Being neurodivergent can make everyday life feel daunting, exhausting, and overwhelming. Add in travelling regularly or full-time — a lack of routine, constantly meeting new people when you already struggle to say the first word in a conversation, navigating new cultures, and communicating with people from all over the world who follow different social cues — and things can quickly feel unmanageable. And that’s just the social aspect of the difficulties many neurodivergent people experience. 😂
I decided to be sober mainly because my ability to manage social cues would completely slip when I drank alcohol. This often led to incredibly embarrassing moments, followed by extreme hangxiety the next day — to the point where I would cut off friendships entirely and remove people from my life. Drinking amplified everything I already found difficult: overthinking, misreading situations, shame spirals, and emotional overwhelm.
Of course, this isn’t everyone’s experience. Even many neurotypical people struggle with alcohol for similar reasons. But for me, sobriety became less about restriction and more about self-preservation.
Socialising sober comes with its own challenges. Firstly, I don’t have that “liquid courage” that makes starting conversations easier. When I’m drunk, I’m the person roaming around the room starting conversations with everyone I see. But sober? I will make eye contact with you 20,000 times, laugh at what you’ve just said, and still somehow pretend I’m not engaging in your conversation at all.
Secondly, hostel culture often revolves around partying. Pub crawls, drinking games, and nights out six times a week are seen as the default way to meet people. That’s something I can’t — and don’t want to — engage in. Instead, I’m usually standing in the bathroom at 9pm brushing my teeth, next to girls curling their hair and putting on fake eyelashes, while I mentally prepare for bed.
On the surface, this can feel isolating. When everyone else seems to bond over alcohol, it’s easy to wonder if you’re missing out, or if something is “wrong” with you. But over time, I’ve realised there’s another side to this.
While I might make fewer friendships — partly because I’m terrible at initiating conversations (something I’m actively working on!) — the connections I do make feel far more genuine. Being sober gives me the opportunity to connect with people who share similar values, lifestyles, or simply a preference for slower, quieter forms of connection. These friendships often feel deeper and more sustainable, because I don’t feel the need to mask, perform, or pretend to be neurotypical in order to belong.
Outside of the social aspect, sobriety has also helped me navigate new places more safely and calmly. Busy markets, loud streets, and overwhelming transport hubs can be incredibly dysregulating when you have an oversensitive nervous system. While a neurotypical person might brush this off, I often find these environments physically and emotionally exhausting. Having a clear mind means I can process everything around me without missing important details — or adding unnecessary anxiety that might convince my body it’s having a heart attack. 😆
Travelling while sober and neurodivergent isn’t easier — but it is more honest. And for me, honesty feels far safer than chaos.
If you’re neurodivergent and considering sobriety while travelling, it’s okay if it feels intimidating. You’re not “doing travel wrong” because you don’t thrive in party hostels or feel energised by constant socialising. You’re allowed to travel slowly, to choose early nights, quiet cafés, nature over nightlife, and one meaningful conversation over a room full of small talk.
It’s also okay if making friends takes longer, or looks different to how it seems for everyone else. Connection doesn’t have to be loud, alcohol-fuelled, or immediate to be real. Some of the most meaningful friendships grow from shared silence, morning coffees, long walks, or simply sitting next to someone who doesn’t expect you to perform.
Being sober doesn’t make you boring, antisocial, or difficult — and being neurodivergent doesn’t make you weak or incapable. It means you experience the world more intensely, and that intensity deserves care, not criticism. Listening to your nervous system, honouring your limits, and choosing clarity over chaos is not something to apologise for.
Travelling this way has taught me that safety — emotional, mental, and physical — is far more important than fitting in. And once you stop trying to travel like everyone else, you give yourself permission to travel in a way that actually feels good.
