The Other Side of the Sky

Suhadee Henriquez
Jun 22
3 min read

By: Su The Flying Psychotherapist

There’s a side of aviation the world doesn’t always see. It’s not the perfectly ironed uniform, the smiling service, or the dreamy window seat views. It’s the life behind the wings—the one carried in silence, in sacrifice, in solitude. The unseen world where duty often walks hand-in-hand with longing, and where beauty is often born out of exhaustion.

You learn quickly that time is no longer your own. You leave home before the sun rises or long after it has set. You miss birthdays, weddings, holidays… the moments others plan their lives around. Weekends aren’t for brunch or sleep-ins—they’re just more rotations, another city, another time zone. You begin to measure time not by calendars but by rotations, check-ins, and layovers.

You learn to study constantly—not just systems, procedures, weather, and safety—but people. How to calm a nervous flyer at 30,000 feet. How to hold space for grief, joy, panic, or celebration. You memorize emergency checklists, not because you expect something to happen—but because if it ever does, there’s no room for error. Lives are in your hands. Every. Single. Flight. And with every briefing and final cabin check, you silently recommit to that responsibility.

And still—you go. Even when the skies are unpredictable. Even when the wind challenges your every move. Even when the approach is demanding and the storms demand more of you than you thought you had left. You go. Because you were built for this. Because something in you answers the call to rise.

You get used to the quiet ache of hotel rooms that aren’t really yours. To the tray dinners. The time zones that confuse your body. You learn how to be alone—not lonely—but alone. And that’s not easy. But somehow, it becomes your rhythm. In that solitude, you meet yourself again and again. You learn to find peace in the unfamiliar, in the in-between.

Then, there’s the moment. The moment you zip up your uniform, step through that terminal, and walk onto the aircraft. You become part of something sacred. You sit in the jumpseat or the flight deck, and your office view? It’s the world—from above.

You fly over oceans and mountaintops, over glowing cities and snow-covered valleys. You chase sunrises. You ride alongside lightning. You see Earth as only a few do—from the edge of atmosphere and dream. And the sky, with all its unpredictability, becomes your teacher.

A place of surrender and strength. And with every landing, there’s a small sense of victory. Not just for getting the job done. But for being the thread that connects people to the ones they love. For being the quiet witness to so many stories unfolding in row 14 or seat 3C. For being the person who made someone feel safe, seen, or simply less alone in the sky. And those moments—they stay with you. Tucked away like souvenirs of the soul.

You work with the best—the fierce, the kind, the hilarious, the brave. You become family with strangers. You hold hands with fear, with fatigue, and still, you carry the joy of this life with pride.

Because being a flight attendant—or a pilot—isn’t just a job. It’s a calling.

A purpose stitched into your uniform, layered beneath your badge. It’s the pride of knowing you make the world a little smaller, a little more connected, every day. It’s the privilege of witnessing humanity from 36,000 feet—the reunions, the goodbyes, the whispered prayers, the nervous laughter.

So yes—it’s hard. It’s exhausting. It’s lonely. It demands more than it gives on some days.

But the moment those wheels lift off—or touch down—you feel it again: That you were born for this.

To rise.

To serve.

To soar.

To return with the skies inside you.

And that…

That makes it all worth it.

Suhadee (Su) Henriquez, LCSW

(She, her, Ella)

Active: NY, NJ, CA, CT, MA, PA, FL

Multicultural CBT-DBT, LLC