I took a ‘momcation’ solo trip to Hawaii. It was fine. I did everything I can’t do with my daughter. I also missed her the entire time.
My daughter’s first trip to Hawaii was for a milestone birthday of mine (don’t dare even ask!). We went to Kauai, my favorite island, where we watched albatross from the cliffs, hiked a breathtaking stretch of the north coast, and ate shaved ice, passion fruits (lilikoi!), and raw cacao beans in that order, sometimes twice in the same afternoon. She came home with a new life rule: given the choice between the ocean and anything else, she picks the ocean. It was a good choice. We went next to the Big Island, where we swam with manta rays at night, drove up through cloud cover into Volcanoes National Park, and sat spellbound by the Pacific Ocean at the Four Seasons Hualalai with views that made her ask why we ever go anywhere else.
This time, I went without her. Honolulu and Maui. She was at home, looked after. And at 12, surprisingly untroubled by my guilt about going. I’d been planning it for months, deliberately solo, and the guilt arrived anyway — manageable at first, loudest on the plane where she wasn’t seated next to me staring at a screen, licking potato chip dust off her fingers.
Solo traveling is booming
Niro Feliciano, a licensed clinical social worker who writes the “Is This Normal?” column for Today, described mom guilt in 2025 as “what you feel when you criticize yourself because you didn’t live up to an expectation that you set for yourself as a parent.” Mine was the standard version: traveling for work is acceptable, but a present, attentive mother doesn’t take a solo vacation. And this was partly work (it’s always work!), but you can’t really go to Hawaii without it being some sort of vacation. And I’d been running on empty for months — what’s the saying, burning the candle at both ends, meals eaten standing, no sentence finished without an interruption — I’d planned this trip on purpose. And, so, I went.
The U.S. solo travel market is projected to reach $191 billion by 2030, according to Research and Markets, driven in part by what researchers call “mental wellness trends” — a category that increasingly includes mothers who’ve decided a few days alone is reasonable. The industry calls these trips “momcations.” It’s an awkward word, but the demand is real. But I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it. I love a trip to a beautiful, restful place, but I love it best when I get to experience it with my daughter.
Alone in Hawaii
The ‘Alohilani Resort is directly on Waikiki Beach, the water a short walk from check-in. My daughter would have been in the ocean before I even got my shoes off. So, instead of watching her catch waves, I walked, alone, up and down the beach. I found a good cup of Kona coffee on the way back and sat with it until I finished, which is a thing I cannot do at home without her needing something before the cup is empty. I slept without an alarm. That was excellent. One evening at the hotel restaurant, I realized I hadn’t looked at my phone since I’d arrived — I’d just been staring out at the horizon, sipping something tropical, eating slowly without getting up to get anyone anything. I went to Pearl Harbor — something I’d been meaning to do for years, and something I knew my grandfather, who served in World War II, would have appreciated. It was nice to be there alone and quiet. I wandered for a few hours, unhurried and uninterrupted.
Unlike Waikiki, the Royal Lahaina Resort is exceptionally quiet. It sits on Maui’s on Kaanapali Beach, and reopened in August 2024, almost a year after the Lahaina wildfires killed 101 people and destroyed a neighborhood that had been there since the 19th century. The resort closed for ten months and housed displaced staff and community members before reopening with two new restaurants. The staff when I arrived in April had a warmth that I’d seen here in Los Angeles after the Eaton fire destroyed my daughter’s dad’s home: people who had been through something hard together show a specific kind of kindness. Kaanapali Beach was a clear, brilliant turquoise that photographs don’t fully capture. I fell asleep to the sound of the waves just steps outside my door, drank cocktails at the pool bar, and stared into the blue until I couldn’t tell if it was the ocean or the sky.
I drove through Lahaina. The neighborhood is still being rebuilt, and nearly three years later, the scale of what was lost is unmistakeable. I thought about the Royal Lahaina staff for a while after that — about what it had meant to stay, to keep showing up, before the resort reopened and after. They’re growing trees on the property for fire victims, waiting for homeowners to let them know when they’re ready for them. It made me miss my daughter even more. I wanted to share this experience with her. So much of our travels have been immersed in community stories, and this was one she would relate to.
On the drive from Kaanapali down to Wailea, I stopped at Ali’i Kula Lavender Farm on the slopes of Haleakalā. The farm is at elevation, cool and fragrant, with a long view down toward the coast. I wandered aimlessly, smelling flowers, watching birds, breathing slowly. I drove the rest of the way to Wailea with the windows down. Wailea is quieter than Kaanapali — more private, a different pace. The Andaz Maui at Wailea Resort sits above a private beach with direct views of Molokini Crater and Kahoolawe, and the property feels calm and soft, not unlike the breeze that flows through it. The rooms are exceptionally well appointed —true luxury before you even factor in the pools, the beach, the food, the services. The Āwili Spa and Salon is genuinely good — treatments rooted in Hawaiian healing traditions. I spent an afternoon there and came out properly rested. Morimoto Maui, the restaurant on the property, is excellent; after dinner, I lingered, which is not easy to do when there’s a child bouncing around in front of me.
I fell asleep in a hammock one afternoon and woke up to the view of Molokini. I read a book I had been putting off for months. I started taking photographs I didn’t intend to post anywhere — the beach path at a certain time of morning, the pool, the plumeria near the villas — and realized after a while that they were for my daughter. Things I wanted to show her. I’d spent the trip doing things that were specifically, quietly mine: seeking out coffee, visiting Pearl Harbor, touring the lavender farm, following an egret down the beach. And I’d also spent it cataloguing everything she’d love: sweeping views, fancy, fruit drinks, boys on surf boards, my toes in the pool.
Mollie Krengel, founder of the women’s travel company Wildhive, told Fox Business that when we give ourselves these experiences, “we return home a better mom, a better wife, a better colleague and a better friend. We connect deeper within ourselves, we transform, and we are reminded of who we are without the identities that often take precedence when we are home, such as mom, wife, daughter, and so on.”
Feliciano, in the same column: “Think about the parent you want your kids to be. It’s not the one who has it all together. It’s someone who gives grace, tries to be present, makes time to take care of their own needs and finds joy outside their kids. If I want them to know this, I need to model it.”
I get it. Sort of. But I also didn’t travel much as a child except for family visits over the holiday breaks. My first trip out of the country wasn’t until I was 21 — six weeks backpacking in Australia that I’d saved up for for more than a year. I want something different for my daughter. In her first dozen years, she’s been all over the world: London, France, New York, Costa Rica, the Maldives, Morocco, Hong Kong, Hawaii. And I’ve been right there next to her, pointing out things and letting her point things out to me. In New York in February, she walked alone from our hotel in the Lower East Side to a matcha shop around the corner, sending me photos of the snow and people walking by her.
I always tell her to take photos of the ordinary things when traveling — the things you’ll forget like the bathroom sink, a half un-packed suitcase, a pile of snow. We’re always looking for the iconic vacation moments to capture — the view from the Empire State Building, the Eiffel Tower, a Hawaiian sunset. It’s the ordinary moments that stay with you, the things that look completely different when you’re not at home. And perhaps that’s why my ‘mom guilt’ wasn’t really guilt at all.
My daughter asked when I got home if I’d had a good time. I had, of course. It was fine. But it could have been better. Did I miss the point of the mom trip? I missed being a mom for most of it, feeling almost as if I was cheating myself by being there without my daughter. Almost as soon as I unpacked I started planning our next trip — together.
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