I had everything. And it still wasn't enough.
One of the most common questions I get on social media and in messages: what was the turning point? What made you start living in a campervan – without security, without a plan, without a safety net?
The message that stopped me
Not long ago, I got a message from a girl. She works a corporate job, has a dog, and dreams about van life. But she's also scared. Scared of stepping out of the routine she's always known. Scared of leaving the security she spent her whole life building. Scared that it's just not possible. And I stopped when I read that message. Because I was exactly the same.
A life that looked perfect
My whole life, I felt like a stranger. Like I didn't really belong. But instead of changing that, I spent years listening to everyone else. What's normal. What you should do. What you shouldn't do.
So I lived a life I didn't even want. Work. Responsibilities. "Security." From the outside, I had everything – my own flat, a good job, a relationship, people around me. But inside? Empty. That quiet, invisible kind of empty that slowly creeps in… until one day it takes over completely.
Bruno. The one who started it all.
Every morning I left for work and left Bruno home alone. I'd look at his sad eyes and know he'd be waiting there for hours until I came back. And it broke my heart.
I adopted Bruno from a shelter when he was one year old.
Bruno is full of energy. He's up for anything – walks, trips, adventures, you name it. And I started to realise how fast his time was passing. I wanted to give him the best life. I wanted to be with him. Not just in the evenings after work. Not just on weekends. I wanted to really be there. Every single second.
New clothes won't fill the emptiness
At the same time, I started noticing something else. That nothing material actually made me happy. I bought clothes I didn't need. Upgraded my flat. Renovated. I kept trying to fill that empty feeling with things. Like new stuff could somehow replace what was missing inside.
But it didn't work. Good for a moment. Then empty again. And when you keep hearing: "Be grateful for what you have." "You're so ungrateful." "Other people have it worse." "This is just normal life." …you start to believe it. You start to doubt yourself.
But now I know – these feelings don't mean you're ungrateful. Or selfish. Or greedy. They just mean you want something different. Something that stands out. Something others don't understand – so they call it wrong or weird. Something like a nomadic lifestyle that most people can't even imagine.
Rock bottom. And the only right decision.
Slowly, I reached a point where I started to hate people. Then myself. And eventually my own life.
I don't know if you know that feeling. Waking up in the morning and your first thought is… exhaustion. Not because you didn't sleep enough. But because you have to live the same day again. Over and over. I went to work. I smiled. I functioned. And inside, I was slowly falling apart.
I didn't tell anyone. Because how do you explain it? How do you tell people you have everything – and still don't want any of it? I felt selfish. Ungrateful. Weird. But now I know I was none of those things.
I was just someone living a life that wasn't mine. And that's a place you really don't want to be. But it's also a place you can leave. That's when it finally hit me. If something's going to change, no one's going to do it for me. Only me.
A jump into the unknown. No plan, no money.
I sold my flat. Quit my job. Bought a campervan. And cut a lot of people out of my life. People who kept telling me what was right. People who didn't respect my decisions – and therefore didn't respect me. People who tried to pull me down instead of wishing me well.
I realised I don't have to get along with everyone. I don't have to please everyone just to avoid disappointing them. I get to choose who I want in my life. And it can be just a few people. The right few – who respect you, support you, and want you to be happy – even if they don't understand your choice.
And I left. To the Netherlands. No plan. No experience. No money. These were my real van life beginnings. To some people, I'm just homeless. Someone with no security, no base, living in a car. But I know I just chose a different way of living. One that makes sense to me.
How to start Van life? There's no single answer.
People ask me now: "How do you start van life?" And they expect some kind of guide. Where do you get money? Where do you sleep? Is it safe? What if something breaks? What if I'm alone?" The truth is, there's no universal answer.
I thought it was impossible too. That I couldn't do it. That I didn't have enough money. That it wasn't safe for a woman travelling solo. So I did what everyone does – I consumed information. From social media, from forums full of warnings, from people who'd never actually tried it.
The result? I was convinced everything was a problem. That it was complicated, dangerous, and almost impossible. So I spent my first months in campsites and burned through money I didn't have. But then I started meeting people who actually live this way. And slowly I realised that reality is much simpler than the internet makes it out to be.
Yes, van life has its rules. And in some places they're stricter than others. And it's important to respect them. But I also learned that you don't need to be afraid of everything in advance. You learn as you go. You try things. You make mistakes. And most importantly – you stop being so scared.
It's not perfect. And that's okay.
My goal was – and still is – to work fully online and be free. Reality? I've been working toward that for two years and I'm still doing seasonal work abroad. In my case, that means cleaning holiday homes at a campsite.
And you know what? I'm okay with the idea of working a few months a year to fund the rest of my travels. It's still better than the life I had before. But the reality? It frustrates me.
I'm doing it for the money. To keep going. To keep living the van life and travelling. But I don't enjoy it. It drains me. It takes time and energy away from what I actually love – creating, writing, filming, the things that fill me up.
And there are days when I've had enough. But I accept it. Because I know it's just a phase. One part of the journey. Not the destination. I try. I fall. I get back up. And I keep going. Maybe it's taking me longer. Maybe it's leading me somewhere unexpected. Maybe the timing isn't right yet. But the important thing is – I'm not giving up.
I don't want to sit here one day asking: "What if…"I want to know I tried. That I fell flat on my face, got up, dusted myself off, and kept going. There are days when I'm exhausted from doing everything alone. Days when I'm sad there's no one to lean on. Days when I come home from work and cry from tiredness.
I'm scared. What if something big breaks down? Where will I get the money? Who will help me? But I always get back up. Because even through all of this, I know I'm on the right path.
And you?
That feeling that you're living a life that isn't yours…
…it doesn't go away.
It'll keep catching up with you until you do something about it.
Or one day you'll push it down, bury it under daily responsibilities… and it'll find you anyway. In the form of a question: "What if…"“ And maybe by then it'll be too late.
You don't have to turn everything upside down like I did. But maybe it starts with finally admitting to yourself what you actually want. It doesn't have to be van life. It doesn't have to be a nomadic lifestyle or travelling. It looks different for everyone.
Solo female van life, living in a campervan, seasonal work abroad, working online from anywhere, creating videos and capturing your own life… this is just my path. Imperfect. Unpredictable. But mine. And for the first time in my life, I feel like I'm actually living it.
Niky 🐾
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