Solo Female RVer: What I Wish Someone Had Told Me Before I Left

When I told people I was selling everything and moving into a Sprinter van alone, the reactions fell into two categories: "That's amazing!" and "Aren't you scared?"

The scared camp was mostly my mom. Love you Mom. But you were wrong — mostly. Here's what I actually wish someone had told me before I drove away.

Loneliness comes in waves. Not constantly. Not even frequently. But there are moments — rainy Tuesday afternoons, holidays, times you want to share a sunset with someone — where it hits hard. I didn't expect that because I'm an introvert who chose this life. Introvert doesn't mean immune to loneliness.

Mechanical knowledge matters more than you think. My van broke down in rural Nevada. The nearest mechanic was 90 minutes away. I learned to change my own serpentine belt that day from a YouTube video. Now I carry tools and know my way around the engine bay. Not expertly. But enough.

People are overwhelmingly kind.

You will talk to yourself. A lot. Full conversations. It's fine. My barista in Taos gave me a look when I accidentally ordered "two coffees" out of habit from talking to myself.

Trust your gut. If a campground feels off, leave. If a person gives you weird vibes, trust it. I've left two spots because something didn't feel right. Maybe I was being paranoid. Don't care. My safety is not negotiable.

You are stronger than you think. This isn't a greeting card platitude. I mean it practically. You can figure out the propane. You can back up the van. You can navigate backcountry roads alone. Each thing you figure out by yourself adds to a growing pile of evidence that you are capable. That pile changes you.

I wouldn't trade this life for anything. Even the lonely Tuesdays.