Three years ago, I got on a plane alone with a suitcase and a Taylor Swift song that felt a little too on the nose. You’re on Your Own, Kid.  Because of course it was.

I thought traveling around Europe solo for a few months would just be a fun experience. What I didn’t realize was how much I would grow. Not in height. I fear that ship has sailed. But in nearly everything else.

My confidence. My independence. My sense of direction. My likes and dislikes. You name it, it grew.

Sure, there were times when I was lonely AF. Did I cry? You betcha. But I wouldn’t change any of it.

There were days I felt completely out of my depth. Sitting alone at dinner, dealing with language barriers, transportation woes, figuring things out as I went, wondering what I had gotten myself into.

About halfway through my trip, I was hiking in Switzerland.

I looked up at the Alps in front of me and couldn’t stop smile-crying.

Not because anything was wrong. Because everything was right.

I had done it. I was there. On my own. And I was so damn proud of myself.

I always thought I had a bit of independence in me. I even gave her a name. #IndependentPam. But this trip took that idea and ran with it.

The confidence I have now, the kind that doesn’t shake as easily, started there. Zoloft helps, but I’ll give myself some credit.

There was a line I kept coming back to on that trip: “You can face this.”

Three years ago, I asked, “Can I do this?”

I needed to remind myself I could face things.

Now I don’t ask the question anymore. I already know the answer.