The Summer That Changed Everything
On loss, silence, and learning I could handle more than I thought - my story part 5
Last week, I shared how my first year at university felt like I’d finally become myself—calmer, more grounded, more present. I’d learned to sit with difficult emotions instead of running from them. I’d built consistent practices that actually helped. I thought I’d figured it out.
And then came summer.
The season that would test everything I’d learned and nearly derail the whole journey.
As I returned home from my first year of university, I was immediately involved in helping with my grandad as he was unwell and having tests done. I only had two weeks at home as I’d booked to go on a summer project at a university in Germany for the whole of June.
I had no idea what would happen with Grandad, but I knew the rest of my family would take care of him whilst I was away. And if I needed to fly home, I could.
Germany and the summer project was great. It reminded me a lot of my first term at Aberdeen—being around lots of students from different countries. I had two weeks of learning the basics of the German language (don’t ask me what I remember) and then two weeks of project work to do with water sustainability. I worked alongside the other participants as well as local school students.
And it was super fun, but also quite full-on.
Although I did somewhat manage to be fairly calm and relaxed throughout, I definitely began to notice my tendency to want to escape and avoid anything difficult. But I used what I’d been learning the past months—acceptance, letting go—and also not beating myself up when I did sometimes follow the pattern and the tendency to escape and avoid.
I did have to share a room with two to three other guys and a bed (thankfully not with two to three other guys). Which was also quite interesting as an experience, sharing with complete strangers who I’d never met before.
And I didn’t always keep up with the practices like I had been doing—my meditation and writing, reading and running. But again, I didn’t beat myself up about this. I recognised the situation and allowed for change and disruption. It was also only one month.
Partway through this month, I got an update about my grandad and it turned out he had stage 4 lung cancer that was quickly spreading.
The news didn’t affect me like I thought it would. I didn’t cry and didn’t really feel much at all, if I’m honest. But I did recognise that my grandad might not be around for much longer, and I knew it would be affecting my mum and family a lot more.
I finished up at the summer project and flew home. I visited Grandad and helped Mum and the family with caring for him.
And on July 12th, my grandad passed away.
It was a difficult time for the whole family, especially as my brother’s wedding was only a couple of weeks away.
But before sailing to Northern Ireland for this, I had booked a 10-day silent meditation retreat.
This was something I’d been told about on my travels in Poland a few years earlier and wanted to try. I’d actually booked one back in 2023, but I was terrified and I ended up cancelling at the last minute. I used the same method I’d used for many years—I lied that I was ill when I was simply too scared and didn’t want to admit this.
Anyway, two years later, I felt ready. Well, not completely, as I don’t think anything could have prepared me for 10 days of silence and around 10 hours of meditation per day.
But having been through the difficulty of the winter break and coming out the other side stronger, calmer, more resilient, and wanting to go deeper, I felt it was the perfect time to try this. So I booked it back in April and I did it in July of 2025.
This time I didn’t cancel and I also didn’t feel completely terrified.
I still had no idea what would really happen during all those hours with no distractions and no speaking. Being only with myself and my mind.
You know, I think this is why I was so scared about it two years earlier. I knew I would have to sit with myself, all the thoughts and the feelings. That I couldn’t run away. I had nowhere to escape and no way of avoiding.
Which was also what I’d spent the past few months learning and practicing.
Which is partly why I felt more ready.
I went into it not knowing what deep hurt or pain would come up, if any, or what recurring thoughts and feelings I’d have. But what I did now know was that I could handle it. That I no longer needed to run away. That I could sit and be okay with it all.
I could accept and let go.
So in I went, with about 50 other men and 50 women, all in one compound but with no communication whatsoever between the students. We could speak to staff if we needed to.
The first few days were pretty fine and nothing much of note happened. A lot of sitting and meditating, which I quite enjoyed.
But then day four came along, and with it, the intensity.
From this day basically until the end, I was in survival mode.
Although I wasn’t doing much physically, with most of the day spent sat down in the meditation hall, getting up at 4:30 each morning and not going to bed until around 9:30 at night, I felt exhausted. Physically and mentally.
These days were the toughest of my life so far.
Not only was I having to stick to the strict schedule and long hours of sitting in meditation practice, but during these sessions I began to experience waves of intense emotion.
I would sit there and feel overwhelmed, flooded with fear and anxiety, nowhere to run or hide or distract myself.
This wasn’t continuous. It would come and go. But when it did come, it was the most intense I’d ever experienced. And I would feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins as I sat completely still in a silent hall with about 100 other people.
And then, as it faded, I would experience this profound calm and relaxation. But also a complete exhaustion.
I really had to take care of myself during this time in any small way I could. Using and taking regular breaks, getting outside in the sun, moving my body, stretching, taking naps.
Everything I’d been learning really came into play here and it was the perfect opportunity to do it. To do the acceptance and the letting go. The being still and the silence. The being with myself and being kind and compassionate towards myself. The self-care.
It was exactly what I needed, although it was probably the biggest test of all this.
I got through it. I didn’t quit or cancel. I didn’t give up and I didn’t run away.
I finished the retreat with a great sense of accomplishment and a newfound realisation that I could do something incredibly challenging and actually help myself through it.
It was during this time that I really started to trust myself. And know I could be okay whatever happened. And I could learn to handle just about anything.
