I Embarked on a 23-Day Journey With My Toddler. It Turned Out to Be the Most Fulfilling Adventure I’ve Ever Had.

When my friends and family learned that I was taking my 20-month-old son, Julian, on a solo journey through the United Arab Emirates, Oman, and Tanzania last fall, they were in awe of my “bravery” and “strength.” Some even wondered if I had lost my mind.

My husband, Andrew, wasn’t surprised at all. We met over two decades ago while studying abroad and have explored numerous countries together, spending nearly four years traveling full-time before welcoming our first (and only) child at 40. While he enjoys having a stable home, I thrive on constant travel; it's why I'm on the road for work four to six months each year. I refused to believe that having a child would limit us to a decade of Disney trips. Once I recognized that this journey—my inaugural solo adventure with my son—was something I needed, nothing could deter me.

I envisioned riding camels in the Arabian desert, playing on the renowned beaches of Zanzibar, and witnessing the Great Migration in the Serengeti. Julian, with the determination of a dictator and the self-control of a tipsy rock star, seemed intent on thwarting my plans at every opportunity. Despite both of us experiencing our fair share of meltdowns, this was the most gratifying trip I've ever taken. Here’s what I discovered.

I don’t have to pack everything but the kitchen sink.

The baggage limit (33 pounds per person) for our flights in Tanzania shaped my packing strategy for the entire trip. After much deliberation, I opted for a week's worth of clothes, essential toiletries, and what felt like a mountain of diapers. Julian devoured the snacks I packed in just three days, forcing me to make a last-minute stop at a store in Dubai, where I stumbled upon camel milk soap and olive toothpaste. Aside from his cherished stuffed chimpanzee, I left toys behind. At the One & Only Royal Mirage in Dubai, Julian had endless fun playing with the suite doors. At Breezes Beach Club in Zanzibar, he entertained himself by tearing up toilet paper. At Taasa Lodge, just north of the Serengeti, he spent hours pretending to be a “banker” with a stack of bills I set aside for tipping. I quickly realized that new surroundings provided more than enough entertainment.

Embracing relaxation is an art, and like all art, it requires practice.

Before becoming a parent, I never understood how others allowed their kids to run free in airports. That changed during this trip, where we took 12 flights in 23 days. On travel days, my mind was in a constant state of weighing options: stopping my toddler from one annoying behavior might trigger an epic tantrum. Conditioned as a woman to apologize for my presence, I extended that to my child, half-jokingly considering stowing him in the cargo hold whenever he made noise on a plane. I soon recognized how misguided this thinking was. Each time I shushed him in public or picked up after him, locals reassured me not to worry. At Arusha Airport, I scolded Julian for placing his shoes on a coffee table. A nearby Tanzanian woman smiled and said, “Don’t worry about it, mama! He’s a child.” What a freeing statement for a mother. And what a revelation: allowing kids to be kids.

Now, when Julian claps and giggles at something amusing, I join him in clapping and laughing. Monkeys slurping water from a hotel pool is hilarious! Why would I want to stifle that joy? Kids are meant to jump, shout, play, scream, and explore—that's part of the job description.

Neither of us is a bad parent.

I constantly grapple with the “bad mom” stigma—questioning if I'm truly meeting my child's needs. This journey amplified that anxiety significantly. Self-doubt crept in as we zoomed through dense fog in a bush plane with malfunctioning seat belts and bounced around in the back of a 4x4 during a thrilling desert ride. It returned when a lion lounged just 10 feet from our open-top sMytouri vehicle and again when Julian frolicked in Zanzibar's tide pools, narrowly avoiding stepping on a prickly black sea urchin.

Eventually, I realized that parents who fear the world raise children who fear it too. Travel is challenging. It can be uncomfortable. Mishaps happen, often more than successes. Yet, facing these challenges cultivates resilience and broadens our horizons in ways we might never imagine. Once I stopped fixating on worst-case scenarios—things that could just as easily happen at home as abroad—I felt a tremendous weight lift. I might not be fearless, but I’m also not paralyzed by fear, and I want my son to feel the same way. More importantly, I wish for Julian to embrace the beauty of our planet and its people. Throughout our journey, I was consistently moved by the kindness of strangers, from the KLM flight attendant who helped us find comfort on a packed flight to the sMytouri staff who engaged Julian for hours, playfully pretending to be lions in the wild. Daily, people opened their hearts to us, and that’s a lesson I take immense pride in sharing with my son.

Focus on what you can control and release what you can't.

I see great value in exposing Julian to diverse people, languages, and cultures beyond his everyday experiences. However, I understand that expecting him to grasp this concept is a tall order for a little one who can’t even manage to wipe himself. So while my Type-A tendencies pushed me to hope Julian would share my excitement during our game drive in the Ngorongoro Crater (where we spotted four of the Big Five!) or appreciate the vibrant musical performance by the local Iraqw tribe at Gibb’s Farm in Karatu instead of just tearing leaves off a bush, I learned to celebrate the small victories. After all, letting go of unrealistic expectations for how children should behave at any given age is a significant part of parenting.

Not asking for help doesn’t make you a hero.

Traveling with Julian 24/7 for 23 days taught me that few things can ignite pure rage like an overtired, tantrum-throwing toddler. It also revealed a well of patience within me that I didn’t know existed. Finding that inner calm came almost instinctively: when Julian cried at the top of his lungs, I would take a long, deep breath and allow my mind to drift away. This brief out-of-body experience, lasting no more than a minute, was enough to help me regain my composure.

While I pride myself on being self-sufficient when traveling, not giving myself a break during this trip was self-punishing. If I could do it again, I would utilize kids clubs and hire babysitting services from the hotels I chose. Kids are exhausting, and acknowledging the need for a timeout is perfectly okay.

Taking things slow might be the best gift of all.

You can’t do it all. And with a toddler in tow, you really can’t do it all. Just like at home, I’d plan for one or maybe two major sightseeing goals each day; anything Julian and I encountered beyond that was just a bonus. Although I sometimes felt a pang of FOMO, I came to cherish the many ways that traveling at my son’s leisurely pace allowed me to notice details I would have otherwise overlooked: droplets of dew on a vibrant red flower or the way a lilac-breasted roller glimmers like rainbow mica in the sunlight. These moments spring to life when I stop hurrying through it—and for that, I owe my gratitude to my toddler.