My Mother, The Caravan and The Whole Shebang

 

If you’ve read my first few posts, you’ll notice a five-month gap. It wasn’t really a break—it was survival. Life happened, hard and fast. I was just trying to stay above water.

The choices we make are ours. So are the consequences.

On December 6th, 2025, my divorce was finalized. No drama there. But then came the harder part—getting my ex-husband to leave my home. He didn’t think I was serious. After all, it was the third time I divorced him. I suppose he thought I’d go back to looking after him, meeting his every need, and tolerating his narcissism.

Not this time.

It took until February 11th to get him out. And yes, I had to lose my sh#t to make it happen. That moment when you stop being polite and start being done.

Julianna Vivas said it best:

“Everyone talks about cutting people off, but nobody talks about the grief that comes with standing firm on that decision—knowing it’s not what you wanted, but what was necessary for your wellbeing.”

That hit home. I also discovered a term I hadn’t heard before: enfranchised grief—the kind of grief that isn’t always acknowledged or validated by others. But it’s real. And heavy.

So, that’s the short version of why I’ve been silent and why I’m blogging again. I’ve made a big decision—maybe the biggest of my life.

I’m done with just existing. I’m taking a leap of faith.

Today, I’m buying a caravan. A 1989 Sprite Super Sport. (P.S. Best year ever—the year my first child was born.) There is something poetic about this caravan and year, full circle of life in a way. I’m resigning from my job. My 86-year-old mother and I are going to hit the road and live in the caravan full-time.

There’s no rigid plan—just the beginning. It starts with the purchase and registration today. We might need to name her too. Any suggestions? 

I can’t wait to bring you along as I rebuild, heal, and start fresh—on wheels. This journey isn’t just for me. It’s for my mom too. I want to make her final years unforgettable. Full of wonder. Full of life.

Did something here speak to you?

Leave a comment if you feel moved, or simply sit with me in quiet.

If you’d like to walk this road with me, follow Nomadic Grandmother for new stories.

— x Elsabe

If you’ve read my first few posts, you’ll notice a five-month gap. It wasn’t really a break—it was survival. Life happened, hard and fast. I was just trying to stay above water.

The choices we make are ours. So are the consequences.

On December 6th, 2025, my divorce was finalized. No drama there. But then came the harder part—getting my ex-husband to leave my home. He didn’t think I was serious. After all, it was the third time I divorced him. I suppose he thought I’d go back to looking after him, meeting his every need, and tolerating his narcissism.

Not this time.

It took until February 11th to get him out. And yes, I had to lose my sh#t to make it happen. That moment when you stop being polite and start being done.

Julianna Vivas said it best:

“Everyone talks about cutting people off, but nobody talks about the grief that comes with standing firm on that decision—knowing it’s not what you wanted, but what was necessary for your wellbeing.”

That hit home. I also discovered a term I hadn’t heard before: enfranchised grief—the kind of grief that isn’t always acknowledged or validated by others. But it’s real. And heavy.

So, that’s the short version of why I’ve been silent and why I’m blogging again. I’ve made a big decision—maybe the biggest of my life.

I’m done with just existing. I’m taking a leap of faith.

Today, I’m buying a caravan. A 1989 Sprite Super Sport. (P.S. Best year ever—the year my first child was born.) I’m resigning from my dead-end, soul-sucking job. My 86-year-old mother and I are going to hit the road and live in the caravan full-time.

There’s no rigid plan—just the beginning. It starts with the purchase and registration today. We might need to name her too. Any suggestions?

I can’t wait to bring you along as I rebuild, heal, and start fresh—on wheels. This journey isn’t just for me. It’s for my mom too. I want to make her final years unforgettable. Full of wonder. Full of life.