I spent most of yesterday waiting.
Waiting for an answer that felt like it held far more weight than it probably should have.
I refreshed my emails more times than I’d like to admit. I couldn’t settle. I couldn’t concentrate. I wandered from room to room, trying to distract myself, but my mind refused to leave it alone.
By the time the handyman left, I climbed into bed.
I wasn’t tired. I felt emotionally heavy.
I curled up under the covers hoping if I stayed still enough, the feeling might pass.
About half an hour later I heard the front door open.
My husband was home.
A few moments later my son appeared at the bedroom door.
“Mum,” he said, “I thought you’d be out walking.”
I made an excuse.
“I’m shattered.”
Then he smiled.
“You should go. It’ll make you feel better.”
I don’t think he realised what he’d just said.
Years ago, when I was homeschooling him, those were my words.
Whenever he was overwhelmed, I’d say exactly the same thing.
Let’s go for a walk.
Sometimes we’d wander to our little place we called Cuckoo’s Nook.
Sometimes we’d end up in Tesco buying his favourite cookies.
The destination never really mattered.
It was always the walking.
With every step, I’d watch his shoulders relax.
The conversation would start flowing again.
By the time we came home, it often felt like I had a completely different little boy.
Yesterday…
Those words came back to me.
Only this time, they weren’t coming from me.
They were coming from him.
So I got up.
My husband offered to come with me.
Instead, I asked him to drive me to Tesco.
We barely spoke.
The windows were down.
The warm evening air drifted through the car.
We bought a bottle of wine and a few completely random bits neither of us probably needed.
On the way home I said,
“I’m going for a walk.”
This time…
Alone.
The first few minutes were difficult.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Every step felt like I was choosing to keep moving when all I really wanted to do was stop.
I shuffled through my playlist looking for something.
I wasn’t even sure what.
Then Joy Rhodes Supposed To started playing.
Everything is working out exactly like it’s supposed to…
I played it again.
And again.
Every time it finished, I pressed repeat.
Somewhere between the first chorus and the fifth…
Something shifted.
The uncertainty hadn’t disappeared.
Nothing outside of me had actually changed at all.
But I had.
When I got home, I felt lighter.
It wasn’t like I suddenly knew what was going to happen.
I’d just remembered that I don’t have to force everything.
Some things arrive through timing.
Through trust.
Through letting life unfold instead of trying to wrestle it into place.
Later that evening, while looking through an old pile of books, I found a notebook.
On the front it said…
My Story.
The first page was dated 21 August 2020.
Five years ago.
I started reading.
“I don’t want a job. I want a life.”
“I don’t feel free.”
“One day I will live somewhere beautiful… somewhere that allows me to be creative… to do something I love… so I can love me.”
I sat there in complete silence.
Five years ago I had no idea Suitcases & Stories would exist.
No idea people would one day see pieces of themselves in my words.
No idea I’d slowly start building a home that finally felt like me.
No idea I’d still be chasing freedom…
Just in a completely different way.
And then I turned the page.
The next chapter…
Was about homeschooling my son.
About those walks.
The very walks that carried us through some of the hardest seasons of our lives.
Yesterday…
Those same walks carried me.
Funny how life works sometimes.
We spend years trying to teach our children how to navigate difficult days.
Then one ordinary afternoon…
They remind us how.
Sometimes the paths that carry us forward are the very same ones that once carried us home.
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If you enjoy honest travel, thoughtful reflections and the stories that happen in between, I’d love to have you along.
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