Her Travel Memories

The Part of Burnout Recovery Nobody Talks About

This is a burnout recovery story that starts exactly the way you’d expect — with a completely unrealistic plan and absolutely no energy to execute it.

Her Travel Memories. It’s a sweet name, isn’t it? It’s also a name with a story.
Back in March 2025, about two months after my burnout diagnosis, I felt like I desperately needed an escape plan.
Because one thing had become very clear: I couldn’t go back to Deloitte. And if I’m being honest, I was terrified of going back to any big audit firm. I suddenly found myself without a future I believed in.
Without a backup plan.
Without a clue what came next.
And that is the first thing you need to know.

If you haven’t read my burnout story first you might want to check it out here : Part 1 what burnout felt like.

The second thing you need to know is that from 2023 until the end of 2024, I had developed a fantasy. The worse things got at work, the stronger that fantasy became. I wanted to pack everything up and disappear.
I wanted van life. Not the realistic version, mind you. Not the camping stove and muddy boots version.
No.
I wanted the cute Instagram version. The beautiful converted van. The coffee by the lake. The cozy blankets. The endless freedom. The version where you wake up every morning somewhere new and magically forget all your problems.
So when burnout happened, that fantasy became a plan.

Or at least what I thought was a plan:
Pack everything up.
Create travel content.
Travel the world.
Take photos.
Get paid brand deals.
Live happily ever after.
Simple.

At least it seemed simple inside my burnout-fried brain. So I created an Instagram account. Her Travel Memories. I started posting old travel photos. I made reels. I watched travel creators. I tried to learn the algorithm. I tried to become one of them.

Looking back, I think I had become so deprived of life, joy, experiences, and freedom that I wanted the complete opposite.
I didn’t want balance. I wanted an overdose of living. And travel became the symbol of that.
The solution.
Or at least what I hoped would be the solution.

Except…
It’s not that easy.
Or maybe it is and I just have absolutely no idea how people do it.
Either way, I obviously did not become a travel influencer.

And honestly?
I don’t think I ever truly wanted to.
I wanted an escape.
That’s different.

The problem was that I was barely functioning. I could barely get off the couch to make a bowl of instant noodles. Which, at the time, represented roughly 80% of my diet. So managing the consistency, energy, creativity, and presence required to grow an Instagram account?
Yeah.
Big flop.

I would overthink every detail. Disappear for weeks. Stop posting. Start again. Delete everything. Redo everything. Have a breakdown. Repeat. Then I would look at successful travel creators and wonder what they had that I didn’t.
Besides hundreds of thousands of followers. Besides a life that looked exciting. Besides actual energy.

I wanted that life. From my couch. In my oversized grey hoodie. Holding a bowl of instant noodles. Completely burned out.
Got the picture?
Looking back, it’s kind of funny. And totally delusional.

But mostly sad.
Because I wasn’t really chasing Instagram success. I was chasing hope. And at the time, Her Travel Memories was the only hope I had. So I held onto it.
From March until May.

With huge gaps in between because, well… I was still severely burned out. And then one day, I disappeared. Not because I gave up. Because life had other plans. I did end up packing my things. Just not for the reason I expected.

I wasn’t moving into a van. I was moving back in with my parents. Because I needed help. Because I needed someone else to carry some of the weight. Because I needed a place where resting wasn’t something I had to earn.
So that’s exactly what I did. And for the first time in a very long time, I stopped trying to escape. I just rested
Until October 2025.
But that’s another story.

As for Her Travel Memories?
Well.
The original plan failed completely. No van. No brand deals. No travel influencer career. But funny enough, the name survived. And so did I.
It turns out Her Travel Memories wasn’t the escape plan.
It became the place where I documented everything that came after.

The breakdown.
The healing.
The rebuilding.
And all the failed attempts in between.

Because trust me. This was only the first one. And I’ll tell you all about the others in future articles. I seem to collect them. But it’s okay. It’s part of the process I guess.