Montego Bay Meditations: Belonging to My Self - Whole, Wandering, and Unwed

This trip to Montego Bay was meant to offer rest, and in many ways, it has. The warmth, the breeze, the hush of waves—all of it gave me permission to slow down. But it also offered something deeper: a moment to reflect on the quiet act of self-belonging.

Traveling alone has a way of sharpening awareness. You start to notice not just the world around you, but the subtle ways people respond to your presence. And in those responses, you begin to see all the places where your life no longer fits the usual molds—and how powerful it is to belong to yourself anyway.

Reading Between the Questions

It started on the shuttle ride from the airport. There was a small group of women, a solo man, and me. After the man and I exchanged a few friendly words and a shared sense of humor, others assumed we were together. When we clarified that we were traveling solo and separate, I was met with surprised looks.

Later at the resort, a staff member asked why I was “so brave”, after learning I was traveling solo. Not sarcastically—she genuinely wanted to know. Another asked if I was married. When I said no, he glanced at the ring on my finger and asked, “If you are with someone, why are you here alone?” No one was rude. But their questions carried the weight of a cultural script that I wasn’t actively adhering to, and that seemed to confuse people.

Choosing Wholeness, Daily

Here’s the thing: I’m unmarried in this season by choice. That’s not a banner I wave—it’s just a fact of my life. I enjoy my independence and value solitude and stillness. I also appreciate intimacy, softness, and connection.Yes, there are people who check in on me. Yes, I experience love and companionship. No, I am not entirely alone. But the version of love I hold space for doesn’t always look like what people expect. And that’s okay.

I’ve also come to understand that wholeness is not the absence of longing—it’s the presence of self. It’s knowing how to nourish your life in real ways, even if some pieces are still finding their shape. Not every part of life needs to be full. Sometimes it’s enough to let peace and possibility reach the parts that aren’t.

When Care Becomes a Mirror

This journey—this solo space—has also brought up memories of a different kind of solitude, memories stirred by the resort’s resident cats. A couple of years ago, I started the Rescue Black Project, a cat rescue sanctuary to support the eerily familiar plight of black cats. It wasn’t random; it came at a time when I was adjusting to an emptier home, a new chapter. My kids had grown, gone and established lives elsewhere. The noise and motion of everyday family life had quieted. In that quiet, I found myself needing something—something that asked for care, for consistency, for presence.

In the days of the rescue, when care was abundant and so was I. These were the moments that held me—before I realized I needed to learn how to hold myself too.

The rescue gave me that. It gave me beings to nurture. It gave my days structure. And it gave me purpose. But over time, I began to notice something. That the purpose that was once nourishing, had become all-consuming. I was pouring and pouring, and somewhere along the way, I stopped checking whether I had anything left for myself.

The cat rescue taught me a deep truth: being needed is not the same as being whole. And that lesson matters here—on this trip, in this moment of reflection. Because even now, I’m asking: What does it mean to care for myself with the same devotion I once gave to everything and everyone else?

Stepping away from the Rescue Black Project earlier this year provided clarity. It was the start of a different kind of presence—one where I didn’t have to justify my existence through service. One where I mattered, even if no one else was asking for me.

The Power of Self-Defined Presence

Being here—walking the beach alone, eating at a table for one, being surrounded by couples and not trying to be one—has reminded me that fulfillment doesn’t always need an audience. It doesn’t need translation. It doesn’t need explanation.

People might look at me and wonder, Why are you here by yourself?And the real answer is: Because I needed to be. Because I wanted to listen without interruption. Because I trust my own rhythm enough to follow it, even if no one’s keeping tempo beside me.

There’s Strength in Stillness and Self-Belonging

If you’ve ever questioned whether being on your own is a holding pattern, let me offer this: Solo doesn’t mean you’re paused. Sometimes it means you’re simply present. It means your life is full of intention instead of distractions.

I’ve learned that you can enjoy companionship and still honor your solitude. You can be loved and still want time alone. You can have a ring on your finger and still be journeying with yourself.

And as I sit here—still, full, and unaccompanied—I think about and feel the echo of women in history who have moved on their own terms, often misunderstood, labeled, or feared. From Mary Kingsley solo traveling through West Africa, to Ida B. Wells doing the same to challenge injustice, women have long stepped beyond the expected—even when the world wasn’t sure how to receive them.

For Black women especially, the story is more layered. Our legacy has been one of labor—emotional, physical, generational. We’ve carried movements, families, institutions. Rest has not often been our inheritance.

And yet, here I am.

So this moment—me, alone on this trip—isn’t just about leisure, cocktails and sunsets. It’s about a quiet kind of freedom. A presence that’s mine. A deeper rhythm that’s mine. A lineage I’m continuing —not with noise, but with stillness.

An Invitation to Reimagine

So maybe this isn’t a story about being brave or bold. Maybe it’s just a story about being in tune. About saying yes to your own company—not because there’s no one else—but because your presence is worthy, too.

If that challenges the way people see you, so be it. If it challenges the way you see yourself, sit with that.

Let your life be full. Let it be quiet sometimes. Let it stretch. Let it surprise you.

You don’t have to explain.You just have to be here.

This is one reflection in my Montego Bay Meditations series - a continuing journey into the practice of self-belonging. I’m still listening. More soon.

Written by Carlita L. Coley, LPC

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About the Author

I’m a writer, creative soul, and someone who deeply believes in the power of presence. Through therapeutic storytelling and soulful honesty, I create spaces—on the page and in real life—where rest, self-trust, and emotional freedom are possible and sacred.

My work is rooted in reflection and shaped by lived experience. Whether I’m writing about solo travel, reclaiming joy, or tending to the quiet shifts happening within me, I do it to honor the truth that wholeness doesn’t require perfection—it requires presence. I believe we’re allowed to belong to ourselves. Without apology. And I hope my words offer a soft place to land for anyone learning to believe that too.