Grab a cuppa – this is a long read, but if you’re feeling lonely out there, it might be exactly what you need
You’re parked somewhere beautiful. Maybe it’s beside a creek that catches the afternoon light just right, or under a sky so big it makes you feel small. You’ve driven all day to get here. This is what you wanted – the freedom, the adventure, the chance to finally do this thing you’ve been dreaming about.
So why does your chest feel so tight?
Why are you sitting inside your van with the blinds drawn, watching other people’s campfires through the gap, feeling like you’re twelve years old again and everyone else got invited to the party except you?
One of our community members said something recently that’s been sitting with me for a while: how lonely it can get out here.
And the responses that followed – they were honest in a way that made my heart crack open a bit. Because here’s what we don’t talk about enough: you can be living your dream and still feel achingly, impossibly alone.
I’d actually written this letter over a year ago but never posted it. and seeing that comment yesterday – pushed me to post this today..
The Loneliness That Lives in Both Places
Here’s something I’ve been thinking about: maybe a lot of us aren’t travelling to escape loneliness – we’re travelling because if we’re going to be lonely anyway, we might as well be lonely somewhere beautiful.
At home, the loneliness has the same face every single day. Same four walls. Same couch. Same view out the window. Same knowledge that tomorrow will look exactly like today. The silence gets heavier when it’s in the same room, night after night. At least on the road, the loneliness moves. It changes shape. Yes, you’re still sitting alone – but you’re sitting alone beside a river you’ve never seen before, under stars in a different configuration, waking up to bird calls you don’t recognise yet. The ache is still there, but it’s got scenery. It’s got possibility. It’s got the slim chance that today might be the day you meet someone interesting at the camp kitchen, or stumble into a town festival, or strike up a conversation that matters.
We’re not running away from loneliness. We’re just refusing to let it trap us in one place. If it’s going to follow us anyway, we might as well take it on a road trip.
Here’s something that helped me when I was struggling with this: it was lonely at home too.
I’m a year into empty nest. There are weeks where I don’t see another human being for seven days straight. The house is quiet. The kids are busy living their magnificent, chaotic lives. Friends have their own routines, their own full plates. Some days the only voice I hear is my own, and even that starts to sound strange after a while.
The road doesn’t fix that. What it does is change the texture of it.
At home, loneliness feels stale and stuck – the same walls, the same silence, the same knowing exactly what tomorrow will look like. On the road, it feels raw and exposed – new places, unfamiliar faces and you’re still finding your footing, where connection takes effort, where every interaction means putting yourself out there again, making small talk when you’re tired.
Neither one is better or worse. They’re just different flavours of the same ache.
And acknowledging that – really seeing it – takes some of the sting out. You didn’t fail at solo travel because you feel lonely. You’re just noticing what was already there, only now it’s in different lighting.
What It Actually Feels Like Out Here
Some days you arrive at a campsite and instead of excitement, you just feel flat. Teary, even.
You see couples setting up together, the easy rhythm of two people who know each other’s movements. You see groups gathering around fires, the kind of loose, laughing groups that make you feel like you’re standing outside looking in through glass.
You haven’t spoken out loud all day except maybe to say thanks at a servo. The silence in your van gets loud. At night it’s worse – the small noises, the big thoughts, the scrolling through your phone looking for something that feels like connection but finding nothing that really touches the spot.
“Some evenings I’d sit in the van and think, I’ve wanted this for years – why am I so miserable?” – that’s a real quote from a real woman who’s doing this, and I bet she’s not the only one who’s had that exact thought.
When the Spell Gets Too Thick
Loneliness has this sneaky way of making you withdraw even more. You start thinking things like “I don’t want to bother anyone” or “Everyone already has their people” or “I’m too awkward at this.”
So you stay in your bubble. You keep the blinds down. You convince yourself you’re fine with your own company, and maybe you are – sometimes – but other times you’re just protecting yourself from the risk of reaching out and being ignored.
That’s the spell. And it gets thicker the longer you let it sit.
Breaking it doesn’t require some massive personality transplant. You don’t need to suddenly become the life of the party. You just need one small thing. One tiny act of reaching out.
Sit outside instead of inside. Even if you bring a book and don’t talk to anyone, just being in the space with other humans helps.
Smile at someone walking past. Say “How’s your day been?” to the person at the camp kitchen. Ask the neighbour beside you where they’ve come from or where they’re headed.
These little moments – they’re not nothing. They remind your nervous system that you’re not invisible, that you’re part of the world, that connection is still possible.
Using What We’ve Built Here
If you’re part of Rolling Solo, use it on purpose. This isn’t just an online space to scroll through – it’s a tool for creating actual, real-world connection.
