Solo Safety Rules I Live By

Lisa McGowan
Jan 13
4 min read

... for women travelling alone (van life & off-grid)

This isn’t a fear-based manifesto.

It’s a lived one.

These rules didn’t come from reading headlines or imagining worst‑case scenarios. They came from being alone — repeatedly — and paying attention to what actually keeps me safe.

I live and travel solo. Often off‑grid. Often unnoticed. And very intentionally.

What follows isn’t advice. You don’t need to live like me. But if you’ve ever felt silly for leaving early, dramatic for trusting your gut, or rude for prioritizing your safety — this is what that looks like in practice.

1. If the energy feels off, I leave.

No negotiating. No “maybe I’m overthinking it.”

Examples:

Walking down a trail and suddenly feeling anxious or deeply uncomfortable — hyperawareness kicks up twelve notches — I turn around and go straight back to my van.
Driving through a town where the vibes feel eerie and nowhere feels safe to stop — I try to never return.
Parking for the night when a minivan pulls up beside me after a very creepy interaction earlier on the trail. The driver stared directly into my camera every 8–10 seconds like he didn’t care who noticed.

Yeah. Never going near that parking lot again.(Bummer — I liked that trail.)

Leaving early has never once been the wrong choice.

2. If my intuition speaks, I listen.

I’ve learned that when it comes to immediate safety, my intuition doesn’t explain itself. There are no becauses. No emotional buildup. No story attached. It speaks in short, direct commands.

Examples:

Walking into my home forest — a place I’ve been a thousand times — and hearing: “Not today.” “Nope.” “Not even another step.” I turned around.
Part two of the parking lot story: I was in the back of my van and heard, “Window covers. Now.” I put them up ninja‑style — one‑handed, barely secured, just enough to block his view of me and the inside of my van.
In Nova Scotia during my van‑life trial period, I heard: “Go. Now. Go. Now.” A very large man had already come by and said, “There’s been a lot of scary things happening around here.” If I hadn’t listened immediately, I’m 90% sure he would’ve blocked my van in. I swerved out at the literal last possible second.

Intuition doesn’t argue. It instructs.

3. More eyes, more problems.

This one has sub‑rules — and yes, it’s ironic given that I post my life online.

In densely populated areas, I:

Don’t stay in one place for too long
Don’t hang out outside my van — I get in, I get out
Put up window covers front and back immediately
Never let someone who makes me uncomfortable see me (or Flo) more than once — I don’t return
Don’t make friends with strangers
Never tell strangers I live in my van

I see safety as a numbers game.

Living in the woods vs. living in a city:

In a week in a city, I might make eye contact with hundreds of people — and hundreds more could see me without me knowing.
In a week in the woods, I might see no one — maybe a handful of people without realizing it.

Now apply ratios.

If 1 in 10 people has the potential to be a threat (not a real statistic — just an easy way to illustrate):

10 people in the woods = maybe 1 potential risk in a week
250 people in a city = 25 potential risks

More eyes, more problems.

“But if something happens, you’re alone in the woods!”

My rules are preventative. The goal is to avoid something happening in the first place.

And honestly? Bad things happen in cities surrounded by people every day.

More eyes does not guarantee more help.

4. Communication station at all times.

Someone always knows where I am, what I’m doing, and when they should hear from me.
If I encounter any uncomfortable situation, I tell someone immediately.
I have backup plans for time off‑grid.
No disappearing acts. No unnecessary risk.

5. I trust myself.

Not blindly — intentionally.

I trust the version of me that has survived every situation I once thought would break me.

I trust the instincts that learned to speak clearly when words were no longer useful.

I trust that I don’t need proof before acting, and I don’t need permission before leaving.

These rules aren’t about living in fear.

They’re about living in alignment — with my body, my intuition, and my lived experience.

And that trust? It’s the most important safety system I have.

This isn’t fear. It’s freedom.

Freedom isn’t recklessness. It isn’t pretending the world is safer than it is.

Freedom is knowing my limits, respecting my instincts, and building systems that let me live the life I choose — without outsourcing my safety to luck or strangers.

These rules don’t shrink my world.