I didn’t expect competence to be the thing that followed me most closely on this trip. I’ve been moving through three countries — Sri Lanka, Cambodia, Laos — and what solo travel keeps showing me isn’t that I’m brave. It’s how easily I disappear into being capable.

I’m recording this from Laos, still very much inside it. On a bus a few days ago, I needed to use the washroom and had no idea when the next stop would be. The driver hadn’t told anyone anything. Most of the passengers around me were in their twenties, and nobody was saying a word. So I asked. When I did, I could hear people sigh in relief behind me. They’d been waiting too. In that moment I felt both visible and separate. And I remember thinking, I do not shrink, and I do not need to shrink. What was interesting was that earlier on the same trip, I had been shrinking without even realizing it.

In this episode:

• The bus moment in Laos
• The room that smelled slightly off
• The complimentary upgrade I didn’t ask about
• Twenty-five kilos on my shoulder in a narrow train aisle
• When independence becomes a declaration
• What happens if you stops defaulting to “I’ll handle it”

“If I lead with competence, people respond with competence. If I handle everything quietly, there is nothing for them to respond to.” — Damianne

What does disappearing into competence actually look like?

When I checked into my room in Nong Khiao and it smelled slightly off, I didn’t say anything. When my booking in Cambodia mentioned a possible complimentary upgrade if available, I didn’t ask. I don’t bargain, even when I probably should, because I feel like I don’t know enough about how things work and I don’t want to be the demanding foreigner. So in those moments I pulled back. I only noticed this later when I was reflecting and thought: why didn’t you even consider speaking up? Everything doesn’t have to be a fight. But I do want to be intentional, and I don’t want to default into silence simply because it’s easier.

That’s why the bus moment felt different. I had already been noticing the pattern. I had already been thinking about the times I let something slide without deciding whether it was actually what I wanted to do.

When does independence become its own kind of armor?

I was on a train with a heavy suitcase — about 25 kilos — and I needed to get past people going in the opposite direction in a narrow aisle. The only solution was to lift the suitcase onto my shoulder and walk past. There were a couple of women nearby who watched and made surprised sounds. There were lots of people around who could have offered to help. Nobody did.

The thing is, I didn’t need help. But it’s always a slightly strange space for me, because while I believe women can be and do very strong things, I also believe in helping each other. If I saw someone struggling to come up with a solution, I would likely offer. So I was both capable and aware that no one offered. And that created this internal question about independence and community, and what I actually want in those moments.

What changed when she joined the Norwegian women?

The other evening I joined two Norwegian women who were bargaining for a ride to the train station instead of arranging my own transport. One of them negotiated the price beautifully. When I joined them it felt good to be in community. I didn’t feel erased or less competent because I wasn’t the one in charge. And that moment of joining others felt very different from the bus moment and from the suitcase moment.

What I realised is that I default to “I’ll handle it.” Almost always. And when I do that, I can disappear into competence. The cost is that there’s nothing for anyone else to respond to. People assume I don’t need help because I look like I don’t. And sometimes that’s exactly what I want. But I’m noticing that competence can also be a kind of habit, and the question I’ve been sitting with is whether it’s one I’m choosing or one I’ve just stopped questioning.

What might happen if she experiments?

On this trip, no one knows my history. No one knows the work I do or how I’ve shown up for people over the years. I’m just a woman with a suitcase, technically allowed to be anything. Allowed to ask silly questions and not know. Allowed to say: I don’t understand, please explain it again. Allowed to let someone else take the lead.

As I was preparing this episode, even saying that out loud, there was a knot in my stomach. Nothing catastrophic is going to happen if I don’t know the answer. But there is clearly an internal expectation that I should, and that I should be able to handle it. There is some particular satisfaction in being the one who figures it out.

A small invitation

This week, notice the rooms you’re in and who you become in each one. Where do you default to competence, and where do you default to silence? Then gently ask yourself: is this choice coming from truth, or from habit? You don’t need to change anything yet. Just notice.

Join the community

And if you want a place to explore these questions more slowly, with other women who are thinking about solo travel in this season of life, you’re welcome in the Skool community. It’s a space to talk honestly about what comes up, without pressure to be brave or get it right.