I’m a travel writer trying for a baby: why don’t we ever talk about our family lives?
Sian Meades-Williams on family planning and travel writing.
Welcome to July’s series of newsletters, written by you, our readers. First up is Sian-Meades Williams of Freelance Writing Jobs on the unspoken struggles of planning a family while being a travel writer.
Later this month we’ve also got practical advice and tips on:
Simple ways to make your writing awards-worthy by Sarah Gillespie
The anatomy of successful pitches from Suzy Pope (in which she shares her own pitches)
How to write about sustainability and responsible travel without being a bore by Eloise Barker
Your subscriptions are what make it possible for us to commission our fellow freelancers, so if you’d like to read your colleagues’ work and support independent writing, please subscribe.
Don’t forget, we’re supporting Meera Dattani’s webinar series on travel writing and you can get all the previous webinars recorded here for just £6 each. And finally, can you help Indonesia-based travel writer Stuart McDonald gather some data on AI and travel writing for a piece he’s penning? Fill in his survey here.
Over the last couple of years, I’ve switched to travel writing hard mode, making juggling press trip schedules and flights even trickier than usual by blocking a week out in my diary each month: I’m a travel writer and I’m trying for a baby.
Every work trip I've taken since 2022 has been scheduled around the days I ovulate. For those of you less familiar with baby making, here’s a recap of your sex ed classes: conception occurs when an egg and sperm meet during ovulation. This window typically happens a couple of weeks after your period and usually lasts 8-48 hours. However, these timings shift, sometimes considerably. If my predictions are slightly off, I could be on a plane across Europe, miles away from my husband, with no chance of falling pregnant. There’s no getting around the logistics of trying to conceive naturally: you do have to be in the same room as another person.
I spent February in the Scottish Highlands. The only way the trip was feasible was for Tom to get the sleeper train to Inverness so we didn't miss my ovulation window. We actually planned this approach seven months in advance. Usually my travel is booked last-minute, the day my period starts, flooded with hormones and crushed with disappointment. It isn’t lost on me that my career opportunities improve as my chances for a baby lessen.
Every month feels like a chance I have to grab with both hands. I’m 41, I’ve suffered two pregnancy losses in eighteen months — one ending in traumatic surgery — I know I can’t risk missing a shot. So I have to compromise elsewhere. I don’t put myself forward for travel opportunities like I used to, and I’m far less confident about making vital connections because I’m scared to break them. I haven’t said yes to a group press trip in two years.
I’ve never discussed with an editor, PR company, or tourist board why my travel dates are set in stone. It’s only just dawning on me how strange it is to hide such a significant and ongoing part of my life. I don’t talk about it for fear of being overlooked for opportunities, or losing out on a commission to someone more flexible. The travel industry isn’t necessarily small, but everyone talks. Reliability counts for a lot.
Sometimes our personal lives have to take over. We can’t care for elderly relatives while trekking across Iceland. It isn’t always practical or affordable for childcare to fall entirely to a partner for weeks. We miss out on vital life moments with loved ones while we’re away. When we choose against our careers, we lose something of ourselves and that’s not insignificant. Our writing can mean just as much to us as other parts of our lives and I don’t think it’s selfish to say that. When I spoke to travel writer and mother of two, Emma Gibbs, she was driving home from researching her latest Scotland guidebook and told me how she has to disconnect her home and work life. “I feel like I’m operating as a separate person to who I am at home. It sounds cold-hearted but I think it’s the only way I can do this.”
Travel writing is an intrinsic part of our lives outside journalism. It gets tangled up in our weekends, holidays, and family obligations. Yet we still try to draw a line between the professional and personal as though it's a traditional 9-5. We’re trying to be strictly business about something that simply isn’t, and our families and our home lives are becoming the elephant in the room.
To some people outside the industry (and perhaps even some in it), the answer is to stay at home until we can be more flexible. That leaves us with a pretty damning question: if only those without obligation take commissions and press trips, whose stories are being told? Who is being overlooked? There’s undoubtedly a gender issue here. “I do feel like I’ve spent my whole career working with successful male travel writers who have families but also very busy travelling schedules,” says Emma, raising an all-too familiar point: “I bet no one ever asks these men who’s looking after their children!”
Every month I put my career on hold for an intangible wish. The pressure of trying for a baby is enormous sometimes, I’m too exhausted to hide it anymore. And I don’t want to. I think the most impactful stories we tell — the very best travel writing — stems from who we are. Those stories come from our hearts, our community, and our values. Something about how we work — how the industry works — doesn’t work if we have to pretend that one half of our life doesn't exist in order to do our jobs.
Tweet of the week
This reminds me of the time I had to go to Cambridge to write a story on a roundabout. Never has “travel writer” felt so unglamorous.
Who to follow
Props to Visit Oslo this week, whose latest tourism board video is a piece of satirical art:
Industry must-reads
Cathy Adams at The Times has been writing about breakfast again, this time with the news that apparently 60% of people will book a hotel based on the quality of the breakfast available. Do watch the video of Cathy and commissioning editor Liz going head-to-head over a baked beans debate, too.
Skift has produced this interesting video on “regenerative tourism”, and for something completely different, this piece on ageing and freedom in the desert by Rhonda Carrier in her Substack Wayward Wimmin (co-produced with Tracey Davies) is a raw and rousing read.
This was the first in our reader-written July series. Get the rest by becoming a paid subscriber today.
Oh my goodness, this is a great read, Sian. As a travel writer and mother of three, it is not the easiest of careers to balance, however, it is very much possible and incredibly rewarding. I do agree with Emma, the judgment I've had for being a travel writer and "abandoning" my children when I go on work trips, despite the fact they have two parents, two sets of adoring grandparents, and I rarely went away for more than five days, maybe once every six to eight weeks, meant that I was a pretty hands-on mother for most of the time. But haters gonna hate. And they have had additional benefit some incredible trips and experiences. It makes me furious when women are judged for their career choices when men get a free rein. Good luck! Sending positive vibes ;-)
And THANK YOU for mentioning Rhonda's brilliant piece on Wayward Wimmin.
Also I love the tweet of the day and Lottie's article about the roundabout. I started out in journalism working on a magazine for fresh produce retailers ... I loved doing profiles of fruit and veg shops in obscure English towns or going out with plum farmers to their orchards, but there were a lot of articles about shelving systems and I once had to write 2,500 words about packaging. These days I wrote about really interesting topics relating to classical music, but I NEVER get word counts of anything like 2,500!