An American Pastime Fit for the Age of Anxiety
In the summer of 2020, after a tough year during which my son struggled to fit in at school and got diagnosed with several learning disabilities, I decided he needed a break. So I sent him to camp. Except, unlike most parents, I went with him. I needed the getaway as much as he did. I was exhausted after trying to get my son the school services he needed during the pandemic-induced shutdown. I hoped that, nestled amongst the California redwoods in Sequoia National Forest, we could forget all that and try to be happy campers together.
Parents and kids have been going to camp together, in some form, for decades. But according to the American Camp Association, which has accredited about 2,300 U.S. camps, interest in them seems to have been rising over the past couple of years. Cory Harrison, the vice president of overnight camping at Camp Greenville, in South Carolina, told me that when he opened enrollment this past January, all seven of his family sessions filled up within 15 minutes. “Family camp” is, after all, a fun way for families to get some time outside together. But it’s also fitting for an age of anxious parents and anxious kids, who, respectively, may feel wary about letting go or nervous about attending camp on their own.
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Many of the reasons for family camp’s popularity are practical. Going to one is like a vacation, filled with relaxation, entertainment, and exposure to nature, which can boost mental and physical well-being. But outdoorsy vacations tend to be either expensive or a lot of work to plan (or both). Family camp, meanwhile, can cost as little as a few hundred dollars per person for a several-day session—much less than most all-inclusive resorts, especially if you factor in that some offer financial assistance. (Longer camps and more luxurious accommodations can go up to a few thousand per person.) Parents don’t have to organize activities, provide gear, or supervise their kids 24/7. Perhaps most important, many camps ban screens; they’re a rare place where kids and parents can spend phone-free time together without it being seen as a punishment.
The ease of this setup may be especially appealing to single parents or parents of kids who need certain accommodations. Some are even designed for families with specific needs. YMCA Camp Greenville, in the Blue Ridge Mountains, for example, has a program for families with autistic children and children with Down syndrome. It offers zip lines, hikes, music, and water sports, but also tries to limit noise in the dining hall and has counselors around to help out with or modify the more strenuous activities for anyone who needs it. Other family camps for kids with medical conditions such as diabetes and cancer offer educational talks as well as writing or art classes for participants to process what it’s like living with these conditions. Some kid-only camps have this focus too, but parents may feel more at ease if they are on hand to monitor their child’s health.
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The comfort of being able to watch over your kid helps explain, in part, the draw of going to camp together for just about any family. Cory Harrison told me that his campers’ parents have gotten more stressed over the past few years. Some insist that he call them if their child gets a few mosquito bites—even though that’s a normal part of camp. Others go to great lengths to vet the staff members. They not only read camp reviews and attend informational sessions, but also send emails, ask to chat with the director on the phone, and make special requests. A few have asked him if their child might be allowed to keep a cellphone. (Not many self-respecting camp directors would say yes to that.) “I just see much more ‘Velcro’ parenting—parents who want to always be connected to their kids,” Harrison told me. Family camp lets them do just that.
It’s not just the parents. Childhood anxiety is on the rise. Research indicates that as many as one in five kids are experiencing symptoms. Some of these kids may feel too nervous to go to camp on their own. A friend of mine told me that, for her 10-year-old son, family camp felt like a natural compromise. It was a way to have new experiences—outdoor activities, camp traditions—while still having Mom and Dad nearby.
Although it makes sense that parents and children in these circumstances might flock to family camp, choosing it over a solo option just to accommodate our worried kids and our stressed-out selves is rarely the right decision, according to therapists I spoke with. “That’s bubble-wrapping,” Regine Galanti, a psychologist in New York and the author of Parenting Anxious Kids, told me. It doesn’t teach children or parents that they can overcome anxiety and grow from it. If you want your kids to go to camp alone, then choose one with a good reputation that fits your values and kindly let (or make) them go. You can certainly prepare for this process with a therapist or by going to family camp first. But ultimately, you have to trust that the kids can navigate the experience without you.
Of course, anxiety is far from the only reason to opt for family camp, given how different—and differently valuable—the experience is from the kids-only version. “It’s really like comparing apples to dogs,” Debra Kissen, a Chicago-area psychotherapist and a co-author of Overcoming Parental Anxiety, told me. The benefits of kids going on their own include gaining independence, perseverance, a willingness to try new things, and relationship skills. Family camp’s payoffs, meanwhile, center on strengthening family bonds—and on giving parents a chance to have fun, too.
The family camps I went to with my son conjured a sense of youthfulness and nostalgia that I haven’t seen elsewhere. Some parents had past lives as campers and counselors. They were the most enthusiastic. Put a couple of serious tech-worker dads back around a bonfire, and they will dress up in the wackiest outfits when it’s time for skits, then sing their hearts out. (And they’ll know all the words to the classic camp songs.) They seemed eager to pass along some of the quickly evaporating culture of their phone-free childhood to their kids, who often—but not always—played along.
At the first family camp my son and I went to, in Sequoia, we did all the traditional camp activities—swimming, archery, boating—which my son loved. Later, at a Spanish-language-immersion family camp in Minnesota’s Northwoods, in 2022, we cooked, danced, played games, and attempted to converse in Spanish. My son struggled at that camp, because he felt that our language skills weren’t up to snuff, but I appreciated the opportunity to push our boundaries. Both times, my son practiced independence—hanging out with different groups of kids in unfamiliar places and trying new things—but we still had time to do things together too. I got to decompress in a beautiful setting and to channel a younger version of myself. For instance, remembering that, as a kid, I had sold enough cookies to pay my own way to Girl Scout camp changed how I felt as a parent: not just perpetually anxious about making the right decisions, but also determined and resourceful, and able to advocate for my kid’s needs in school.
We didn’t go to family camp this summer, but we still recount stories from past years. (Ask us about getting stuck in the middle of a lake in a boat together.) More important, we’ve brought camp’s lessons home with us. I did eventually find the right resources and a better school for my son. He’s happy, has a good group of friends, and recently received a glowing report card, including especially high praise from his Spanish teacher. We both agree that we’d do family camp again—and next year my son is also hoping to head to camp by himself.