" is it harder when the children are little, or when they're teenagers and young adults?"
Based on my own experience, I can answer that one quite easily.
For me, the hardest part of parenting has always been worrying.
When they're babies, there are a million things to worry about, but at least you can keep an eye on them 24/7. Looking back nearly 21 and 19 years, those worries somehow seem much more manageable than the ones I have now.
I know what you're thinking: "But they're adults now!"
That's exactly the hard part.
The years spent guiding them, teaching them right from wrong, navigating tantrums and tears, dishing out consequences, showing understanding, letting them make mistakes, answering endless questions, getting nutrition into them, negotiating, encouraging, praising and, above all, loving them. Then one day they head out into the world as independent adults, and all you can do is hope that everything you've taught them has stuck. You must trust that they are kind, decent human beings with good judgement and emotional intelligence.
My 20-year-old daughter is currently in Nepal on a solo trip. She’s already been travelling on her gap year at 18, which was equal measures terrifying and exhilarating (for me!) but she was at least with a friend.
She casually announced that she would be spending a month travelling alone, volunteering and climbing to Annapurna Base Camp (with a guide, thankfully). Deep breath. Stay calm. Suppress the immediate urge to shout, "Please don't go on your own!"
I find myself flashing back to the painfully shy toddler who would go completely mute in social situations and refuse to join in at birthday parties. I was that mum clambering around soft play areas and sitting cross-legged on the floor with an unenthusiastic child glued to me while everyone else's children happily joined the magic show or danced along with the entertainer.
For her, those parties were a form of torture.
For me, they weren't much better.
What an incredible transformation she has made. She has grown into a confident, adventurous and fiercely independent young woman. The part of me that isn't worrying is enormously proud of her.
Nepal is five hours ahead, and my phone sits on silent mode beside my bed. Ever since becoming a mother, I've slept lightly, somehow tuned into every vibration and notification. With my daughter somewhere in the Himalayas, that alertness has reached similar heights to those of Everest peak.
Potential altitude sickness, gluten intolerance, endless steep climbs (did the few hours of Stairmaster training at the gym suffice?) and unpredictable mountain conditions are just the beginning of the list of things I'm trying not to think about.
Each morning, usually around 4am for me, she sends an update.
The first arrived text on the day she reached Pokhara, after 3 flights with one being a tiny plane…
"I'm going paragliding."
Perfect.
Exactly the sort of reassuring message that helps you drift peacefully back to sleep.
Subsequent updates have included a video of a tarantula-like spider in her room, reports of a dodgy stomach before a seven-hour trek, descriptions of a hole-in-the-floor toilet with no toilet paper, a tea house with no hot water, and a shared shower in a pitch-black brick hut.
Then came the highlight.
A video of an enormous insect - something resembling a cross between a scorpion, centipede and spider - casually crawling into her rucksack.
Personally, I would have burned the bag, abandoned all possessions and requested immediate airlift rescue.
She, on the other hand, after a mild fit, persuaded 3 Nepalese guides to go through her bag meticulously, moved rooms and carried on. While I was busy sharing the video with my friends in horror, she had forgotten about it!
Her resilience is remarkable, and I couldn't be prouder.
To top off my high state of worry, my son is at a three-day festival somewhere up north, sleeping on a punctured air mattress, without a coat, in the rain.
Thankfully he's with friends, because my brain doesn't currently have enough capacity to worry properly about two children at once!
Seeing them living their own lives, pursuing adventures and becoming independent adults is incredibly rewarding. The reality is that there is very little I can do from 4,500 miles away, apart from trusting them and trying not to imagine every possible disaster scenario.
What I do have now is a newfound respect for my own parents, who had none of the technology we take for granted today.
When we travelled, there were no mobile phones, no WhatsApp messages and certainly no location sharing. Yes Find my iPhone has overtaken Instagram on my Screentime.
A friend recently told me that while travelling in her twenties she became ill with typhoid. During a rare phone call home, she read her mother the doctor's letter explaining her diagnosis.
Her mother was understandably horrified.
My friend recovered, carried on travelling, and completely forgot to call home again to let her know she was okay!
Perhaps parenting has always been this worrying.
The only difference is that now our children can update us in real time from the side of a mountain and with photo evidence. Sometimes, I'm not entirely sure that's an improvement.
Whenever I travel, as an adult, I now understand the importance of texting my own mum that one word ‘landed’ upon touchdown. Those few letters alleviate that inbuilt anxiety that never goes away no matter how old your baby is.
The reality is that this is exactly what we've spent years preparing them for: to be independent, adventurous and capable of navigating the world without us. It just turns out that nobody prepares parents for the bit where they are.