How it began

It didn’t start small

It didn’t begin with a desire for freedom.
Not with travel, not with a plan.

It began with our daughter.
And with the moment we realised that what we were doing was no longer helping her.

She has always been sensitive, sharp and intense. But somewhere along the way, something changed. Not all at once, but slowly and quietly. More tension, more sadness, less space to simply be a child.

And most importantly: she didn’t recover anymore.
 

Breaks no longer worked

We did what felt logical. Keeping weekends calm. Waiting for school holidays. Taking a breath. But where she used to bounce back after a few days or weeks, that no longer happened.

After holidays she remained empty, after moments of rest the tension returned. As if she was constantly on her toes, even at home.

That may have been the most frightening part: there was no longer a natural return to ease.
 

At some point, you stop asking what might work, and start asking what your child needs to survive.

Oslo

In Oslo, something broke inside me.

It was meant to be a family holiday, something nice. But everything that had been simmering beneath the surface for months came together there. The cold, the stimuli, the expectations. And a child who simply couldn’t anymore.

I remember looking at her. Overwhelmed. Stuck. And feeling it clearly: this is too much. Not a little. Not temporary. Too much.

Somewhere in the middle of those days, something in me snapped as well. Not a classic burnout, but something deeper. A kind of panic that lodged itself in my body.

I still carry that moment with me. Every time someone says, “Maybe it’s time to go back to normal,” my body goes straight back there.

And everything in me says: no.
 

This wasn’t about wanting, but about being able to

The hardest part was that from the outside, everything looked fine. But we saw something else. At home. In the small moments.

This wasn’t about a child who didn’t feel like it. Not about parenting or setting boundaries.

This was about a child who was constantly pushed beyond her limits, and parents who began to understand that adjusting within the same framework was no longer enough.
 

This was about one child

This wasn’t about our children in general. And it wasn’t about a vague feeling that the system didn’t fit.

This was about our daughter.

About a child whose light had faded. About a girl who once overflowed with creativity, but no longer showed it. Who at home could only cry and scream. Who was so tense that everything seemed to hurt.

When we finally sought help, we were told she was on the edge of burnout. Six years old.

That was the moment everything became painfully clear. This wasn’t a phase. Not something to “push through.”

This was a child who could no longer cope.
 

A cornered animal

For her, we began to consider things we had never considered before. A cornered animal makes unexpected moves, and that’s exactly how it felt.

Through family, the idea of a world trip came up. Not out of a thirst for adventure, but out of a desire for connection. To be together. Away from the noise. Away from everything that demanded something from us.

But a world trip didn’t fit us. Not a man with driving anxiety, flight anxiety and a deep need for certainty. Not a family that needed grounding.

So we looked for a middle ground. Not a world trip, but travelling through Europe. With fixed anchor moments in the Netherlands. Our home as a safe place. Family close by.

It felt big. Scary. And at the same time, necessary.
 

The decision

Once we decided to let her finish the school year, something strange happened. We couldn’t wait. And at the same time, we doubted everything.

Not just whether it would help, but everything around it. What about the long term? Would our children still have friends? Would they miss things they would only understand later?

Could we actually handle this, so far away from everything familiar? And what if something happened, something frightening or dangerous, while we were far from home?

These weren’t rational questions with clear answers. They were worries that surfaced in the quiet evenings. Worries you don’t reason away, but carry with you as you move forward anyway.

We didn’t have a big plan. No roadmap. Only the certainty that continuing as we were was no longer an option.

That was the beginning.
Not of travel.
But of listening.

Share on

0 replies