Meet Amanda
When I was in third grade, a new girl was bullied on the bus. I was too far away to stick up for her, so that night I wrote her a letter on my best Lisa Frank stationary. I told her I had been the new kid too, and it would get better. I promised.
My whole life, it's been important to me to help others never felt as alone as I once did.
I spent my life trying to belong.
We moved every two or three years, new city, new school, new everything. I was always the new kid, the one who had to start over, learn the rules, read the room, find her people.
My parents were the constant: two of the kindest, most genuine and honest people I’ve ever known. My dad worked hard to keep us stable, and my mom filled every place we lived with love. She taught me to be inclusive and kind, and let people know they mattered.
But then my worst nightmare came true – my mom died.
She understood me in a way no one else ever has. With her it was safe to be honest, vulnerable, and completely myself.
Her name was Roberta or affectionally called Birdie.
What they don’t tell you about grief that when the person you love dies, parts of yourself go with them. Other relationships, even within your family, change. I was lost, heartbroken, and betrayed.
I didn’t know what to do with myself without her, so I decided to do exactly what I wanted.
I bought a one-way ticket to Roatan, Honduras, and signed myself up for a dive master program.
Honduras was the first country of years of slow travel from Central America to India to the Middle East and Australia.
It was like I needed the space of the whole world to feel like I could breathe again.
I spent my time with people who were also far from home. It’s hard to explain the bond you can have with a stranger on the other side of the world. But between diving with sharks, bungee jumping off bridges, navigating crazy trains, experiencing all these shared firsts with incredible people – something in me started to feel alive again.
I started a Facebook group called The Solo Female Traveler Network.
I wanted to connect women who were doing the same thing I was: figuring out life, travel, and themselves along the way.
Within two years, it had exploded into a global community. Women were meeting up in real life, forming friendships, and traveling together.
Eventually, I hosted my first group trip to Bali. I made a website from the sofa of house sit in Melbourne. It was baby-blue with white font and just as ugly as it sounds, but it worked. The trip sold out. Then another one. Then another country…
What started as a way to meet people turned into something far bigger: a movement. Eight years later, we’ve taken thousands of women to over 20 countries around the world, not just to see new places, but to feel less alone in them.
After years of traveling and feeling deeply connected to people everywhere I went, I came home. And it hit me how hard it is to belong in a culture that celebrates independence.
For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t an expat or a traveler. I was the new kid again trying to make friends, and it was surprisingly hard. What had come naturally abroad took real intention here.
That’s why I started Kindred Community. I host “connection retreats,” short getaways designed less around travel and more around togetherness. Women gather to laugh, rest, play games, share stories, and remember what it feels like to be seen.
Community, I’ve learned, isn’t a goal you reach. It’s a practice. You build it, nurture it, and protect it. And even when you have it, it doesn’t erase loneliness, but it does make it easier to hold.
