In just six days, I found myself at a breaking point. It might sound absurd to feel “stranded” in paradise, with endless options to socialize, hike, or explore, yet instead feeling like I was slowly deteriorating inside Avocet. At the time, I didn’t fully grasp the gravity of the situation. The repetitive cycle of days and the inability to break free from my routine was, in reality, a manifestation of subtle depression, cleverly disguised as “laziness.”

When Chris returned home to Avocet, it coincided with the first time I had ventured to shore since Peter and I parted ways. After a refreshing shower and a change into a dress, I joined him ashore for dinner. It was there that I broached the subject of crossing the Sea of Cortez—a decision that only added fuel to the emotional turmoil brewing within.

“What do you mean?” Chris responded, his question laced with pointed venom. He had longed to visit Isla Espiritu Santo and La Paz, places his brother had praised. Yet, while alone aboard Avocet and witnessing our friends enjoying themselves in La Cruz, I felt an urgent need to join them before they embarked on their Pacific crossing. After all, unlike our friends, the island wasn’t going anywhere The ensuing conversation was heated, to say the least. But amidst the turmoil, one thing became clear: I yearned for movement and a change of scenery, as the once captivating Sierra de la Giganta now felt like suffocating walls closing in on me.

Puerto Escondido on film

After several debates, arguments, and emotional breakdowns, Chris and I set our course towards the mainland, embarking on our third Sea of Cortez crossing. On the first day, I re-enlisted the help of BetterHelp to navigate through my feelings of frustration, self-isolation, and misunderstanding. I have and always will be a big advocate for mental health and I hope my transparency with my own struggles can inspire and  encourage others to seek help, or at the very least not feel alone or judged for needing support. As for our three-day passage, I wish I could offer more details. However, for once, we refrained from taking notes or snapping photos. Instead, we granted ourselves the grace and space to reconnect after our time apart and to alleviate some of the stress weighing heavily upon us.

On our final day at sea, the familiar outline of Chacala was off our bow, glowing in the afternoon light. It was reminiscent of our first introduction to this magical place nearly an entire year prior, before we knew what love and adventure waited for us just around the bend. I sat on the bow, and cried when the smell of the jungle reached my nose and the various shades of luscious green trees came into focus – who knew that one of the root causes of my latest onset depression was because I was desperately missing the color green? The Baja desert is beautiful in its own way, but my twenty minute cry cemented the fact that I need green to thrive. As I have retold this story to fellow sailing friends, I have discovered that many people feel the same way. 

With the anchor set we settled in for the evening, excited for the days to come. We reflected on our passage, made new goals for the week and discussed ways to strengthen our communication. Overall, the future was bright and it wasn’t just the glow from the palapas – but you’ll read all about that soon.

Sending love, 

Marissa (and Chris and Cleo)

P.S. our messages are always open if you need someone to talk to. However, we are far from professionals and will strongly suggest you to get a therapist – check out these resources