There’s a Beach in Seychelles That Healed a Part of Me I Didn’t Know Was Broken

Truth be told, all through time, the concept of being broken seemed alien to me; even though I was indeed broken then, I actually never knew I was. I carried on my life and daily activities just as normal as it came and as normal, as I predicted it should be. I had problems then and never though they were problems.

I was not aware that I was broken. I figured I simply needed a break. In addition, just like many other individuals, I was operating on empty without even knowing it. My days were running into deadlines and my evenings were silent bargaining with fatigue. Therefore, when I got the flight to Seychelles, it was more of an impulse than inspiration. I was not pursuing beauty or clarity—I just needed to breathe. But little did I know, that spontaneous decision would soon invite me to explore the natural wonders that slowly began stitching my spirit back together. I was simply exhausted.

Praslin Island was not on my first preference list. Reality has it that I had not ever really heard much about it until a friend said its beaches were worth a dream. That was sufficient to me. I had to have something distant, somewhere motionless. Something untouched.

I came in the latter afternoon, the sun being so low that it cast shadow along the shore. The salt and warm air was heavy. All was slower here, as though the island itself had elected to breathe more deeply than the world about it.

I arrived at Constance Lemuria discreetly, having very little expectations other than a clean bed and the view of the ocean. However, as soon as I opened the door to my room and walked out to the balcony, something within changed. The horizon did not seem a great distance off. It was like an invitation.

The Beach That Waited for Me

Later that day I ambled along a curving pathway bordered by palm trees until I was alone on Anse Georgette. I had not read about this beach. It was remote, guarded by a tropical forest and a sort of hushed admiration of those who had heard of it. The sand was soft, that powdery soft which is rarely found, and which is like silk under your feet. The sea was as smooth as glass, and the waves were lapping the shore in a soothing lullaby manner.

I dropped down in a chair, my shoes still in my hand, the city humming lightly still in my chest. then, in that quiet moments later, I began to sense it coming undone. Not everything. Just enough.

It is a particular type of silence that enables thoughts to emerge where they were hidden. Not heavily, or with pain, but as sunbeams manage to get through water. I began to recall how many years it was since I last was quiet. Because I had felt unnoticed and unpressured. Because I was used to being alone with myself and liked it.

More Than a Vacation

In the course of the following days, I released. I did not use laps when swimming. I also read without looking at my phone. I walked barefoot, dawdled over meals and rose with the sun. I encountered explorers whose tales made me realize that the world is still very broad. I spent hours in silent lengths of sand which seemed to have been waiting especially for me.

Constance Lemuria was not just a hotel to sleep. It was a part of the cure. The resort blended with the scenery in a manner that did not seem intrusive. It was all soft and deliberate and wonderfully subtle. I was also surprised to learn that it was also famous due to Constance Lemuria Praslin Seychelles golf breaks. Always golf had appeared so formal, but here even that appeared to have the beat of the sea in it–concentrated, elegant, peaceful.

It got me wondering how rest can have a different appearance to different people. In my case it was stillness. And to others perhaps it is a silent swing of a club beside the sea. It is finding that which matters, that thing which makes you feel complete once more.

What I brought Home

I did not leave Praslin fixed. And it was not a make-over that happened overnight. However I did come out lighter. I brought home with me the sensation of that beach, the voice of those waves, the silence which had revealed to me what I had not realised that I had lost.

The other thing that I brought home was the lesson that healing does not always come with a fanfare. It can make an appearance in the most unexpected places, and in a very quiet manner too. For solo travelers, it is a beach sometimes on an island you almost did not pick, on a vacation you almost did not go.

I am glad I did.