I'm a mom of 3 and went on my first solo trip in 10 years. I worried about everything that could go wrong, but it was freeing.

• I'm a 35-year-old American mom to three kids living in Wales.
• I hadn't traveled alone in 10 years and was scared about flying to the US for a wedding.

Since having children 10 years ago, I've never been away from them for more than two nights. And those infrequent two-night mini-getaways have been with my husband. So, in 10 years, I've never traveled alone.

But traveling solo has never been something I craved. I love going away as a family, stressful although it may be at times. Paddling in the ocean amid their screams when the cold water touches their feet. Searching for a shop that sells ice cream. Movie marathons when it's raining.

In August, a childhood friend of mine got in touch to invite me to her wedding in Richmond, Virginia. At first, I replied I couldn't make it. The cost of traveling from the UK to a small airport in Richmond was far too expensive for a short trip, and I wouldn't be able to find someone to have the kids with while I was away.

However, behind my response was not just logical reasoning but fear.

I was afraid that something would happen to me

I was scared of travel after not having been on a plane in seven years. Petrified of dying and leaving my children behind. Worried about the budget repercussions of spending money on a trip that only I would enjoy. Nervous that something would go wrong with my visa and that I would be prohibited from re-entering the UK. Some of the fears were illogical, but they were still there.

After initially declining her invitation, I thought about it at length. I hadn't seen my mom in a year or my dad, both of whom live in America, in three years. I hadn't seen the friends that would be at the wedding in over 10 years. Going would give me the unique opportunity to catch up with all of them in one fell swoop.

With some planning, I made it work

Reopening my computer, I found flights were half the price if I flew into Washington DC. A flight departed on December 28 and returned on January 3. My husband was off work for the Christmas holidays so childcare wouldn't be an issue. Without thinking for longer than half an hour, I booked the ticket. There was no turning back. No talking myself out of it.

In the weeks leading up to my travel, I should have been excited, but instead, I felt a knot in my stomach every time it came to mind. Most concerning was the fact that I had forgotten how to plan travel as my husband is the expert planner, and I've always left this task to him since we married 12 years ago.

For a few weeks, I let anxiety gnaw away at me but then decided that the only way to get over it was to plan every step of my trip meticulously.

I booked a return bus ticket to the airport, bought travel insurance, made paper copies and took photographs of all my tickets and relevant documents, wrote a list of what I needed to pack, made note of important phone numbers and addresses, and drafted an itinerary that I send to the people I would be visiting.

Everything I could control, I had. Anything else was out of my control and not worth worrying about.

I really enjoyed traveling alone

When I woke on the day of my departure, my adrenaline was high, but I felt confident I had done all I could to prepare for the trip.

Once on the bus to London, where I would then catch my flight, all the butterflies went. I had worked myself up for months about the trip, but once plans were being lived out, I felt completely relaxed and totally enjoyed the experience of traveling on my own.

Without kids in tow, I could read my book without interruption, sit for a cappuccino at the airport, go through security only managing myself, try on makeup at the duty-free shops, people watch while waiting for my plane to board, and choose the film I wanted to watch on the flight while drinking white wine. Traveling alone wasn't the fearful feat I had imagined, but an absolute breeze.

For the five days I was in the US, I was totally free sailing woman. Meals or bedtimes didn't bind me. Didn't have to settle arguments. Had hours of long, uninterrupted conversations with family and friends I hadn't seen in years. Took extra long showers. Went to the gym when I woke early with jet lag. Browsed shops, trying on clothes without rushing. Ate all my favourite foods.

Dare I say, it was like I was a child-free woman. As if I had rewound to the moment I left America to move to the UK to get married 12 years ago. I could feel myself being rejuvenated by having so few responsibilities.

And yet, as the trip came to an end, I was ready to go home. To be smothered in hugs and kisses and endlessly listen to whatever my kids wanted to tell me about what they did while I was away. Because although I enjoyed the stint away from reality, I love my reality — the day-to-day with my family.

There wasn't a hint of anxiety about travel on the way home because I'd already proven to myself that I could do this. There was nothing to be afraid of. Proof that often, by doing the very thing I'm afraid of, even though it feels uncomfortable, I can break the power fear has over me.