The Bakers Adventures

It’s been nearly half a year since Dan left for Kenya. Nearly six months since I felt his gentle kiss on my cheek as he left for his airport pick up and nearly six months since I felt every part of me stretch between pride and heartbreak. Six months since we stepped into this strange, long-distance rhythm of life.. him chasing his dream halfway across the world, and me holding down the chaos (and magic) of ours here.

And now, somehow, we’re here. Still standing. Still breathing. Still figuring it out.

I won’t sugarcoat it. It’s been intense. There have been days where I’ve felt utterly frayed. Solo parenting, juggling work, managing endless logistics, and trying to remember if I did the school lunchboxes (let alone if it’s PE kit day or not). There have been tears, and there’s been shouting, and there have been those silent walks to school after a morning that went sideways and I didn’t show up the way I wanted to.

But beneath all of it? There’s been growth. Quiet, slow, meaningful growth.

In the absence of a partner beside me every day, I’ve found something I didn’t expect: space. And in that space, I’ve discovered myself again.

In the beginning, it was a bit like when someone passes.. everyone shows up. There’s this rush of support, people checking in, offering help, making sure you’re ok. When Dan travelled home for ten days after the first block of time away, it was like someone quietly turned the volume down. The messages slowed, the check-ins faded. At first, it felt like my sling had been ripped off before the bone had healed. I hadn’t realised how much I was leaning on everyone until suddenly, I wasn’t. I’d gotten used to having all that support pouring in, and when it stopped, it hurt more than I expected. It became really clear that people were around for the easier parts.. the first few weeks, the good news, the updates, the reunions, but not so much for the slog that came before and after. And when I did lean on someone and they got busy or disappeared, it felt like getting knocked back to square one. So.. I just stopped leaning. I learned that if I was going to get through this, I’d have to do it on my own feet, even if they were still shaky and that any support was merely a bonus rather than a lifeline.

I’ve started waking up before my alarm (on purpose). Not because the house is noisy or because someone jumped on me asking for coco pops, but because I want to. I’ve sat quietly with my ginger shot and watched the sky shift from grey to gold. I’ve journaled, not just to vent, but to remember. To track the small wins. To notice the subtle shifts in my thinking. To celebrate the fact that I’m actually doing this, pretty much alone. This whole solo life thing.. and not just surviving it, but slowly learning to thrive in it.

I’ve been in the gym regularly. At first, it was for sanity. Then it became therapy. Now it’s something sacred. A space where I don’t have to think about anyone else’s needs.. just the beat of the music, the weight in my hands, the strength in my body. I’m lifting heavier. Running further (ok, still not fast, but with slight joy). I want a stronger back, a peachier bum, and thighs that could crush a watermelon.. but more than that, I want to feel proud of myself and be the best version of myself. And I am.

I’m reading more. Books that inspire, challenge, entertain and remind me that my mind needs as much movement as my body..

I’ve gently pulled back from things and people that no longer feel aligned. Not with drama or bitterness.. just a quiet stepping away. I don’t have the energy for anything that drains me. And I’ve finally stopped apologising for that.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, I came off my ADHD meds. Not because I was trying to prove anything, but because I’d spent weeks creating systems, rituals, and routines that were finally working with my brain instead of against it. And I’m really, really proud of that.

And then there’s the relationship and the raw reality of it.

This time apart has stripped everything back. There’s no illusion, no buffer, no busy distractions to gloss over things. It’s exposed so much.. not in a way that’s broken us, but in a way that’s made everything feel more real. What we thought might crack hasn’t. And yet, there’s still a complexity to it all that I wasn’t expecting.

Reconnecting when Dan comes home has brought its own challenges. I’ve noticed how easily I slip into old dynamics.. how I tend to shrink myself a little, become the one being looked after again, and how that no longer fits the person I’ve become. There’s a quiet tension in that shift. One I haven’t fully figured out how to name yet, let alone navigate.

Dan is one of the most gentle, considerate and kind people I’ve ever known. He’s not spiteful. He’s not manipulative. There’s no cruel edge to him, no power play. But, what I’m learning is that love doesn’t cancel out the need for growth. We both have to learn how to honour the people we’re becoming, even when that growth feels like it creates distance temporarily (and literally). It’s not about fixing or reshaping each other. It’s about learning to make space for the evolution in one another and to accept the changes. Just like we promised in our vows..

I am so excited to see how this personal growth for us both expands our life together when we are finally reunited without the strains and challenges of long distance living but, for now it’s just a case of trusting the process.

I’m also seeing, more clearly than ever, the patterns I used to move through life with. Conforming to other people’s expectations was always a kind of goal.. sometimes even a comfort. I’d measure myself in literal ways: Am I doing what’s expected? Am I making them proud? Am I worth loving? Always living for others and to please others..

Before, I’d internalise the discomfort and turn it inward. If something didn’t sit right, I assumed I was the problem. But now? Now I’m learning to tell the difference.. what’s a me thing, and what never was. I don’t carry guilt anymore for not fitting someone else’s mould. I’m not angry about it, but I’m not sorry either. Some things just don’t belong to me.

And maybe I do things backwards. Maybe my steps don’t always look logical or tidy or easily explained. But they’re mine. They make sense to me. I’m not here to follow someone else’s blueprint for life, or to live in a way that’s neat and universally applauded. Or to justify my choices or allow judgment and opinions of others to dictate my decisions. I’m here to feel it. To live it. To question it. To own it.

So no, I don’t have it all figured out. But I trust myself more now. I’m learning to move with my own rhythm, even if it looks chaotic from the outside. And that, in itself, feels like a kind of freedom.

Because the truth is, this season has changed me. It’s given me a strength I didn’t know I had. It’s shown me that I’m capable of so much on my own and with that has come a sense of clarity, and yes, a bit of confusion too. I’ve started to see the difference between needing someone and wanting them, and that’s both empowering and a little unsettling.

It’s not a loss of love.. far from it. But when everything familiar is reshaped, it takes time to understand how we fit within it again. And I suppose I’m still in that part. Still working out how to honour the woman I’ve become without losing connection.

It’s not an easy chapter, but I know it’s an important one.

We’re now five months away from the big move, and it’s starting to feel real. I’m slowly dissecting the house.. cupboard by cupboard, memory by memory.. pulling it all apart in quiet, methodical ways. What surprises me most is how little attachment I feel to most of it. The stuff, the clutter, the things I once thought made up a life. They don’t hold the same weight anymore. Maybe that’s what happens when you start building a home within yourself. You stop needing so much from what’s around you.

S xo