The Bakers Adventures

I’ve been lousy at keeping up with writing about Dan’s new adventure. Not because I don’t care, not because it hasn’t been on my mind every single day, but because I’ve come to a place where writing happens when I want it to, not when I have to. And honestly, I like it better this way.

So, here we are. Months into Dan’s time in Kenya, and I’m finally catching up with my thoughts, putting them into words. The conversations around whether the girls and I would join him later this year became more than just loose discussions; they became real, concrete, life-altering plans. But before I could embrace this decision fully, I had to do something important.. I had to see it for myself.

Dan had already made his choice when he signed his contract. As a couple, we decided that even if we didn’t join him, this was a life-changing opportunity we couldn’t pass up. His dream job landed on his lap and I didn’t want him to turn down something he’d manifested for. But his “safe” and my “safe” looked different. We talked about it, and I explained how safety is a privilege he has as a man. One that I don’t get to take for granted, especially in a new country. I can’t even walk my dog past dark in my neighbourhood without looking over my shoulder every second to ensure I’m not being followed.. I’m lucky he’s so understanding because this wasn’t just about nerves; this was about the reality of being a woman, raising two daughters, and making sure we weren’t stepping into something we couldn’t handle.

Dan’s reassurances meant everything, but even he acknowledged that my safety concerns were valid. He needed to hear them just as much as I needed to say them. And in doing so, we both became clearer on what this move needed to be for our family.

So, before I brought the girls for their introduction trip in June, I decided to go alone. Not just to visit, but to assess. To feel the place, the energy, the reality of what life here could be like.

The week before I left was a mess. Emotionally, physically, logistically—just a complete mess. It’s no secret that my ADHD presents as chronic overwhelm. Too many instructions? Panic. Too many opinions? Panic. Too many expectations? Panic. Too many tasks? Panic. I spiral quickly, and without Dan’s steadying presence, it felt like my entire system was short-circuiting.

Packing was its own nightmare. ADHD paralysis is real.. like knowing exactly what I need to do, but my body refuses to cooperate. My brain was screaming instructions at me, but the filing cabinet drawer just wouldn’t open. Dan is usually the one who grounds me in these moments, but he wasn’t here. So, I did what I could: I sat, stared at my piles of clothes, went over my list for the 200th time, and eventually.. somehow.. got it all into my suitcase.

By the time I was at the airport, my emotions were a tangled mess of nerves, guilt, and exhaustion. I’d spent all week downplaying and complaining about “having” to go on this trip to the girls. It was the only way I could carry my shame in seeing Dan before them. They were so hurt and confused that I was going without them that I had no choice to portray it as some awful trip of a lifetime to have boring adult meetings and that I’d have no time for fun. This worryingly satisfied them – enough at least for me to have a day with no tears and tantrums. I rallied in my trusted allies and they felt comfortable with the plans and where they’d be staying while I was away. Change isn’t our Erin’s forte with her emotional struggles so I knew it wouldn’t be easy for her, but the strength she’s especially shown in this ride has my heart swelling with pride. Anyway, Back to the airport – My sister saved the day by getting me there, but, of course, my time blindness had me arriving five hours early. I sat in the waiting area, trying to busy myself with admin tasks, while my thoughts looped: Does everyone here know my life is about to change? Do I look confident? Scared? Hopeful? Am I making the right decision?

Then the bank decided to glitch. No money. No access to transfers. Just me, £7 to my name, and a sandwich courtesy of Dan activating our travel lounge pass. Classic.

The flight was restless. I barely slept.. despite my history of sleeping through anything (16-hour coach rides through Vietnam monsoons? No problem). But something about this trip felt different. My body wouldn’t let me relax. Maybe it was the knowledge that both my daughters’ parents were 9 hours away by air. Maybe it was the algorithm feeding me nonstop horror stories about plane crashes (thanks, technology).

For the first time in a long time, I sent a silent prayer into the universe. Please, just let me get there safely. Let me see this through.

The landing felt like a victory. I exhaled for the first time in hours. I had made it.

It was cooler than I expected. The sun wasn’t up yet, and the early morning air caught me off guard. The airport was outdated but functional, security felt more like a formality than a process, and then suddenly.. I was outside. No lounge, no waiting area, just me, in the middle of the unknown.

And the stares. I felt blatant. My skin a beacon of unfamiliarity in a crowd of people who knew this place like the back of their hand. People approached, offering rides, conversation, anything to fill the space between us. But I didn’t want interaction. I wanted space to process.

Dan wasn’t there yet. I knew he was on his way, but in that moment, I felt exposed. Vulnerable. Like a foreigner in every sense of the word.

Then, finally, his call. He had expected me to take longer getting through and was caught off guard when I was out so quickly. He was devastated to have not been there to greet me, almost knowing too well how my mind with have been irrational with thoughts in those moments alone. As I spotted him in the crowd, none of it mattered anymore. The nerves, the doubts, the overwhelming uncertainty—it all faded.

I melted into his arms, and suddenly, everything felt okay. Safe.

As we drove through the city, I gazed out at the sunrise… warmer and more orange than anything I’d ever seen. And then I gazed at Dan. The reality of what he had done, what he had been doing, hit me. He had been here, alone, navigating this new life without us.

And for the first time, I fully saw his courage.

The air smelled different, and even Dan smelled different.. probably the washing powder. But it didn’t matter. Because in that moment, all I felt was gratitude. Gratitude for him. Gratitude for the chance to be here. Gratitude for whatever was to come next.

And just like that, the first step in our next big adventure had begun.

(Part 2 coming soon)