When we first hit the road, I thought it would be a nice reset. More time together as a family. Some adventure. Maybe a new place to live. The plan was simple: spend a couple of years traveling and find our next hometown.

What I didn’t expect was how quickly that plan would fade. We weren’t just traveling anymore. We were living, growing, and healing. This lifestyle became something so much more than a search for a new address.



Before RV life, we were always busy. Not just with schedules and commitments, but with expectations. There was always somewhere we were supposed to be, something we were supposed to do. I didn’t realize how heavy that constant pressure had become until we stepped away from it.

At first, the road felt like freedom. It was fun, light, and exciting. But what really surprised me was the quiet. The deep kind of stillness I hadn’t known I needed. We found ourselves drawn to remote campgrounds and nature preserves. The further we got from the noise, the more I could breathe.

That quiet gave space for something else too. Pieces of me I hadn’t realized were missing started coming back. I remembered how much I love to travel. That used to be part of who I was, but for a long time it felt out of reach. Finances were tight. Gas was expensive. Even a drive to the desert was hard to justify. But now, moving is part of our rhythm, and finding new places brings me joy again.

Of course, it hasn’t all been beautiful sunrises and campfires. There’s been fear. There still is sometimes. But I’ve never questioned our decision. Even when things got hard, this life always felt like the right one.

Our third year on the road was one of the hardest. We had just traded our first rig for a smaller one, and it was broken before we even made it to our first stop. We didn’t know it at the time, but the dealer had already flagged the issue before handing us the keys. That year, the same part failed almost like clockwork, every three months, give or take. We lived in the service bay for weeks, sleeping in the rig at night and getting kicked out during the day while it was being worked on. Eventually, the dealer picked it up for six months and we moved in with my dad.

It was during that time, off the road and trying to figure out what came next, that James brought up the idea of buying a house. Not to quit the lifestyle, but to set us up with something more secure. On paper, it made perfect sense. But the thought of being locked into one place again, even for just two years, scared me more than anything. After everything this lifestyle had given us, I couldn’t imagine being stuck. This wasn’t just something we were doing anymore. It was who we were.

If you’re just starting this journey, or maybe sitting in a campground wondering what you got yourself into, I want you to know something. Life is a gift. And living it your way is the best part of it.

Don’t worry about being Instagram perfect. If your kids are having a rough day, close the books. Go outside. Take the detour. That’s the beauty of this life, the freedom to reset.

You’re not alone in this. Whatever thoughts or struggles you’re having, I promise you’re not the only one. I’ve found more connection on the road than I ever had in one place. If you’re struggling to find that, reach out. Go outside. Stand in the sunshine. Let yourself be a little scared. Some of our greatest growth comes right after the hardest parts.

Lean on your family. And open your heart to the family you find on the road.