Post where you are. Say you’re keen for a coffee, a walk, even just a quick hello in a carpark. You’d be amazed how many women are camped within an hour of you, feeling exactly the same way, waiting for someone else to be brave first.
Organize something small. It doesn’t have to be a big event. “I’ll be at the bakery in town at 10am tomorrow if anyone wants to grab a coffee” – that’s enough. One walk. One takeaway coffee on a bench. One shared sandwich while you both pat someone’s dog.
I’m guilty of staying in my own bubble too. I don’t want to bother people, don’t want to seem needy, don’t want to impose. But I made a deal with myself to get out more, to risk the awkwardness, to be the one who suggests the thing. And every single time I do it, I’m glad I did.
Plugging Into Places, Finding Purpose & Not Just Passing Through
Sometimes what you need isn’t more travellers – it’s to feel like you belong somewhere, even temporarily. To have people who recognise your face, who ask how you’re going, who give you a reason to be somewhere at a certain time.
Volunteering does this in a way that almost nothing else can.
It doesn’t have to be some big commitment. A few mornings at the local op shop. An afternoon at the visitor information centre. Helping set up chairs for a community event. Spending a couple of hours at a wildlife rescue or community garden.
What you get: familiar faces. Stories. A sense of being useful again. The feeling of belonging to a place, even just for a week.
Most towns are crying out for help with small things, and they’re usually delighted when travelling folk offer a hand. Check the community noticeboard at the supermarket. Ask at the visitor centre. Look on local Facebook pages or council websites.
Some councils even run Grey Nomad volunteer programs where you can camp for free or cheap in exchange for helping with local projects. It’s not about the free camp – though that’s nice – it’s about the structure, the people, the purpose.
House sitting is another way to slow down and feel anchored. You get animal company, neighbours to wave to, a street that becomes familiar for a little while. You can often park your van in the driveway, so you’re still living your way, just with a bit more stability around you.
Reframing the Quiet
One woman in our community said something beautiful: she started calling her alone time “quiet time” instead of “lonely time.” She reframed it as special time with herself, time to record videos for family, to take photos, to be fully present with where she is.
That’s not about toxic positivity or pretending you’re fine when you’re not. It’s about gently experimenting with the story you tell yourself about the silence.
You could try:
Recording short video diaries to share with family later – just you talking to the camera about what you saw today, how you felt, what made you laugh.
Taking photos with intention, building an album or online collection that becomes a way of staying connected to people back home.
Keeping a simple road journal – not fancy, just where you stayed, one thing that made you smile, how the day felt.
These small creative acts can be a form of company. They give your days a thread, a shape, a way of turning experience into something that connects you to yourself and to the people who care about you.
Staying Close to Your People
Distance doesn’t cancel your need for your people. Sometimes they don’t reach out because they think you’re busy having adventures and they don’t want to interrupt. Sometimes you don’t reach out because you don’t want to seem like you’re struggling.
Break that cycle.
Set a loose routine for check-ins. Sunday evening calls. A weekly photo dump to a group chat. A voice message when you see something that reminds you of someone.
Be honest when you need support, but keep it light enough that people don’t panic: “Having a bit of a lonely patch today – can we have a quick chat?”
Your people want to know how you’re really going. They want to feel included in this part of your life. Let them in, even when it’s messy.
When It’s More Than Just a Lonely Evening
There’s normal loneliness – the kind that comes in waves, hits hard for an evening, then lifts when you wake up somewhere new or have a good chat with someone.
And then there’s the kind that sits on your chest and doesn’t really move. The kind where nothing feels enjoyable anymore. Where you’re teary most days. Where you’re staying in bed or in the van longer and longer. Where you’re starting to think “what’s the point.”
If that’s you, please hear this: needing support doesn’t mean you’re not cut out for this. It means you’re wise enough to look after yourself properly.
Talk to your GP, even via telehealth. Call Beyond Blue (1300 22 4636) or Lifeline (13 11 14) if you need someone to talk to right now. Tell a friend or family member how you’re really going, not the edited version.
Give yourself permission to pause the trip if you need to. To park somewhere familiar for a while. To go visit people who love you. To get some solid ground under your feet before you keep moving.
The road will still be there. Your dream will still be there. But you need to be okay first.
Small Things You Can Do Today
You don’t have to overhaul your whole life. Just pick one small thing:
Right now:
- Step outside, even for ten minutes. (Look up at the sky.. don’t ask my why this works I saw it on a tiktok reel.)
