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This winter I had the pleasure and privilege of spending two and a half weeks in the land of my maternal ancestors.

While growing up, my Irish identity was drilled into every inch and crevice of my life.

Beaming with pride each time anyone asked me about my unusual name. Studying the quick footsteps of the only other Breda I’d ever met, my Irish dance teacher. Participating in every St. Patrick’s Day parade and “Feis.” Frequently allowing my mind to wander aimlessly between the green fields, rainbows, cliffs, and castles of the place my family came from.

The older I got and the more I traveled, the less amused I became at visiting Ireland. Gradually, the countries I had no connection with and the smallest idea of the language became more intriguing. I visited Ireland once for five days as a university student seven years ago, and even at this time, I was more focused on meeting people at pubs and taking pictures of the Cliffs of Moher for my Instagram. I moved through that quick trip as a younger version of myself with eyes looking towards the next exotic destination where my native tongue would not be the primary language. Although I did have a good time in Galway and Dublin, that visit didn’t have nearly as profound of an effect on me as my most recent travels to the ‘motherland’.

So, how did I end up in the birthing place of my great-grandparents for Christmas this past year in the first place?

It starts with the fall of 2021 back in my hometown after the first two years in a pandemic had slowly passed me by. Winter was approaching, I had just left my job, and my hunger for adventure was deeper than my distaste of short days and cold weather.

I bought a one-way flight to Europe.

This meant inevitably spending the holidays abroad. Although I’ve done this before, I’ve always been surrounded by community. Despite being an adventurous soul, I’m also realistic and knew that after a couple of years of pandemic-induced isolation, I shouldn’t spend the holidays in an unknown place alone. That’s when I messaged Mary about my trip, a woman from County Mayo who I met while teaching English in China. She held no relation to my Mulroe/Lydon relatives but still came from the exact county in Ireland that my family immigrated from. She responded to my message with an almost instantaneous invitation to County Mayo for Christmas.

After a couple of inaugural travel weeks of hopping through Europe with my sister, I arrived in Dublin alone about a week before Christmas. Back in 2014, I was quick to write off this city as a 20-year-old. My distracted, young, fast-paced, starry-eyed mind wasn’t impressed by the grimy streets of Ireland’s capital. Now that I’m older and have had more travel experience, with each new arrival to a destination I encourage my mind to embrace a place more slowly. To give the country/city/people a better chance to change my mind and any preconceptions I may have.

This time around, Dublin wowed me. The gorgeous holiday lights and decorations covering the city might have helped, but so did a matured perspective for travel.

The top highlights of staying in Dublin before Christmas were as follows – my generous hosts, day trips to Belfast and Glendalough, and visiting the Irish Emigration Museum.

Two of my aunt’s friends, Robin and Tom, kindly opened up their home to me before we’d ever even met. They provided a comfortable space in arguably the best location in the city. A room of my own in a home directly above the River Liffy and a short walk to the main city. Not to mention, plenty of pubs to choose from within close proximity. I was so grateful to this wonderful couple that welcomed me into their home with generosity and fun company. Their spirits seemed to be alive in Dublin and it rubbed off on me with ease.  

As December is off-season for tourism, I enjoyed a great discount through Finn McCools Tours on two different day trips. The first trip began with a 6 am meeting time for a drive all the way up through Northern Ireland. I hopped over the magical rocky landscape of Giant’s Causeway, saw where part of Game of Thrones was filmed at the Dark Hedges, and wandered through the Belfast Christmas Market.

The second trip was my favorite of the two, mostly because the monastic ruins of Glendalough swept me completely off my feet. The centuries-old headstones which lay in front of a picturesque landscape had my mind spinning with thoughts on life and death. I took a peaceful walk through the graveyard and down to the lake, allowing myself to have a reflective bout of time in nature.

From Glendalough, the tour bus went further into the Wicklow Mountains and stopped at a farm where we observed a sheep herding demonstration and held precious three-week-old Border Collies. It was a fun and unique experience to watch the farmer communicate through a language of whistles to his obedient collie. After sharing in laughter at the looks of pure terror on the confused flock of sheep as they bounded across the field, we left for the final destination of Kilkenny to view the castle and have dinner in a local pub.

