Cork mum: ‘I needed a break ...and so booked a solo trip’

It’s five o’clock in the evening, and the sun is doing its best impression of an Instagram influencer, slowly sinking toward the horizon. I’m sitting at a tiny table overlooking the water, drinking a Coke Zero out of a wine glass, purely for the fancy feeling, and for the first time in six months, there is… peace.

Real peace.

No “Mum, where’s my other sock?” No “Did you sign this form?” No last-minute school lunch emergencies.

No-one had asked me where their PE tracksuits were in three whole days. I barely recognised myself.

Just me, with a fizzy drink, pretending to be sophisticated, and the strange luxury of doing absolutely nothing.

Now let me be very clear: I love my children more than anything in the world. They are funny, brilliant, chaotic little humans, and life would be unbearably dull without them.

But after six months of surgery, casts and a painfully slow recovery, I had reached a point where I wasn’t just a mum - I was also a full-time patient. Nobody had really left my side for months. And while that was incredibly kind and loving, after some time, even kindness can start to feel a little… suffocating.

One day, I came to a realisation between physio exercises and another cup of tea.

I didn’t just need rehabilitation.

I needed a break.

So I booked a solo trip.

Apparently, this was considered a bold life decision.

“You’re going alone?” “But what about your leg?” “What if you fall?” “Who’ll carry your bags?”

The answer was simple: nobody.

Which, as it turns out, is half the fun.

A dramatic start

The adventure began at Cork Airport.

The weather had decided to add a bit of drama to the occasion. The wind was howling like it had personal issues. A Mallorca flight had all its luggage removed and was being sent to Shannon instead, causing hours of delays for those poor passengers. People were pacing around, staring anxiously at departure boards as if willing them to change. I was tempted to join them, just for dramatic effect.

And there I was with one small backpack, the only luggage I could realistically manage with my recovering leg, wondering briefly if this solo adventure might actually be slightly mad.

Then I looked up at the departure screen and saw the magical words beside my flight: BOARDING!

The excitement I felt at that moment was completely disproportionate.

My heart did a little victory dance. My flight was still going; I could almost hear the angels cheering.

The adventure was officially happening.

Freedom

While waiting at the gate, I got chatting to a lovely couple beside me. We laughed about the weather, the airport chaos and the fact that I was travelling alone.

And the best part?

If I wanted to chat, I could.

If I wanted to stop chatting, I could.

No one needed anything from me.

On the plane, I realised something else: travelling alone is wildly freeing.

I could read quietly.

I could chat to strangers.

I could stare out the window dramatically like someone in a movie.

I didn’t even have to referee anyone fighting over the armrest.

Even deciding how to get from the airport when I landed felt exciting.

Bus? Taxi? Uber?

Normally, that decision would involve several opinions, a mild debate and someone saying “But Google says…” This time I simply chose.

It turns out independence feels very exciting when you’re used to running a household.

When I arrived in Lanzarote, I had another revelation.

I didn’t actually feel like going out for dinner.

So I didn’t.

Instead, I ordered takeaway and sat quietly on my balcony eating exactly what I wanted.

No checking menus for everyone.

No negotiating restaurants.

No-one saying, “But I don’t like that.” Just food, quiet, and a warm evening breeze.

Every day had a simple rhythm. I did my rehab exercises in the morning, afternoon, and evening. I went for slow walks, sat by the sea, and read.

Lots of reading.

By the third day, I had already started my second book. When I opened it, a small piece of kitchen roll slipped out and landed on my lap.

On it, in slightly wobbly handwriting, were the words “Mum I miss u,” and beside it, a small love heart.

I smiled, feeling proud and slightly guilty that my first reaction wasn’t crying - just a moment of smug satisfaction that they’d snuck it into my bag.

Even hundreds of miles away, they had still managed to travel with me.

And somehow that made the whole trip feel even nicer.

Small joys

Being away by myself meant discovering the joy of small freedoms.

Some days, I chatted to people I met along the way. Other days I happily said very little at all.

I watched sunsets without checking the time.

I ordered food without asking anyone’s opinion.

I drank my Coke Zero out of a wine glass like a person with absolutely no responsibilities whatsoever.

I even took a nap in the middle of the day, not a single person cared, not even my own shadow.

And I discovered something surprising: a few days away doesn’t make you a worse parent.

If anything, it makes you a better one.

Because sometimes the best thing you can do for your family is come back with a little more patience, a little more energy, and a slightly improved sense of humour.

Coming home

Of course, I checked in at home regularly.

One day, my daughter didn’t go to school, which I suspect may have been a small protest about my absence.

But when I returned after six nights away, I felt completely different.

Calmer.

Stronger.

Refreshed.

Not because I had done anything dramatic, but because I had done something simple and slightly brave.

I had taken a little time for myself.

And honestly?

I’ll take the sunshine, the quiet evenings, the Coke Zero in my wine glass, and yes, even the slightly sad takeaway fish, any day.

Because for one glorious week, I remembered something important.

Even mums are allowed the occasional holiday.

And if someone asks?

I’ll just tell them I was busy living my best solo life.