Earlier this week, we got back from a trip to one of our favourite places in the world. It was a trip we had booked after enjoying our Christmas break together so much, and one we counted down the days to. We committed to making more effort to spend quality time as a four (and as a two) in 2026. Last year, we got so caught up in the self-employed grind and the autopilot of doing life together that we left little room for joy. This trip was meant to be the joy. We headed to a little town in Spain that we’ve been going to every year as a family since 2022. It’s truly become our happy place. I (usually) feel my most relaxed, calm and as ‘type B’ I will ever get when I’m there. We knew the weather wouldn’t be what we’re used to during our usual summer trips there, but we had visions of early-morning beach strolls, coffee in hand, playing in the sand, lazy lunches, and early nights with quality couple time. In my mind, I’d already written the story of how the week would go.

We couldn’t wait to ‘get away’, and yet when we were there, all I wanted to do was escape.

In reality, our six-day ‘break’ was filled with major meltdowns, colder-than-UK weather, overtiredness, arguments and exhaustion. We took a very early morning flight to ‘make the most’ of the short time we were there, but the 3.30 am wake-up call set us up for a day of dysregulation for our nap-fighting four-year-old. The flight itself, car pickup, and onward journey were a breeze, perhaps lulling us into a false sense of security about the tone of the trip. We arrived to a less-than-balmy 7-degree temperature at 10 am, and when we arrived at the apartment, Ren got his swimming trunks and bucket hat on, goggles in hand, desperate to go swimming. We took him down to the pool, and of course, once he dipped a toe in the below-freezing water, he soon realised the holiday he had imagined was not what he was getting, and soon after, it became apparent that the holiday we had imagined would not be the holiday we’d be getting either. His disappointment, tiredness, and dysregulation at being out of both our normal routine and the holiday routine he’d grown used to meant his behaviour quickly went from excited to completely out of character, and at times, out of control.

There were many tears, not much listening, and even less patience – from all of us. At first, I felt upset that while we were trying to enjoy ourselves, we were all clearly struggling, and I was putting on my best ‘let’s be positive’ hat. Of course, there were gorgeous moments peppered throughout, and I tried to focus on those, but the difficult ones eventually overshadowed, and it got to a point where both Rob and I stopped pretending we were having fun, and surrendered to the idea that this was, in truth, a little bit of a waste of time, money and effort. 

I didn’t ‘enjoy every moment’ like we’re so often told to in parenting – in truth, I enjoyed very little of it. Is that hard to admit? Yes. Does it make me a bad mum? No. It makes me human. And I’ve realised that even though I’m the parent, I’m allowed to feel disappointed too. Did it sting that the reality of this much-needed family time didn’t live up to the picture-perfect idea in my head? Initially, yes. But, I found it easier than I ever have before to let go of the idea and just sit in the shit. I was able to tell myself we’re not bad at holidays. We don’t have a bad kid. We aren’t terrible parents. We’re just having a bad week. I was able to reason with myself, and I could clearly see what was going wrong: too little sleep, too many plans, not enough emotional regulation and too many expectations. 

Often in parenting, and in life, the times we most look forward to, Christmas, birthdays, and holidays end up being the most disappointing, because the expectation is so high. We must have fun. We must make core memories. We must all be on our best behaviour and ‘make the most’ of this. But as we all know far too well, children don’t work this way. They can’t bury their feelings simply because it’s the 25th of December. Or because their parents have spent £2,000 on a holiday. In fact, it’s those times when the biggest meltdowns usually happen, because they’re often away from home, their comforts, the safety of their routine and the boundaries they’re used to adhering to. It can be infuriating for us when he’s scream-crying at 9 am because he can’t have Oreo ice cream, but in his immature, feelings-led, four-year-old brain, why was ice cream allowed yesterday when we walked past the shop, but today I have to wait? I mean, when you sit and map it out, it makes sense. And yet, in those moments, I still feel the fire inside myself rising. If I, at 33-years-old with a fully functioning logical mind, can completely lose it because I’m tired, hungry, stressed and overwhelmed, how can I expect this tiny little person to ‘just get it together’ because he’s in another country and should be enjoying himself? 

One of the hardest parts of parenting for me is letting go of the version of it I imagined and sitting with the reality instead. And sometimes the reality isn’t a perfect family holiday. It’s cold weather, tired children, and parents doing their best to keep everyone afloat.

So we’ll let go of the idea, take the lesson, and, like we always do in parenting… go again.