“When the Road Makes You Sick—and You’re the Only One There”
- Jo Landolfo
- 5 days ago
- 2 min read
There’s a special kind of quiet that comes when your body says no and there’s no one else around to argue with it.
No audience. No backup plan that involves another human. Just you, your breath, and the slow realization that the road doesn’t care how you feel.
I’ve been sick on the road more than once. Not dramatic, not hospital-level—but enough to make every small decision feel heavy. Do I move today or stay? Do I cook or just drink something warm? Do I push through or listen?
Being alone changes how you answer those questions.
When you’re sick and solo, the hardest part isn’t the symptoms. It’s the thinking. Your brain gets foggy, and suddenly simple things—finding water, warming food, walking to the restroom—feel like big projects. You don’t get to collapse into someone else’s care. You become the caregiver and the patient at the same time.
That’s when preparation stops being about gear and starts being about judgment.
I learned quickly that pushing through just to prove I could was the wrong instinct. Strength isn’t ignoring your body. Strength is paying attention to it sooner than you want to. It’s choosing rest over pride. It’s staying put when moving would make things worse.
Some things saved me:
Warm drinks. Simple food. A place I felt safe staying longer than planned. Letting the day be small.
Some things I wish I’d done sooner:
Stock easier foods. Rest earlier instead of later. Stop pretending tomorrow would magically fix everything.
Being solo means, you listen differently. There’s no one else to tell you when you look pale or tired. You become the witness. You become the warning system.
And here’s what surprised me most: being sick on the road didn’t make me feel weak—it made me trust myself more. I learned that I could slow down without falling apart. That I could take care of myself even when I didn’t feel strong. That survival isn’t dramatic—it’s quiet, steady, and often invisible.
My book doesn’t tell this story. But it carries the thinking that got me through it—calm awareness, practical choices, and trusting your own judgment. Those lessons live there so you don’t have to wait for a hard day to learn them.
Sometimes the road teaches gently. Sometimes it teaches when you’re tired, slow, and alone.
Either way, you learn. And you keep going—just a little wiser than before.
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