- Send a photo to someone who loves you
- Say one kind thing to yourself out loud: “I’m doing this, and it’s okay that it’s hard sometimes”
This week:
- Stay three nights in one place instead of constantly moving
- Post in our community to see who’s nearby
- Visit the visitor centre and ask about local groups or events
- Try one small act of volunteering
This month:
- Look into a house sit somewhere that interests you
- Set up a regular check-in time with someone you love
- Keep a simple journal of one good thing from each day
- Be honest with yourself about whether you need extra support
In Their Own Words: Real Stories from members
Sometimes the best wisdom comes from women who’ve been exactly where you are now. Here are some voices from our community:
We can always find reasons not to do things…often without having to look very far. Real personal growth comes when we do things anyhow….acknowledge the cons and go create the pros.
Travelling solo is what you make it. It can be lonely and it can be amazing. It depends on you. If you are open and friendly you will meet lots of open and friendly people. If you are closed off and keep to yourself you will be lonely. It really all comes down to attitude and expectation.
You have a whole nationwide network of Rollers, to post to if you will be in the area where they live and suggest a meet up for coffee or lunch. People at campsites are usually pretty friendly. Some of meeting others relies on you taking the initiative and opening conversations yourself. Admire their rigs, ask where other campers are from, pat and admire their dogs because everybody knows they have the best dog in the world, suggest sharing happy hour or a cuppa. Listen to other peoples’ stories as most will be happy to tell you about themselves.
Above all sit outside as much as you can yourself and be open to the approaches of others. If you hide away inside your motorhome and close off opportunities for others to get to know you and you them, then of course your travels are likely to be lonely and isolating. You also have your existing network of family and friends, who remain only a phone call away.
Don’t overthink it too much, just let it all happen, but do let other Rollers know, if you intend camping near where they live. Don’t forget to update your location on your profile, as well as check what Roller Events will be happening that you can link in with.
Also do enjoy your time alone. Use it to do things you enjoy. Don’t hesitate to eat alone at a restaurant, or pub with a good book to occupy you while you wait for food, or do other things you may more usually do with friends or family. I dined alone on my 60th birthday and had an absolutely brilliant time, as the food was so good and the staff really looked after me.
The first few times you may well be a bit self conscious, but the more you do it the easier and more natural it feels. I have never ceased to be amazed when dining out alone all over the world, just how many times others have actually invited me to join them. Usually they are fascinated that you are dining alone and believe you are very brave to be travelling alone, anywhere in the world. I have only ever had wonderful experiences in such circumstances.
I am also always happy to see a movie, or go to a play alone. Why miss out on doing things you really love, just because you are doing it solo. I actually think solo travel of any kind is invariably enriching and people will be much more open to inviting you join them to do things, or take the time for a chat, if you are alone, as couples, pairs and families are most interested in interacting with each other.
I believe you will have an absolutely fabulous time, as long as you are open to interacting with a range of total strangers, most of whom you will just spend an hour or two with, but occasionally you form a bond that will last for many years, if not a lifetime.”
I went through a really dark patch on the road – felt completely isolated, questioned whether I should just pack it in and go home. Had days where I didn’t want to get out of bed, didn’t see the point of any of it. But I reached out – talked to my doctor, found a psychologist who understood, leaned on friends even when I felt like a burden.
The loneliness didn’t magically disappear, but I learned I could carry it differently. I learned that asking for help isn’t weakness – it’s survival. And I learned that even in my loneliest moments, I wasn’t as alone as I thought. This community, my family, the professionals who supported me – they were there. I just had to be brave enough to say ‘I’m not okay.’
If you’re in that dark place now, please hear this: dig deep, reach out, and don’t give up on yourself. The pain won’t last forever, even when it feels like it will.
You’re Not Failing
Here’s what I want you to hear clearly: feeling lonely doesn’t mean you’re doing this wrong.
It means you’re human. It means you’re wired for connection, which is a beautiful thing, not a weakness. It means you’ve taken yourself way outside your comfort zone, and sometimes that’s uncomfortable.
Some days are going to be glorious – full of wonder and freedom and that feeling of being exactly where you’re meant to be. Other days are going to be wobbly and quiet and a bit sad. Both are part of the deal.
The key is to travel with people in mind, not just places. To build connection into your life on purpose. To be the one who suggests the coffee date, who sits outside instead of hiding, who risks the awkwardness of saying hello.
Your map of Australia isn’t just dotted with camps and towns. It’s dotted with people – faces you’ll remember, stories you’ll carry, small kindnesses that mattered more than you can say.
And on the nights when it feels really lonely, remember this: you’re not the only woman sitting in her van right now feeling this way. There are dozens of us, maybe hundreds, scattered across this wide country, all doing this brave, hard, beautiful thing.
You’re in better company than you think.
You just can’t see us all from where you’re parked right now.
