I Almost Lost It at 35,000 Feet: The Flight Home That Finally Broke Me - Spain & Morocco Part 11
I recently went on a trip to Spain and Morocco that turned out to be one of the hardest experiences I’ve had in a long time. Over the next few weeks, I’ll continue sharing the lessons and stories that came out of it. My intent is not to rehash the drama, but to explore the human experience when life doesn’t go the way we planned.
Sometimes the most beautiful growth hides inside the messiest moments.
These posts will be written in a more personal, I/Me storytelling style, but no matter where you live, where you’ve traveled, or what you’re walking through right now, I think you’ll find a piece of your own story in mine.
They’ll be a bit longer than usual, but don’t worry, here is the link to the audio version if you’d rather listen.
The Munich airport is extremely clean and modern. It reminds me of a Russian company that I once interviewed for that was extremely formal, had a spartan office with minimal décor, and was void of any colors not on the black and white spectrum.
Near my gate, there is a lush garden area off to the side with small trees, plants, and plentiful chairs, yet everybody is sitting in the institutional, noisy gate area.
I am exhausted from my 2 am flight from Marrakesh. Normally, I would be pissed at a 2 am flight because I hate interrupted sleep, but I am so eager to go home, I really didn’t care what it took.
I had trouble sleeping on the plane because of the chronic hypervigilance I have developed from this trip. I have about an hour until my flight to San Francisco departs. I am confident I can sleep on that flight, but until then, I want to rest in this garden.
The garden is serene until people notice that I am in there. Then, some of the people from the institutional, noisy gate area follow my lead and relocate themselves to the garden area.
This wouldn’t be a big deal except that two guys are having a loud, obnoxious conversation, and another lady is talking on speakerphone. Nobody was here until they saw me come here.
Why did they bring their chaos to my peaceful garden?
Just as soon as we finish boarding, one of the flight attendants announces that there is a slight delay because the ground crew didn’t load the food carts into the aircraft.
Why is this trip cursed with the most random flight delays? How could they forget to pack the food carts for a twelve-hour flight?
The announcement doesn’t reference a specific time, only that there is a minor delay and we will depart “shortly.”
Part of me wants to have a full-on emotional meltdown because of lack of sleep, but mostly because I am over this damn trip. I have never wanted to go home so bad in my entire life.
It doesn’t help that I have a raging headache, most likely for the same reasons that I am on the cusp of an emotional breakdown. I ask one of the passing attendants if they have any ibuprofen or medication for a headache.
“Yes, we have some in the first aid kit. I have to take care of something, and then I will get it for you.”
I am in the middle seat of an emergency exit row. I had an aisle seat, but United suspiciously bumped me to a seat in the back of the plane, and I had to use miles to upgrade to this row with more legroom.
The lady next to me overhears my exchange with the flight attendant and offers some Excedrin. I hesitate because I want to sleep, and I know Excedrin has caffeine.
“She should bring something shortly. I’ll just wait for her.”
Fortunately, the food cart delay only takes about twenty minutes, and then we push back. Unfortunately, the flight attendant seems to have forgotten about me. I wave her down again.
“The first aid kid is out, but we have another kit around here somewhere, so I’ll find some for you.”
Alas, about an hour into the flight, she doesn’t return, so I take an Excedrin. Hopefully, it doesn’t have a lot of caffeine because I am exhausted and would love to nap.
Not so fast. They are starting the first food service, so there is going to be a lot of commotion until the cart moves past our row. When the flight attendant gets to our row, she explains that she can’t find the other first aid kit. At this point, it doesn’t matter because my fellow passenger helped me out, but I find it so odd how unprepared they have been for a twelve-hour flight.
Finally, I can take a nap.
Just as I have that thought, the guy to my left knocks over his cup of tomato juice. I watch in slow motion as it spills all over my clean, Kelly-green leggings.
Oh. My. F*cking. God.
I look at the red juice splattered on my leg, and all I can think about is the eleven hours remaining of this flight, my two-hour layover in San Francisco, and my five-hour flight to Honolulu. And I don’t have any other clean clothes in my carry-on.
