Seven years ago, I was a yoga and Pilates instructor with a very successful business. If you’d asked me to describe myself, I’d have used words like “invincible” and “capable” – someone who gave advice but had no need of support from others. In reality, I was on the brink of collapse. The symptoms were subtle initially: chronic stomach issues, dizziness, a feeling of trepidation when preparing to teach. I remember lying in bed one morning with my stomach churning uncontrollably, thinking, “I feel like I’m falling apart.” We’d just returned from a holiday where I’d felt so unwell I’d gone to hospital and been diagnosed with a TIA (often referred to as a ministroke). I’d been feeling unwell for most of that year. I was very stressed and completely ignoring how I felt. At 61, retirement was on the horizon, but I had no intention of giving up my business – teaching wasn’t work for me, it had been my passion for over 25 years.

A complete breakdown

Around Christmas 2018, I had a complete breakdown. I’d spent my whole life trying to please everyone, control everything, and be perfect. I couldn’t stop being busy, although I desperately wanted to. My body essentially burned out to stop me in my tracks. My mum died in February 2019, and her death, combined with my collapse, became the catalyst for the most radical change we could imagine. The idea of living on a narrow boat was my husband Rob’s initially. We’d been doing up the house during lockdown and talked a lot about wanting more from retirement than pottering or doing the garden. We wanted adventure, escape from traffic and busyness. A boat seemed like a way to be immersed in nature. At first, I wasn’t keen. We’d only ever spent a couple of nights on a boat before, and it felt like a ridiculous idea – I’d always imagined we’d stay in our Leicester home for life. But when we visited a boat builder and saw his work, my tummy did a little flip, and I just knew. We never really questioned it after that. We said we’d rather regret doing it than regret not giving it a go. Staying put felt like a slow road to death. (Photo: Getty)

Selling the house and caravan

By September 2020, we had sold our house and caravan, and gave away everything else to live on a narrow boat. At 63, I was starting a completely different life. It was the most radical change we could have made in our sixties – from a three-bedroom house of 18 years to a 60′ x 6’10” floating home. Selling the house felt exciting, and surprisingly, getting rid of 90 per cent of our possessions was quite easy. We gave most things away to friends, family or charity shops – though being in lockdown made that harder. We sold the cars, the caravan, sofas, bed. The hardest part was parting with photos and books. I made photo albums for our three children and two eldest grandchildren, and although I had a room full of books, I knew there wouldn’t be space for that kind of clutter on board. We only kept what we use all the time.

Challenging moving out of bricks and mortar

When my mum sold her house after over 50 years, it struck me how little our possessions really mean. Living is what’s important – actually using everything, not keeping things just in case. That said, we had no idea how challenging it would be to move to a dwelling not made of bricks and mortar. The admin was particularly frustrating – trying to change our address with banks, the DVLA, and passport office when we had no fixed address led to countless circular conversations. Eventually, we found a mail-forwarding service and, after much persistence, managed to register all our official documents there. (Photo: Chris Ratcliffe/Bloomberg via Getty)

From Llangollen to Birmingham

But we loved our boat from the start. Because we’d designed it ourselves, we felt very invested in it. We were both quite nervous manoeuvring the boat at first, but soon got used to it and the physical aspect of managing locks keeps us fit. We’re classed as continuous cruisers, as we don’t have a home marina and move around the canal network most of the year. We’ve travelled extensively – the Llangollen Canal twice, the length of the Leeds–Liverpool Canal, the Macclesfield, Peak Forest and Caldon Canals and been into Birmingham twice. (Photo: Rich Jones Photography/Getty/Moment RF)

The best part

The best moments are stepping outside in the morning when we’re moored in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but birdsong to hear. There are so many beautiful places in the UK we’d never have discovered without the boat. We’ve also met brilliant people. One of the loveliest things about life on the water is that no one’s trying to be better than anyone else. We did wonder, when we moved onto our brand-new boat, whether others might judge us, but everyone we’ve met has been friendly and relaxed. A narrow boat requires regular maintenance. Just last week, we had the boat lifted out of the water to check the paintwork (called blacking) on the hull which wasn’t cheap at £800 (which we have to do every two years). The annual boat licence is £1400 and the insurance is £500 per annum. But overall it’s a far less expensive way to live. Most of our money goes on food, wine and diesel. We buy fewer “things” now. Financially, we feel secure – we could sell the boat and our van if we ever needed to buy a house again, but hopefully that won’t happen.

Not without its challenges

There are occasional challenges. The UK canal system is deteriorating in places due to funding cuts, which means essential maintenance can get neglected; locks stay out of action and some parts of the canal network stay closed for long periods of time. Thankfully, we can always get a mooring somewhere, even if it means we have to travel further than we’d planned. (Photo: Ben Birchall/PA)

A slightly off-grid life

If we get fed up of travelling, we go into a marina for a couple of weeks and go on holiday! Last winter we went to Tenerife for a month so we weren’t on the boat for the whole winter, but the boat is only four years old and very well insulated. We have central heating and a wood burner, so it’s never cold. We’ve been living on board Grace for almost four years now and we plan to continue this slightly off-grid life for as long as we’re physically able. Waking up to sunshine and birdsong in the countryside really has felt like living the dream, and it allows us to travel, to be in nature or towns and cities, to find solitude or sociability. As for my health I’m in a much better place. I’m physically healthy, emotionally more stable, and more self-aware than I’ve ever been. After 60-plus years ruled by my inner critic, I finally feel at peace. (Photo: carloscastilla/Getty)