The following story is about a trip home I took during the pandemic, but it serves to illustrate a bigger subject - feeling safe in the world, especially as a woman. I promised to write it years ago and never got around to it. A student friend reminded me recently, and I felt today, on International Women’s Day, was the perfect time to reflect. Please note that I mention some statistics that some might find triggering. So, here it goes...
Five years ago, almost to the day, I returned from teaching a Yoga Teacher Training in Sri Lanka to Zagreb. I had already moved to Portugal the year before, but since I planned to be away for over a month, I decided to drive to Croatia to leave my dog Seeta with my mum, the safest place in the world for her. I had also scheduled a Trauma-Sensitive Yoga workshop in Zagreb after Sri Lanka, so driving there and back made sense. But life had other plans. A few days after I arrived back from Sri Lanka, the pandemic was declared, and with it came lockdowns across Europe. Driving back home to Portugal suddenly became nearly impossible. I thought things would improve after a few weeks, but instead, they only worsened, especially in Italy. I then contemplated going through Austria and Switzerland, but soon, that plan was shattered by more lockdowns and restrictions.
I was staying at my own apartment in my home town, so it wasn't that bad, but I still had this pull to go back to my house, my garden, my things, to a place I feel safe and I now call home. And then, one early morning in March, a significant earthquake hit Zagreb. My building was fine, but the gas was shut off, so I moved in with my brother and sister-in-law. The pandemic had already triggered fears and uncertainties, but when the earth literally started shaking beneath our feet, it intensified those fears, heightening everyone's sense of vulnerability.
Seeking safety is written in our DNA. Our brains are wired to seek out comfort, avoid danger, and prioritise survival. This instinct protects us, but it can also work against us—pumping our bodies with cortisol and keeping us in a constant state of hypervigilance. Lockdown, uncertainty, and relentless aftershocks were unsettling, but I still felt safe in my family’s home. I got to hang out with my niece and cook vegan meals for everyone. Still, as the weeks stretched on, it became clear that the situation might not change for months. So, I took a leap of faith and decided to drive back home to my safe haven.
I have made this trip numerous times before. It’s a fun road trip that takes you through Slovenia, northern Italy, southern France, and Spain. I usually picked different routes and stops to explore new places. But this time, things were different. People were allowed to travel home, but no one was permitted to exit the highways in any of the countries I was passing through. And I was travelling alone. Still, I knew I needed to do it. I acquired a letter from the Portuguese Embassy, packed my belongings, plenty of food, and a substantial amount of coffee. I put on a dress, a bow on Seeta and had a little chat with her, as she absolutely hates car journeys and gets very anxious (but remained surprisingly calm throughout). Then, on a sunny April morning (coincidentally or not the birthday of my soon-to-be man), I set off.
Driving on empty roads was surreal; at times, it felt liberating, at others, eerily unsettling. I rarely saw another car; it was just my small Suzuki Swift and some trucks. I took breaks every few hours, mostly at petrol stations, many of which were closed. As night approached, I was already crossing from Italy to France. Driving west, dusk seemed to stretch for hours. A friendly French policeman helped me fill out an online form I didn’t know I needed, and by the time I was back on the road, night had fully set in. I stopped at a petrol station for some dinner and a rest. But the night felt different.
For the first time on the trip, I started to feel deeply uncomfortable—not just because of the uncertainty of the trip itself and whether I’d be allowed to cross into Portugal, even though I was a resident, but simply because I was a woman, alone. After eating and walking Seeta, I locked myself in my car, hoping for a nap. But my nervous system was too wired; sleep was impossible. So, I drank more coffee, started the car, and kept driving. I was exhausted but alert, pushing forward for a few more hours before stopping again. At a small petrol station somewhere in southwestern France, I parked next to a rare sight—another car, this one with Italian licence plates. As I stepped out with Seeta, a man emerged from the car and spoke Portuguese to me. Seeing my licence plates, he assumed I was Portuguese. We switched to English, and he explained that he and his family lived in Italy but were driving home to Portugal. His wife was in the car, trying to settle their children for the night. After exchanging good wishes for the night and the trip ahead, I returned to my car. Knowing that a family was parked next to me and not just men in big trucks (nothing against truck drivers, but I’ve seen too many films portraying them as dangerous and in that state, I was hypervigilant), my nervous system finally relaxed. I drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.
By morning, the family was gone, but the daylight banished the unease of the night before. As I resumed my journey, I reflected on the unsettling experience. My vulnerability wasn’t imagined. It was rooted in reality. One in four women reports being harassed at some point in their lives, often in public spaces like streets or public transport. In the U.S., one in five women will experience completed or attempted rape in their lifetime. A staggering one in four women has endured severe intimate partner violence, including physical violence, sexual violence, or stalking with a fear of death. Domestic violence is the leading cause of injury for women aged 15-44 in the U.S.—more than car accidents, muggings, and rapes combined. In the European Union, one in three women has experienced physical and/or sexual violence since the age of 15. (Sources: WHO, UN, FRA, HRW). And this is in the so-called developed world. In many other places, the statistics are even more harrowing.
After breakfast and coffee, we hit the road again, heading towards Spain. By the end of the day, we finally reached Portugal. As the border police let me through, torrential rain poured down so heavily that I could barely see the road. I took shelter at a closed petrol station. I was so happy! We had (almost) made it. When the rain subsided, we continued, greeted by a breathtaking sunset that painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson. I was home, and for the first time in many weeks, I felt safe, safe to the core of my being. 3000 km in 36 hours, but it was worth it.
Reflecting on that journey now, I realise how deeply ingrained the need for safety is in us as humans, but perhaps more so as women. My story had a happy ending, but the discomfort I felt on that night in France is something many women experience every day: on public transport, in unfamiliar places, even in their own homes. This is why we need to continue these conversations, raise awareness, and push for a world where safety isn’t a privilege but a right. Because no woman should have to calculate the risk of simply existing in the world.
Happy International Women’s Day! May we remember that today is not so much about flowers, congratulations and celebrations, but about recognising the ongoing struggle for gender equality, demanding safety and justice, and honouring the resilience of those who fought and still fight for a fairer, safer world for all.
