When I shared my plans in a Pan-American Highway travelers’ group — that I’d be driving from the U.S. through Latin America, solo, with my three young children and four dogs — I expected curiosity, maybe a few practical questions, and a sense of community. After all, it’s a group of travelers, adventurers, and road-lifers, right?

What I didn’t expect was the undertone of discomfort.
Or the unsolicited concern.
Or the judgment.

Sure, I received support — and I’m grateful for the women and men who sent words of encouragement, who shared their own stories of travel with kids, who said, “Go. You’ve got this.”

But it was the other responses — the charged ones — that stayed with me. The ones that revealed just how deep our societal programming goes when a woman, especially a mother, chooses freedom on her own terms.

The Men: “Let Me Protect You”

Some of the men in the group quickly stepped into protector mode.

They offered suggestions for forming a caravan, asked about routes and safety gear, and even implied that it might be dangerous for me to do this alone — subtly or overtly suggesting I should not.

And while some of these comments came from a place of genuine care, they were also loaded with assumptions:

• That I must need a man beside me to make it safely.
• That I couldn’t possibly have planned for this.
• That it would be reckless — or naive — for a woman to do this alone.

I realized that to many of these men, independence looks like vulnerability when it’s a woman behind the wheel.

The Women: “I Would Never Do That to My Children”

Some of the most pointed comments came from other mothers.

They said things like:

• “What happens to your kids if something happens to you?”
• “I would never do this to my children.”
• “You’re putting them in danger.”

And beneath those words, I heard a quiet echo:
How dare you.

Not in anger — but in fear.
Because when a woman refuses to shrink into the safety box society built for her — especially as a mother — it terrifies those who’ve lived by the rules.

Some mothers have been told (and have accepted) that their dreams must always come second. That motherhood means predictability. That risk and adventure and identity are things you give up — not reclaim — when you have children.

So when they see someone doing the opposite, it doesn’t just surprise them. It threatens them.

Why the Reactions Matter — And Why I’m Still Going

I’ve realized now that the discomfort isn’t really about me.

It’s about the narrative I’m disrupting.

I’m not just traveling — I’m challenging the default story of what a mother is allowed to do.
I’m not just road-tripping — I’m living outside the frame they’ve been handed.
I’m not just moving toward something new — I’m walking away from the myth that women must stay small to keep their children safe.

And that? That makes people nervous.

The Truth Is:

• I’ve planned this carefully.
• I’m financially stable.
• I’ve done the research, the soul work, the logistics.
• My kids are loved, safe, and excited.
• This is not a breakdown. It’s a becoming.

And I am not dragging my children into danger.
I am showing them how to live.
I am showing them what it means to listen to your own voice — even when the world is shouting over it.

To the Ones Who Whispered “Maybe One Day…”

Among the criticism, there were a few quiet voices that stayed with me — women who said:

“I’ve always dreamed of something like this.”
“I wish I had the courage.”
“Maybe someday…”

To you, I want to say:
It’s not crazy. It’s not reckless. It’s possible.
You can write your own story, even if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else.

I’m Not Waiting for Permission

I’m going.
And whether you cheer me on or question me — I’ll still be crossing borders, drinking strong coffee under foreign skies, and teaching my children that freedom is not something you find.
It’s something you claim.

This is not just a trip.
This is my legacy.
And one day, I hope my children look back and say, “That was when our lives opened wide.”