I'm no stranger to taking time out to travel. This will be my fourth big trip.

It all started one day when I was 18, I was lying in bed and my phone went off. It was a text message from a school friend saying 'shall we go backpacking next year and defer university?'

This was totally out of the blue and not something I'd ever even thought about doing, no one else I knew at school was doing anything other than uni or getting a job. I couldn't stop thinking about it, it sounded so exotic.

*White Beach on Boracay, The Philippines*

A seed planted

As it turned out that friendship fizzled out, but the idea to travel was planted firmly in my head. I started talking to another friend about it and she was keen. We talked about the beaches in Thailand, the animals in Australia and the amazing scenery in New Zealand. It was official, it was happening.

And then she pulled out at the last minute. I knew there was no one else who wanted to travel.

I'd only been on a plane three times, I hadn't left Europe and I wasn't keen to travel alone, but it was that or nothing. I chose solo. It was the single most defining period in my life and the most incredible experience, beyond all my expectations.

Sure there were some down times, loneliness and homesickness but I had experiences I never dreamt I would have. From small things such as sleeping in a dorm (at first, I was like "sleeping in a room full of strangers?! No way!"), to skydiving, whitewater rafting and road tripping with people I'd only met for one night. The feeling that I could manage on my own was the most liberating one of all.

It became an addiction. A pattern of work, save, travel, repeat. And I felt completely fine about it, more than fine, I was living a life of adventure. I hitchhiked to sleep in a monastery in Moldova, surfed down an active volcano in Nicaragua, slept in a hammock by the tallest waterfall in the world in Venezuela and watched the sunrise over Mount Everest in Nepal.

And then I hit my 30's.

*Watching the sunrise over Everest from Nagarkot*

Travelling in my thirties

After spending a year in Asia with my boyfriend in 2012-13, we decided to try living in Australia for a year. We only had a 457 (working holiday) visa so we expected to stay a year, or two max. But then Joe got sponsored and suddenly we could stay for longer.

We've been here four and a half years now, and away from the UK for five and a half. Last month I quit my job. Again.

The plan is (of course) to spend another year travelling. But suddenly major anxiety has set in.

Most of my friends are married with babies, a mortgage and maybe even a second investment home. I am in the process of selling everything I own (which obviously doesn’t include a house!) to whittle my life down to backpack size again.

How it gets harder

In Sydney, it's very difficult to find a furnished apartment so we ended up having to buy all our furniture and even white goods. It turns out that I've become quite attached to the flat and even the furniture and it feels horrible every time a stranger comes to our home and picks something up.

It gets that little bit more real. When someone took our bed and we spent the last few weeks sleeping on the floor I may have even cried and declared I wanted our bed back!

It was also hard to quit my job. I've been there a long time and it's a weird thought that in a few weeks time I won't ever be there again. Adjusting to only having money go one way, out the door, is another thing that never bothered me in the past.

Am I too old for that now?

It's probably partly age and probably partly having got used to a very comfortable life here. The thought of stringently budgeting again is, if I'm honest, a little scary. it’s been a long time since I stayed in a hostel or even a cheap guesthouse. Am I too old for that now?

You're probably reading this and wondering "Why would you do it then? Why not just stay in Sydney in a comfortable life and save to buy a flat rather than spend it all on travel?"

*The rice terraces at Batad in the Philippines*

But that's the thing about addiction. Travel is in my blood, and when I'm not doing it, I'm either thinking about it, or now, writing about it. It's the thing that makes me feel most alive. And it's been worth sacrificing the stability of a career and house. It's just a little bit harder now.

When I tell people we are leaving to travel again, they say "oh, you're brave" but not in the smiling and slightly envious way they said it to me when I was 18 and heading off alone, but more in a way that's like hmmm don't you want to buy a house? Don't you want kids? What are you going to do when you're older, do you realise you should be investing for your future?

I guess time will tell. But for now, travel and I are still in a committed relationship.