Aged 11 I went to boarding school. I wanted to go. I’d seen my brother and sister go off and I wanted in on this amazing adventure.
For 3 days it was and then the crushing reality of homesickness started to rip me apart.
It was the first time in my life I had been fully away from my family and every night without fail, I cried myself to sleep. I was aware that this wasn’t great for the other girls in my dorm but I was traumatised and unable to help myself for weeks.
Eventually I hardened and then it was only the first few days of term that I felt it.
I’ve done a fair bit of traveling in my life and being a freediver further compounds that because I’m not able to tolerate the cold diving climate in the UK. I go away for months at a time and while nowadays we have incredible technology that visually connects us at the push of a button, I still have that familiar sickness in my throat every time I say goodbye.
But this post isn’t about feeling sorry for myself because I’m away again and missing home. This is a post about gratitude and how there is always a different way of looking at things.