In 2025, I did the biggest thing I’d ever done. I took the kids car camping on the North Coast. Just us. No backup plan. No easy exit.
Looking back, I still don’t fully know what I was thinking.
Fear, Loud and Immediate
It felt like fear incarnate. The kind that arrives fully formed, armed with what-ifs, practical concerns, and worst-case scenarios that feel strangely convincing. The what-ifs were relentless. They tried, quite genuinely, to drown me.
Everything felt amplified. Responsibility. Noise. Exhaustion. The knowledge that I was the only adult there, holding it all together.
And yet, we stayed.
Ballintoy, At Dawn
We woke early, bundled together in a tangle of limbs and blankets, and watched the sun rise over Ballintoy. The ocean slowly woke the world, colours shifting quietly as the day began.
It was still. Properly still. The kind of quiet you don’t get at home.
In that moment, the fear loosened its grip.
Nothing Went to Plan (and That Was the Point)
We slept in a cuddle. We laughed a lot. We tried to fish, but the fish clearly weren’t fans of my boisterous, brilliant children, so we pivoted and fished for seaweed instead.
Nothing went to plan, and nothing needed to.
It wasn’t polished or serene. It was noisy and imperfect and deeply alive.
Do It Scared
Somewhere along the way, do it scared became my mantra.
I’ve noticed that fear rarely disappears before you act. What does change is how much space it takes up afterwards. The second time is always less frightening than the first. Not because the situation is easier, but because you’ve grown.
Each time I do something scared, I carry a little more proof with me. Proof that I can handle discomfort. Proof that fear doesn’t get to decide the outcome.
Why It Mattered
This wasn’t about being brave or proving anything. It was about letting the kids see that you can do things even while afraid. That fear and joy can exist at the same time.
It’s the kind of night I know they’ll talk about when they’re older. The story that resurfaces decades from now, because it felt different. Because it mattered.
Closing Thoughts
Sometimes the moments that feel most impossible going in become the ones that anchor you later.
I was terrified. I grew. And it was incredible.
