I’m not perfect at this. We, as a family, aren’t either. Not even close.

We’ve had so many great days outside; moments of laughter, peace, and connection. But we’ve also had fights, sensory meltdowns, forgotten supplies, plans canceled by pain, and days when someone had to stay behind.

Sometimes, that someone is me.

I want to be honest about that because I know how easy it is to scroll through someone else’s highlight reel and feel like you’re falling short. Like you’re not doing enough. Like you’re the only one who can’t pull it off.

But the truth is, getting outside as a chronically ill, neurodivergent family takes effort. Some days it works out beautifully. Some days it doesn’t. We’ve had moments of pure magic; barefoot walks, unexpected wildlife sightings, campfire laughs. But those moments live next to the mess, not instead of it.

There are days I wake up with the best intentions, snacks packed, plans made, and then my body says no. The pain flares, the fatigue rolls in, and I have to tap out. Sometimes that means rescheduling. Other times, my wife and the kids go without me.

That used to wreck me. The guilt would eat me alive. But I’ve learned something important:

Grace matters more than guilt.

It’s okay to miss a day. It’s okay to need recovery time. It’s okay if your family memory is watching ducks from the van instead of hiking to the waterfall. That time still counts.

When my body isn’t physically able to do the more strenuous outdoor activities, I’ve found ways to still be part of it all. I can bring out my sketchbook and spend time drawing nature at a picnic table or in my camp chair. I can often photograph my kids and take videos of them exploring, so I still feel connected and creative, even when I’m not on the trail.

If you’re trying, you’re doing something right.

So give yourself credit. Rest when you need to. Try again when you can. The rhythm of life with disability, chronic illness, or neurodivergence isn’t linear; I t’s full of pauses, pivots, and imperfect progress.

But there’s still beauty in it. There’s still healing.

And there’s still joy to be found in a day outside, even if it looks different than you imagined.

So please, give yourself grace. Rest, reset, and then try again anew.

Mimi 🌿❤️