Is van life worth it? The truth from the road

I wasn’t actually planning to write this post.

But recently, a friend from my old 9–5 messaged me. She was thinking about packing it all in and going full-time van life. She wanted the honest truth — not the dreamy, beachy, Instagram version.

And then, not long after, we met a couple up in the Highlands doing the NC500 in a rented van. They were having such a great time that they were considering buying one and shaking up their lives. They asked the same thing:

“Is it actually worth it?”

So I figured… let’s talk about it. Properly.

Why we quit our jobs to live in a van

Life in the 9–5 grind was slowly draining us. Everything was “fine” on paper — but deep down, we felt stuck. Trapped in a cycle that didn’t feel like living.

Then we had a baby — and suddenly, the idea of spending our lives like that felt unbearable.

So we did what felt impossible… until it didn’t. We sold the house, saved like mad, and hit the road. Not because we were fearless. We were just done. Staying felt riskier than leaving.

We didn’t have a big plan. Still don’t, really. But we knew we couldn’t wait around for some magical “right time” to make a change.

Want to know more about how we actually made the leap? Check out: The courage to wander: why we left it all behind for a life of travel

Van life with a toddler: the reality

Let’s talk about living in a van with a small child who has big feelings and a strong throwing arm. It’s definitely… a vibe.

There are days where the floor is covered in sand, rice cakes, and despair. The toddler is flinging Weetabix with Olympic-level commitment. It’s raining. Again. And everything is damp — including your soul. Van life in the wet is a mood. A bad one.

We shower about once a week, wear the same clothes for days — I swear at this point my hoodie has officially become my personality — and sometimes argue over whether we have enough water left to stick the kettle on or brush our teeth.

There are moments we miss the simplicity of a house. Walls. Doors. Showers. And we look at each other and ask,

“Wouldn’t a house and a job just be… easier?”

Yes. Yes it would. But also… no. Keep reading.

The pressure to live your “best van life”

Here’s something weird: when you choose a life less ordinary, it can feel like you have to justify it all the time.

Like – if we spend a slow morning listening to Taylor and reading all the Julia Donaldson books (twice), are we wasting the day? Shouldn’t we be out hiking, exploring, or doing something Insta-worthy?

Lazy mornings feel indulgent. Rainy days feel like a failure. There’s pressure to prove (to others? to ourselves?) that we’re making the most of it.

It’s easy to slip into productivity guilt, even out here.

We’re learning to give ourselves permission to just be — messy, mellow, underachieving. Because the truth is, you can’t “make memories” on command. Some days, the best thing we do is eat pasta and survive.

The lonelier side of full-time travel

No one really talks about this, but full-time van life can feel isolating — even when you’re never technically alone.

We miss spontaneous pub dates, family BBQs, playdates that don’t involve pin-dropping your coordinates. Sometimes we crave the ease of community — the kind that doesn’t come with wheels.

There’s a brilliant community of vanlifers out there — and when you find them, it’s amazing. But it takes time to build those connections (and effort – as you’re never in the same place for long). Sometimes, it’s just you, your people, and a patchy Wi-Fi signal.

The magic (because yes, it exists)

And yet.

There’s a kind of everyday magic that happens out here — the kind that sneaks up on you.

Waking up next to a loch. Watching your toddler fall in love with a new rock (yes, we’re in that stage…). Making coffee barefoot with the back doors open to a mountain view. Not having to explain to anyone why you’re still in your pyjamas at 10am.

Little Rick is thriving. We’re all together more than we ever were before — not just having a couple of hours of dinner, bath and bed either side of work – but really together.

There are days I feel giddy with how lucky we are.

So… is van life worth it?

Yes. A thousand times yes.

Not because it’s easy, or glamorous, or because you become some deeply enlightened wilderness creature (I had high hopes that I’d suddenly be a yoga goddess, alas, this still hasn’t happened).

But because it’s ours. Our mess. Our adventure. Our weird, wonderful little life.

We get to decide what our days look like. We get to make mistakes, get lost, skip showers, make daft memories, and watch our little boy grow up in a world that feels big and open and full of wonder.

We always say, ‘You can make more money — but not more time.’ And that’s exactly what van life gives us.

So if you’re sitting at your desk wondering whether you should do it… maybe you should.

Just know it’s not all dreamy drone shots and campfires. Sometimes it’s a toddler tantrum and no signal.

And still – I wouldn’t swap it for the world.

Thinking about taking the leap? I’d love to hear your thoughts — and if you’ve got questions, pop them below!