The Holiday I Almost Didn’t Take

For most people, a family holiday is a normal part of life.

You choose a destination.
Pack some bags.
Complain about the weather.
Come home with photographs and too much washing.

For me, it wasn’t normal at all.

This was my first family holiday in twenty years.

Not because I didn’t want to travel.
Not because I didn’t dream about seeing new places.
Not because I lacked curiosity.

The truth is much simpler than that.

For a very long time, I was afraid.

Not of holidays.
Not of the sea.
Not even of being away from home.

I was afraid of uncertainty.

I didn’t understand that at the time.

Before my autism and ADHD diagnoses, fear felt bigger and more complicated than it does now.

I didn’t know why unfamiliar situations overwhelmed me.
I didn’t know why change could leave me frozen.
I didn’t know why I would spend days imagining every possible thing that could go wrong.

All I knew was that new experiences came with a cost.

A cost that often felt too high.

So I became cautious.
Then careful.
Then avoidant.

Without really noticing, my world became smaller.

Years passed.
Then more years.
Eventually, twenty of them.

I didn’t stop living completely.
I raised children.
Built a life.
Made memories.

But there were doors I stopped opening because I didn’t know how to manage what waited on the other side.

Then, at forty-one years old, everything changed.
Not because I changed.
Because I finally understood myself.

Receiving my autism and ADHD diagnosis didn’t remove anxiety.

It didn’t make uncertainty enjoyable.

It didn’t magically turn me into someone who loves surprises.

What it did give me was an explanation.

For the first time, fear stopped feeling mysterious.

When my heart races now, I know why.

When plans change, I know why it feels difficult.

When too many decisions arrive at once, I know why my brain struggles.

Most importantly, I know what to do about it.

I can ask for help.
I can slow things down.
I can explain what is happening instead of hiding it.

The fear didn’t disappear.
It became understandable.

And understandable things are easier to live with.

When we booked our holiday to Flamborough Head, I was excited.
I was also terrified.

For months I prepared.
Lists.
Checklists.
Packing plans.
Medication plans.
Travel plans.
Contingency plans.

I prepared so thoroughly that by the end I had almost run out of things left to prepare.

Then came the waiting.
The longest part of any journey.
The part where there is nothing left to organise and all that remains is anticipation.

As the departure date approached, my nervous system became increasingly creative.

I dreamed strange dreams.
I worried about things that didn’t exist.
I imagined all kinds of disasters.

The closer the holiday came, the louder my fear became.

Then Monday arrived.

I woke before my alarm.
My heart was racing.
My stomach was in knots.

Rain hammered against the windows.
Part of me wanted to stay exactly where I was.

Safe.
Predictable.
Certain.

But another part of me wanted something more.

I wanted puffins.
I wanted sea air.
I wanted memories.
I wanted proof that my world could be bigger than my fear.

So I got into the taxi.

That was the moment that mattered.

Not seeing the sea.
Not arriving at the caravan.
Not even the puffins.

The taxi.

Because once those wheels started turning, I was doing the thing I had spent twenty years avoiding.

The holiday itself was wonderful.

Not perfect.
Wonderful.

There was rain.
A lot of rain.

There were thunderstorms.
There were missed buses.
There was a moment in Bridlington when we had to split into two taxis and I cried because I was terrified of being separated from my partner.

There were cold hands, wet shoes and weather that seemed determined to prove Yorkshire had forgotten it was June.

And there were puffins.

Tiny.
Ridiculous.
Wonderful puffins.

But when I think about the holiday now, that isn’t what stays with me.

What stays with me is the discovery that fear was never actually the thing stopping me.

Not completely.

The thing stopping me was believing fear meant stop.

This holiday taught me something different.

Fear can come with you.

It can sit beside you in the taxi.
Walk beside you on the cliffs.
Travel with you on the bus.
Whisper all the reasons something feels difficult.

And you can still go.

By the end of the week, I wasn’t fearless.
I wasn’t cured.
I wasn’t transformed into somebody who suddenly loves uncertainty.

I was still autistic.
Still ADHD.
Still anxious.
Still me.

The difference was that I had evidence.

Evidence that I could leave home.
Evidence that I could cope.
Evidence that I could adapt when plans changed.
Evidence that the world was bigger than I had allowed myself to believe.

When we returned home, I felt sad.
Not because I regretted going.
Because I wasn’t ready to leave.

And perhaps that is the biggest surprise of all.

The holiday I almost didn’t take became the holiday I didn’t want to end.

— Frost ❄️