The final biggest highlight of my time in Dublin was touring the Irish Emigration Museum, EPIC. I visited a few days after I arrived in Dublin, and it ended up being one of my top favorite experiences of the entire trip. The exhibits were interactive and colorful, producing a deep inspiration for the strength and courage of my own ancestors and their journey overseas. The pride for my Irish roots pumped wildly through my veins as I strolled through each room.

When December 23rd came around, I hopped on a cross-country bus from Dublin to Ballina, a hub in the northwest corner of County Mayo. It was after dark when I arrived at Ballina bus station and reunited with Mary. After a quick attempt at getting into the driver’s seat of her car while forgetting the roads were flipped in Ireland, I finally got into the rightful passenger seat. We drove about 20 minutes past the smaller nearby town of Crossmolina and deeper into the countryside. The most that I could make out in the darkness was that her house was situated on top a small hill of their property. I was greeted inside the home by her son, Padraig, her 17-year-old rescue pup, Tiny, and her 8-month-old kitten, Millie. We spent the rest of the evening sharing food and stories. Later on, the final Christmas guests arrived - Mary’s daughter, Maeve, Son-in-law, Colin, and their 4-month-old Great Dane puppy, Orla. The holiday squad was officially complete.

I woke up on the first morning to discover that Mary’s home was sitting on a lake peninsula, with the waters of Lough Conn surrounding both sides of the house. It was a moment that took my breath away in deep realization that I’d be spending Christmas in this Irish countryside heaven. 

The next few days were nothing short of heart-warming. The company of this global family with roots in the very same county that my own family came from did not sit lightly with me. I looked around during a bout of laughter at Christmas dinner, piles of food on the table, love seeping out of each person’s being and felt completely embraced by my heritage, regardless of being linked by blood to this family.

The rest of my time in County Mayo was spent with equal distribution of rest and exploration. Mary and I went on two day-trips together, one to Achill Island and another to Sligo.

The high cliffs and outstanding beauty of Achill made it an all-time favorite destination.

I took myself to Galway for a day as well, aching to get back to a city that I had fallen in love with when I visited seven years ago. Galway filled me with Irish goodness, love, and hot whiskey before sending me on a bus back up north to Ballina. 

In between these moments on the road and on our feet, we remained cozy in Mary’s home of Crossmolina, embraced by lake views and consumed by good books and Irish soap operas.

On the bus back to Dublin I reflected on the warmth shared by this kind and welcoming Irish family. It had me thinking yet again of my own ancestors. If they were still around, would I have stayed with them? Would I have enjoyed holiday meals and bouts of laughter with people I know nothing more of than names on a family tree?

Heading back to Dublin, my mother sent me old photos of her grandparents’ land which had been recently sent to her by a cousin. I gasped when I opened them. The terrain looked extremely similar to the landscape of Lough Conn and Crossmolina. I knew I had been close, but that close?!

My mom encouraged me to meet with a genealogist when I got back to Dublin, so I set up an appointment with the Irish Emigration Museum’s consultation services. The half-hour I spent back at the museum doing a deep dive into my family history had me in chills and on the verge of tears the entire time.

We found my great-grandparents’ names on an Illinois census after they came to the states.

We found the small town my great-grandmother came from in County Mayo.

We found an old survey of the land, showing it to be poor farming conditions, leading to an assumption on their motivations to leave in the first place.

We came close to finding my great-grandmother’s birth certificate, but the genealogist left me with the tools to complete the task on my own.

Even with the discovery of these details, it was still up to my mind to fill in the gaps. What were these people like? How did they meet? How was their experience of uprooting their lives to a new country altogether? If any at all, who are their relatives (my relatives) left in County Mayo? 

I am here, on this Earth, as an adventure-loving 28-year-old because these people lived and loved. Because they made life-altering decisions with the well-being of their family in mind. I am so proud to have been born a descendant of Irish immigrants, and I’ll continue to do what I can to discover the history of these people who have led to me being on this Earth today. Finally, I’m grateful for the warmth of Ireland and the wonderful connections I have there for embracing me during such an intimate, loving, and celebratory time of year.