t be extravagant or prolonged. Perhaps a visit to a coffee shop, museum, library, or concert might be all that’s available or allowed. But it might be just what you need.

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