The thought is strange and familiar at once.

What do you mean, you hate trips? Everyone loves trips! That doesn’t make any sense.

And then, a crying voice, thin and translucent: But I really hate trips! Didn’t you know? I’ve been trying to tell you for so long!

Suddenly, lots of things make sense.

I never opened the camp albums that I dutifully transferred from my parents’ house to mine when I got married. They just don’t interest me. I don’t feel warm and fuzzy when remembering the adventures and trips. Actually, I feel cold all over.

I’m transported to those confusing summers. Of course I loved camp and everything about it. Or at least I thought I did. Now I know otherwise.

Now, as an adult, I admit to the pangs of homesickness that accompanied me all summer long. I pined for my familiar four walls, for fresh linen, the pleasures of air-conditioning and a new book. I wanted to be back in school with my old friends in Chumash and literature class, where I felt safe and comfortable.

In camp, I struggled to wade through a sea of new faces and the need to make a good impression.  And then came the whammy — major trips! The water park trips were the worst.

I’m 11 years old and I don’t swim well. I swoosh down the huge slide and land into a deep, seemingly endless pool. I struggle to stand, slipping and flailing helplessly. It seems like an eternity until someone lifts me out.

Now I finally confront the truth: I was never really a camp girl. And I find trips a sort of torture that has to be endured sometimes.

Lightheaded from my awareness, I finally feel free. Free of the confusion created by the dichotomy of what I “should” be feeling and what I really feel.

Free to be myself.

I don’t like trips, and I can say that out loud. I don’t like the pool, and that’s okay, too.

For years I’d pushed myself to take my kids on trips, and to do it often. I didn’t understand why I came home stressed and unhappy. Hadn’t we just had fun? Uh…

Now I know that trips are something I do for my children. I applaud myself for the trip or two that I stretch myself to join. And I draw the line after that.

My self-awareness has led me on a breathtaking journey, and I’m enjoying the ride.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 806)