Escaping to the Woods with Our RV, a Kid Named Bean, and Zero Regrets

We’re taking the RV and heading into the woods for some good old-fashioned R&R. And when I say R&R, I mean rest and real connection—the kind that doesn’t involve Wi-Fi, IEP meetings, or last-minute therapy cancellations.

The twist? We’ve decided to leave the two teenagers home. Yep. We’re rolling the dice, crossing our fingers, and hoping our house doesn’t spontaneously combust while we’re gone. Parenting hack or reckless gamble? TBD.

This trip isn’t just about escaping the chaos—it’s about reclaiming a piece of ourselves. Hubby and I have been looking forward to this for weeks. Literal weeks. And if you’re a parent—especially a special needs parent like me—you know how rare that kind of anticipation is. It’s like waiting for a solar eclipse, except the eclipse might still involve a screaming child and snack crumbs in your bra.

Meet Bean: Our Wild-Hearted 6-Year-Old with Pitt Hopkins Syndrome

So, who’s coming with us on this much-needed RV reset? Just me, hubby, and Bean—our six-year-old daughter who happens to have Pitt Hopkins Syndrome. If you’ve never heard of it, you’re not alone. It’s a rare neurological disorder that impacts speech, mobility, and development. She’s nonverbal, sensory-seeking, and has the kind of laugh that makes strangers stop in their tracks.

Bean is magic and chaos wrapped in one small, determined body. Traveling with her is… a thing. A beautiful, exhausting, very specific kind of thing. But she loves the outdoors—like, thrives in it. The trees, the textures, the lack of walls—it’s all regulation gold for her nervous system.

So off we go. Into the woods. No schedule. No agenda. Just our RV, some decent coffee, and a whole lot of hope.

To Bring the Phone or Not to Bring the Phone? That Is the Mom Question

Now here’s the internal debate I’ve been having: Should I bring my phone?

Yes, I know work’s going to call. They always do. And yes, I know I’ll feel the urge to answer, even when I shouldn’t. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe I need to not answer.

I’m the kind of person who feels guilty for taking a break—even though I know breaks make me better. I’ve been the glue, the scheduler, the advocate, and the therapist-on-call for so long, I sometimes forget I’m also allowed to be a human being. A mom who needs joy. A wife who needs a real conversation. A woman who needs to breathe.

So yeah, I’ll probably bring the phone. But I’m not promising I’ll answer it. And that, my friends, is growth.

Leaving the Teens at Home: Brave or Bonkers?

Let’s talk about this teenager thing. Our older two kids are staying behind, and I’m feeling a weird mix of guilt, excitement, and low-level terror.

On one hand, they’re old enough. Responsible-ish. And honestly? I think they need a break from us as much as we need one from them.

On the other hand, I have vivid visions of them forgetting to feed the dog, turning the kitchen into a science experiment, or starting a TikTok trend that ends in minor property damage.

But here’s what I keep coming back to: We deserve this. As a couple. As parents. As individuals who love our kids but also need a few moments where we aren’t just background characters in their schedules.

RV Life with a Special Needs Child: The Chaos and the Calm

If you’ve never traveled with a medically complex or special needs child, let me paint you a picture.

• You pack like you’re prepping for a natural disaster: meds, feeding supplies, back-up meds, sensory tools, diapers, weighted blanket, and seven different snack options that may or may not be acceptable come Tuesday.
• You plan for every worst-case scenario and still get blindsided by the one thing you didn’t see coming.
• You find joy in small, perfect moments. A giggle. A snuggle. A meltdown that doesn’t happen.

RVing with Bean is both wildly freeing and completely exhausting. But she loves it. The movement, the nature, the way we’re all crammed together like marshmallows in a mug—it works for her.

There’s something magical about watching her light up in the forest. No stares. No judgments. Just birdsong, pine trees, and the sound of her laughter echoing off the mountains.

The Mental Load Doesn’t Take Vacations, But I’m Learning to Unpack It

Even in the woods, I’m carrying the mental load. Did we triple-check her medical ID bracelet? Will her AAC device hold a charge in the middle of nowhere?

But for the first time in a long time, I’m trying to let some of that load go. Not the essentials, obviously. But the guilt? The pressure? The need to be on-call 24/7?

Nope. Not this time.

This time, I’m choosing presence. I’m choosing rest. I’m choosing to sit next to my husband with a cup of mediocre campground coffee and just exist. I’m choosing to say yes to s’mores and no to emails. Yes to messy play and no to the internal monologue that says I should be doing more.

R&R Isn’t Optional—It’s Sacred

Taking a break as a special needs mom feels rebellious. Like you’re violating an unspoken rule that says your life should always be about sacrifice.

But here’s what I’m learning: rest isn’t indulgent. It’s necessary. It’s how I refill the well so I can show up for Bean. It’s how I stay married, stay present, stay me.

So we’re taking the RV into the woods. Me, hubby, and Bean. No teenagers, no emails, no agenda beyond surviving the mosquitos and soaking up some joy.

We’ll probably forget something important. We’ll definitely lose one of her favorite toys under a log. We’ll eat too many marshmallows and argue about the GPS. But we’ll also connect. We’ll breathe. We’ll remember what it feels like to just be together—off the grid, off the clock, and on our own little patch of dirt and sky.

Final Thoughts: Permission to Hit Pause

If you’re reading this and wondering if it’s okay to take a break, let me be the one to tell you: it is. You don’t need to earn it. You don’t need to justify it. If you’re a mom—especially a special needs mom—then you are already carrying more than most people can imagine.

You get to rest. You get to step away. You get to load up the RV, kiss the teens goodbye, and disappear into the woods with your partner and your wild-hearted little one.

You get to live.

So here’s to the pause. The woods. The s’mores. The sleep. The silence.

And here’s to every special needs parent who’s brave enough to take a break—even when the world tells you not to.

Go ahead. Pack the snacks. Leave the guilt.

And don’t forget the coffee.