I had high hopes for adult summer camp

Metro

27-07-2025

Standing in the middle of the Kent countryside, I hung back as grown adults wearing Scout uniforms, animal ears and fluffy tails congregated around the fire pit.
Amidst the sea of blue, green, yellow, and red, camp leaders psyched up the crowd with chants for their various teams, ready for the grown up version of school house games.
A long line formed as we paraded through the forest, following a brass band. Then we entered the arena, each corner flanked by a giant flag of a woodland mascot.
Everyone scrambled for a place to perch, eagerly waiting for the games to begin – a random assortment of competitions, including one that involved dangling a carrot into a blindfolded stranger's mouth using a fishing rod.
The atmosphere was buzzing. Electric, even.
It then dawned on me that I was witnessing the realisation of a childhood fantasy come true – to attend a summer camp.
It took three nights spent in the forest for me to realise that maybe I'd expected a bit too much.
I personally blame this desire to go to a summer camp on being raised on films like The Parent Trap and Addams Family Values.
I wanted to make up handshakes, make friends for life, and do each other's hair, just like the films (sans the whole secret twin thing and getting my ears pierced with an apple.)
As a child who needed constant stimulation, I was desperate to be shipped off for weeks on end so I could dabble in an assortment of adventure sports, crafts, and survival skills.
This fascination with summer camps didn't subside as I left childhood behind.
Attending one was on every wishlist I made. But when adolescence hit, I suffered from depression and became introverted. My survival strategy was to hide.
It was only through a random Google search one day that I accidentally stumbled across a summer camp for adults.
Over the course of a weekend in the forest, campers could try out new activities and adventures by day then party into the night. Starting at just under £300 for an elementary weekend ticket, over 100 activities were on offer, including free drop-in events like hot-air balloon rides.
There would be live bands, talks and comedians. I booked almost instantaneously.
Initially, I planned to go with my best friend, but she had to cancel at the last minute. I decided I still wanted to go alone, and when I set off for the bank holiday weekend, I was full of high hopes for s'mores, silly games, and songs around the campfire. But it didn't all go to plan.
Although the camp had made some accommodations by providing a designated camping area for solos, by late afternoon on the first day, large groups of existing friends had also started pitching their tents in the same spot.
I had hoped by pitching my tent in this section of the camp that it would have been easier to bond with solo attendees like myself, as well as being a bit quieter.
Then, during the aforementioned games that first evening, I felt quite shy to get involved so I just watched from the side.
I made my way to the board games tent, but it was already heaving. I felt a bit pathetic that I was intimidated and couldn't just ask if I could join in.
Defeated, I sat by the firepit alone for a while. I soon returned to my tent, putting my social awkwardness down to first-night nerves.
By the end of the weekend, however, it had become clear that the reason summer camps are perfect for children is because they are generally less inhibited than adults.
As a child, I would have thrown myself in head first, introducing myself to others and been content to make the most of my time at the camp.
Unfortunately, that is not who I am now, though. It's hard to embody the confidence of a child when you've grown and been taught not to be so self-assured.
Still, I tried again to get stuck in.
I awoke early the next morning to grab some breakfast – and much-needed coffee – from the food vendors, before making my way to my first scheduled activity of the day.
It was raining heavily but everyone seemed to be in good spirits.
Despite the weather, I managed to squeeze in an array of different activities. Some of the crafty ones I really enjoyed – nipple-tassel making, printmaking, and hammering dead flowers into fabric.
I particularly loved getting to down shots of tequila at a 9am cocktail-making class.
This is where I really thrived because the activities were in small groups and we all had a shared purpose of being there, so it was much easier to talk with one another.
Other activities, however, quickly confirmed my incompetence: I struggled to light a fire, make a flower headdress, and the terrazzo coaster I made cracked in half.
I couldn't say I shared the same enthusiasm for the evening events.
With the exception of a talk about dopamine dressing (using fashion to boost your mood) and the talent show, I found myself retreating to my tent early each evening, grappling with social anxiety, while others around me partied hard. I hated that I couldn't get myself to do things that seemed to come to others so effortlessly.
By Monday morning, I was relieved to be going home. I felt deflated and fell into a depressive slump for weeks. Everyone else seemed to be posting pictures and comments about what an amazing time they had, but I felt anything but. More Trending
My self-esteem took a further battering when I posted a couple of suggestions in the camp's Facebook group about how they could make things a bit more welcoming for solo attendees – particularly those of us on the shyer side.
While some campers were sympathetic and even expressed that they had felt lonely too, others were hurtful; comments ranged from criticising my ability to put myself out there to suggesting that I should get therapy.
My adult summer camp didn't quite live up to my expectations, though that was no fault of the camp. There were clearly a lot of people who were able to let their inner child run amok without reticence.
But for me it was a stark reminder of how different I am to the child I once was. I just don't have the same confidence or stamina that I once did.
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