Preparing to Leave: The Emotional Packing List

 

The cupboards are being emptied. The clothes sorted. The caravan reshuffled again and again. And while the practical packing continues, there’s another kind of preparation happening quietly behind the scenes—the kind that doesn’t fit in boxes or under a bunk.

This is the emotional packing list. The invisible, powerful baggage we choose to carry—or leave behind—as we set out toward something new.

What I’m Taking With Me:

• Gratitude. For the roof we’ve had, the warm garden we’re parked in, the family who has given us space and grace.
• Curiosity. About the places we’ll go, the people we’ll meet, and the version of myself that’s waiting somewhere on the road.
• Resilience. Hard-won and tested. I’ve fallen before, and I’ve risen stronger. She’s coming with.
• Memories. Some stitched into photos, others—like the name of my grandson Liam—tattooed quite literally near my heart. A butterfly and a golden ribbon, a symbol of the fight he fought and the love that remains.
• Faith. In God, in grace, in angels that travel unseen. In the road ahead—even if I don’t know every bend.

What I’m Leaving Behind:

• The need to explain myself. Let them worry. Let them wonder. We’re doing what makes us feel alive.
• Perfectionism. Life isn’t an Instagram square. Dust will gather. Socks will never match. And that’s okay.
• Fear of the unknown. She’s been a loud travel companion, but not a helpful one. Time for her to get off at the next stop.
• People-pleasing. Not entirely—let’s be honest, it’s stitched into my DNA. But I’m learning to choose me, too.
• Guilt over stillness. I’ve spent years doing, fixing, running. It’s okay to just be.

Truthfully, I’m standing in the middle of it all—equal parts excitement and fear. I’m sad to leave people behind. I’m scared I’ll be bored (those who know me will laugh knowingly here). I wrestle with the thought of giving up a decent, if soul-taxing, job for a life with no guaranteed income.

And yet—there’s a pull I can’t ignore. A whisper that says breathe, read, walk, write, live. A longing for long stretches of sky, simple meals, movement without agenda. A desire to live more slowly, but more deeply.

So no, we haven’t hit the road just yet. The caravan is still tucked in my daughter’s garden. I’m still working. Still waiting. But something has already shifted. The emotional packing has begun.

Home, after all, is not a place. It’s a state of being.

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