After picking up my sons from school in Las Rozas de Madrid in March, I returned to our apartment to find my 70-year-old mom in bed, where she’d spent most of the day.
When I asked if she was OK, she told me what I subconsciously already knew: She wanted to return to the US.
It had been five months since she sold her condo in Connecticut and joined me, my husband, and our two sons in the Madrid suburb where we’d moved to two months prior.
I assumed she’d thrive in Spain, doing all the things she loved — traveling, pursuing new hobbies, and meeting people — on a larger scale. I had to accept that the future I’d imagined for us wasn’t going to be what I had pictured.
My mom had a harder time with the language barrier than the rest of us
Before my mom moved to Europe, she put effort into learning Spanish, hiring a tutor and practicing daily on language-learning apps.
Out of the five of us, she’d done the most preparation. My husband and sons arrived knowing only a few basic words, and I was working with two semesters of college Spanish from 20 years ago.
As beginners, we quickly learned that keeping up with fast-talking native speakers isn’t easy. I frequently felt stupid, getting confused in the middle of conversations and pretending I understood with haphazard nods.
Because my family and I plan to live in Spain permanently, I knew I had to push through the feelings of discomfort. After all, they came with the territory of moving to a new country.
My mom, however, had a harder time getting past those moments. I watched her freeze in conversation as the Spanish words she was looking for escaped her. She grew timid in a way I’d never seen.
One evening after her first two-hour Spanish class, she came home and went straight to bed. She didn’t leave her bedroom the next day. I could tell she was approaching her limit.
She always loved travel and adventure, so I assumed she’d thrive in Spain
Part of the reason I had such a hard time reconciling with this version of my mom is because it was so different from the woman I’d always known. For starters, she’d never been someone who stayed still.
Before moving to Spain, she hiked, practiced yoga, did Pilates, painted, and danced. She wandered through museums, traveled everywhere from Peru to Norway, and went out of her way to experience different cultures. She even previously studied Danish and French.
A natural introvert, she’s always moved through the world with a quiet curiosity and independence I admire. She was rarely at her Connecticut condo for more than two weeks at a time.
So when we shared that we were moving to Spain from Connecticut, I thought joining us would be a dream opportunity for her. Neither she nor I imagined she’d struggle to find her place.
But as my husband threw himself into a 600-hour intensive Spanish course, the boys found their footing at school, and I made new friends, I watched my mom turn inward.
I noticed that she left the apartment increasingly less, forming no routine or community. Although I encouraged both, I knew it had to be her decision.
When she told me she wanted to leave Spain, I knew she was right. She needed to get back to herself.
Her decision to return to the US was hard for us, but I’m glad she prioritized her happiness
Days before my mom’s flight back to the US, we sat across from each other in a café. She told me she felt like she’d failed, but what she’d done for her grandsons in the six months leading up to that moment — showing up for them during a disorienting transition when everything was unfamiliar — was something none of us would ever forget.
I knew that our setup in Spain wasn’t right for her, and no amount of our love could substitute a life that felt like hers.
When she left, I hugged her tight and told her I’d see her again soon. As an only child now living an ocean away from my mother, I felt the weight of our goodbye. I was sad but felt strongly that she deserved to love her life again.
Now, my mom has settled back into life in the US, where she’s currently staying with her brother in Massachusetts. She hikes 3 miles daily and regularly goes to a yoga studio. She’s even practicing Spanish again on her own terms.
She tells me she feels good again, and when she says it, I believe her. I miss her in Spain, but knowing she’s happy matters more than having her close to me.
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