My imperfect honeymoon

On marriage, loneliness, and the connections we're afraid to ask for

My honeymoon did not go the way I expected.

Even before my husband got dengue fever (he’s okay now), things felt off. Instead of the joy and rejuvenation I'd anticipated, I felt strangely detached – spending hours on my phone and getting irritated at everyone around me, from my partner to the hotel staff. I felt confused, guilty, and ashamed about the whole thing. I should be more grateful. Why can’t I just enjoy myself?

It wasn't until I returned home and gave myself space to reflect that I understood the situation's complexity.

The loneliness spiral

The key breakthrough: my needs had shifted dramatically since we planned the trip.

​​When we first planned the trip, our goal was simple – explore Thailand and Vietnam, countries neither of us knew well. Neither of us had spent much time in these countries, so it made sense for us to maximize our time in these regions with activities.

But during the honeymoon, I craved something different: deep emotional connection through shared experiences. Instead, our activities highlighted our differences. My husband thrived in outdoor adventures like swimming and hiking, while I preferred limited doses of nature. I gravitated toward fine dining, spa treatments, and cultural experiences like museums. Our itinerary had both types of activities, but it didn’t feel like we were enjoying them together. I felt frustrated that we weren't having the same emotional experience.

Beneath this frustration lay a more profound emotion: loneliness. While we shared the same physical space, I yearned for something more intimate – experiencing each moment together rather than moving through them in parallel.

A lonely ship in the middle of Ha Long Bay in Vietnam.

Unlike other emotions, I don’t have the best relationship with loneliness. I avoid feeling lonely, telling myself I’m fine whenever loneliness enters the chat. This avoidance helped me get through my teenhood during painful moments of emotional and physical loneliness, but now, it’s causing more harm than good.

I also realized I feel shame about admitting loneliness. If I recognize how I feel, I’ll be too much. My rational brain thought loneliness was absurd. After all, how could I be lonely while spending every moment with my husband in a beautiful country? Isn’t wanting more asking for too much? And within that also lies another challenge: what do I want?

Even if I could admit these feelings, I struggled to articulate what I needed. Unable to have this conversation with my husband, my unexpressed emotions turned to anger, leading to fights and further disconnection. It was like being in connection quicksand. No matter what I did, I felt stuck.

Unexpected connections

Our honeymoon was followed by an unexpected extended stay in Delhi when my husband contracted dengue fever. I was at the end of my rope, exhausted and emotionally drained, while still trying to take care of my husband. It felt like this whole situation was some strange cosmic test about the strength of my marriage.

At first, I bottled everything up, but when friends checked in, my frustrations poured out. They responded with empathy and gentle suggestions of self-care – but what could self-care even mean when all I wanted was to escape back to New York, to my familiar life and support system? Caught between obligation and exhaustion, I fell back into the same patterns of avoidance: losing myself in my phone or sleeping in.

Then, almost by accident, I found connection in an unlikely place. One day, bored, I picked up a Hindi newspaper—a language I hadn't read since childhood. At first, I gave up, intimidated by the task. But then, with my uncle’s coaching, I read a few words, which turned into a few lines. When I left for my grandmother’s house, I kept up with my Hindi, working through a children’s book in Hindi with her support.

Through these sessions, my grandmother began sharing parts of herself I'd never experienced—her love of mathematics, her thwarted dreams of completing school, and the challenges in her marriage that echoed through to my mother's generation. With my newfound Hindi, I dug deeper into these new insights. Along the way, I gained a new understanding of myself, like how we both love complaining about challenges (but secretly love them anyway).

Through learning more about her, I was unexpectedly connecting with myself.

Reprogramming patterns

Sometimes, the deepest connections appear when we least expect them—but only if we admit we need them.

Accepting this lesson hasn't been easy. As someone who prides herself on emotional maturity, I feel like an imposter when I can't express something as basic as loneliness. But clearly, the childhood wounds of isolation still linger, signaling that there’s still more healing to do (hello, goals for 2025!)

Late at night, scrolling through Instagram photos of beaming honeymoon couples, I feel waves of guilt about my own experience. Did I ruin my honeymoon? Does this make me a bad person? But then, I remind myself that people are complex and multifaceted. I can be both emotionally mature and have limitations. That doesn’t make me weak. Just human.

Thanks for Reading!

I’m on a journey to create a blended career across the creative arts, tech, and business. This newsletter is my way of sharing my reflections, thoughts, and advice. Here are some ways to support my work:

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