I grab the newly purchased Moroccan tote that I am using as a personal item and pull out my pack of hand wipes. The guy who spilled his drink all over me has gone back to eating because he really doesn’t give a shit that he just carelessly spilled tomato juice on my clothes.
TOMATO JUICE.
At first, I feel a stillness with an undercurrent of my inner Chicagoan stirring. Then, the pressure starts building. Like the Hulk morphing into a beast, my anger starts boiling until I can finally name the urge:
I want to punch him in the face.
I have never punched anyone in the face, but I have gone off on someone in public before, so that will have to do because I don’t feel like getting out of my comfort zone right now. Right before I start going off on him, Functional Adult Angie intervenes.
Breathe. Don’t do anything that will end up being on the No-Fly list.
I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience as I think through my next actions.
For the first time in my entire life, I have compassion for the people we see going bat shit crazy on airplanes in the viral videos. I get it now.
But I also have enough sense to know that if I go psycho, they are going to restrain me, and I will be the one suffering consequences instead of my tomato juice-slinging neighbor.
I take a deep breath, go to the bathroom, and lock the door. As I violently wipe the red juice off my leggings, I let go of the armour. I’ve been through too much on this trip, and I can’t be strong anymore.
I have a total emotional breakdown on United flight 195, ugly crying and all.
I hate this. I just want to go home.
Arriving in San Francisco brings a sense of relief. Even though I am not home yet, I feel emotionally safer being back in the United States now.
In the women’s bathrooms at SFO, I again see the signs on the stall titled, “Are you OK?”
No, I am not OK.
I take a deep breath. So much has transpired over the past two weeks since I last saw these signs.
And it’s OK to not be OK.
I’ve made it this far. I just need to make it through five more hours.
When I burst through my front door, the first thing I do is shed myself of my bags, collapse to my floor, and kiss it.
I have never been so happy to be home. I can feel my nervous system relax.
I made it!
This isn’t just exhaustion. It’s two whole weeks of pushing through, regulating, and holding it together, finally catching up to me.
In the following weeks, I unpacked the events of the trip more. I still don’t understand why it had to go down as hard as it did, but in hindsight, I can see that there were major opportunities to face uncertainty head-on, use my voice, and advocate for myself.
Even though the trip will be remembered mostly by the trials and tribulations, I leveled up in self-trust, self-advocacy, and nervous system awareness in a way a comfortable trip never could have given me.
And for that, I am grateful.
Glow Tip:
Knowing When to Stop Being “The Strong One”
By the time the guy next to me spilled tomato juice all over my leggings at 35,000 feet, I wasn’t reactive. I was empty.
Weeks of hypervigilance, disrupted sleep, and holding it together had pushed my nervous system past capacity. That moment didn’t cause the breakdown. It revealed it.
For most of my life, I believed strength meant staying composed, swallowing discomfort, and handling things quietly. But safety doesn’t come from endurance. It comes from honesty.
Locking myself in that airplane bathroom and letting myself cry wasn’t a failure of regulation. It was self-trust.
Real resilience isn’t pushing through at all costs. It’s knowing when your body is done and listening to that call.
When you stop forcing strength and start honoring your limits, you stop surviving.
That’s what it means to shine from the inside.
Video Version: https://youtu.be/OUXLCdmw5H4
If this story stirred something in you…
You don’t need to push harder or explain yourself better. You need a nervous system that feels safe enough to stop bracing.
I created The Self-Compassion Reboot as a free 3-day experience (plus a powerful Day 0 and a Bonus Day 4) to help you step out of survival mode and reconnect with yourself, without forcing positivity, perfection, or performance.
Inside the challenge, you’ll learn how to:
Regulate your nervous system when you’re overwhelmed
Soften your inner critic without attacking yourself
Stop abandoning yourself in moments of stress
Rebuild self-trust through awareness, compassion, and choice
There’s no race. No rules. No fixing yourself. Just real tools for real life, especially when you’re tired.
You can find the full Self-Compassion Reboot playlist on YouTube under https://www.youtube.com/@angiehawkins808 or through the link below:
👉https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtihsVOp1d0pHBuWWrF1-SkZqhY6MZefg
This is the kind of inner safety that changes how you move through everything — your work, your relationships, your decisions.
You don’t need to become someone new. You need to stop abandoning who you already are.💛