This again would be tested later on in the summer. But before that was my brother’s wedding in Northern Ireland.
It was a lovely time and day. Great to see so many friends and family together and celebrate the wonderful marriage of my brother and his now wife.
After this, I had two family get-togethers, one on my mum’s side and one on Dad’s, as well as my grandad’s funeral.
Again, these were all great celebrations. And although the funeral was certainly sad, it was a lovely time with everyone to remember my grandad, how kind and loving he was, and how much he meant to so many people.
This was August finished with, which meant the following week I would be heading off for university once again.
Only this time for my second year, it wasn’t at Aberdeen University.
Just to put this into context, Aberdeen is around 370 miles from where I live, which is around seven hours of driving time.
Instead, I had applied to study for one whole year abroad in Germany at the University of Tübingen, which is more than double the distance at 780 miles from where I live and around 13.5 hours of driving time, not including any breaks or traffic and crossing the English Channel.
I had applied for this earlier in the year, thinking, as I usually do, it would be a great opportunity to travel, to meet different people, learn a new language, experience a different country and culture.
I look back on my time in Cambodia and Poland fondly, and I thought these were periods of real growth and learning for me. And they were. But I also remember when I applied to university that if I had the opportunity to study abroad, I would.
And although these times abroad were a lot of fun and helped me gain new perspectives and grow as a person, I somehow missed or dismissed a lot of the difficulty and the challenges I’d had on these previous travel experiences.
I knew I’d changed a lot since those times and learned how to be calmer, more relaxed, and okay with myself, as well as the thoughts and emotions. So I think I felt ready at the time to go abroad again. I felt this time would be different and I would go away for one year and really enjoy it.
I left home once again, saying goodbye to my family, not knowing when I’d next see them, and I set out in my van, which I’d converted, and I would use to travel and stay in for the next few weeks.
My idea was to leave around one month before I had to be at the university, to slowly travel on my own through Europe, attending a friend’s wedding in Leipzig.
And that’s what I started.
I crossed over into France on the tunnel after visiting a couple of friends in the south of England and started driving.
And then it hit me. Just as it had when I went to Cambodia and Poland. On the train to go to Hawaii. And also at the start of university at Aberdeen.
I felt so alone and way outside of my comfort zone. I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t know the language. And I started to break down.
I started questioning everything. What am I doing? Why am I putting myself through this again? What if I just gave up and turned around and went home?
Even though I’d experienced incredibly difficult moments and periods earlier in the year, I felt so overwhelmed and didn’t know what to do or where to turn.
I was on my own in the van in the middle of France, hundreds of miles from anyone and anywhere I knew.
This time it really hit hard.
I think, although I’d experienced this before in the year, I’d either had people around me who could support, or I’d been in an environment where I felt safe and held, of which I had neither this time. And it really reminded me of those previous times where I’d felt similar, travelling on my own into the unknown.
I kept driving another couple of days just to see what would happen, if I started to feel better and calm enough to continue the journey to my friend’s wedding and then to uni.
But each day would happen the same.
I’d wake up in the morning and feel okay and start driving. I’d stop at some place of interest and look around. And usually by the evening I would be in tears, feeling completely lost, isolated, and ashamed.
I spoke to my parents and told them what was happening. They said it was okay if I wanted to turn around and come home.
I guess I didn’t really see this as an option before, and I told myself it was the same pattern repeated—of quitting, of failure, of giving up, which I so desperately wanted to break.
But I asked myself the question in that moment: Why am I putting myself through this?
And in that moment, I decided to turn around and start driving home.
I felt a sense of calm and being okay with this decision. But I also recognised a sense of shame in telling people what had happened and why I’d come back.
Which I start to see now that I suppressed and pushed away to not feel it, telling myself that shame is bad and I don’t feel shame, thus repeating the same pattern I had done with the fear and anxiety.
I see how much I still had to learn and do, even now.
I thought this trip would be different to the previous ones because of how much I’d learnt and grown and developed. And I guess this meant I put pressure and expectation onto myself to be able to travel alone and enjoy it.
Even though I felt I’d learnt to be okay and enjoy being with myself, I found travelling alone in the van incredibly difficult. And also not as interesting and exciting as lots of people on YouTube and Instagram seem to make it look.
I now realise that I’m actually not that fussed about travelling and seeing places. I really value being at home and the daily routine that this allows.
And although I will still travel and enjoy it, I know I don’t need to, and there’s no pressure or expectation to.
It’s funny how each time I return home from a failed trip, I feel this resolve to change. I feel like I have to figure things out and fix my issues.
This time it was about: How do I figure out what I actually want in my life? What my plan is, and then how to do that?
And as I drove home from France, I had lots of time to think about this.
So I started asking myself these questions.
And I let everything that I thought I wanted be open to this scrutiny.
I realised I did enjoy being at home with family, even though I’d often struggled at home with the patterns and cycles of addiction to entertainment. But I knew I’d changed a lot, and these struggles didn’t have to be the same anymore.
I knew I could learn and grow just like I had done before.
And so I decided not to study abroad in Germany.
I also decided not to return to study at Aberdeen.
But this decision brought with it a familiar feeling—one I’d been running from my whole life. And this time, I had to face it head-on...