Flying the nest

The crippling enabling duality of long distance family relationships

Hello you

I’m staying at home for Christmas this year. And by home I mean Paris. Alone. I’m not going back to the UK to spend it with my family. It was a difficult much agonised over decision to make but I feel at peace having made it. Even more so since I communicated it to those affected, which was arguably the most anxiety inducing part of the process.

My heart knew I was moving to Paris before the rest of me. This was always its plan looking back. Sure I’d say things like ‘oh I’m just going to go for one month’ or ‘I’m going back for a few weeks and we’ll see how things go,’ but what we can’t keep away from is where our heart lies.

Beginnings and endings go hand in hand. Embracing the excitement of a new life in another country was and still is the bravest thing I’ve ever done but it’s also coupled with what had to end in order for it to begin, what got left behind. My family.

I wanted to write this for anyone who has dreams of independence followed by the crippling fear, guilt and doubt I used to feel that kept me stuck in a place I was unable to thrive. I want to tell you how it’s been for me, truthfully and in raw detail (the only way I know how to write) in the hope it lessens any anxiety you might be feeling and gives you some idea of what you might expect.

Eighteen years was long enough in the same house for me. At this point I left home but unlike a lot of my friends at the time I stayed close by, attending the local university and seeing them every week, my mum especially. This continued into my thirties. A thirst for independence was always coupled with a fear of losing the security of the familiar. Fast forward to thirty six and I not only call a different city, but a whole other country home. It’s been tough but it’s also been the best decision I ever made for both myself now and the person I’m growing into.

My family is the kind who gain comfort from living near one another, a ten minute radius by car ideally; typical north of England small town types. Borderline co-dependent. They know this. I’m not offending anyone in saying it out loud on the internet. I once suggested I might like to go back packing when I was a teen and my grandmother replied, ‘can’t you go back packing around Sheffield?’ With such tightly wound generational dynamics, change is difficult to conjure. Someone has to go first. One brave little bird must fly the nest, break the mould and and venture into the unknown - both physically and emotionally, because where there are existing roles and behaviour patterns there is resistance to change and there will be projection.

The news of me moving to Paris had a mixed response.