The Distance That Saved Us
How Moving Away Brought Me Closer to My Parents
For years, my relationship with my parents was incredibly close. Deeply rooted in mutual love, support, and that comforting, unspoken understanding that comes from being known by someone since before you knew yourself.
However, as time passed, something shifted, not in our love for one another, but in our emotional availability, openness, and joy. It took me a long time to realise what was happening.
The city we lived in had become unbearable. At first, the signs were subtle, like a dry throat here, a mild headache there. But it grew, like dust accumulating silently over every aspect of our lives. Air pollution, constant construction, chaotic traffic, allergenic plants blooming endlessly, and loud noises day and night (!). All of these piled up, weighing on us. There was barely any green space to breathe in or retreat into nature for comfort. It felt as if our entire mental landscape was also hostile.
Despite being naturally optimistic, my parents, my husband, and I began to lose our brightness. Conversations became shorter, less frequent, and even when we spoke, our minds felt foggy, tired, and overstimulated.
It’s strange how quickly you normalise dysfunction when it surrounds you.
The constant noise, heavy air, and anxious energy of a society running on fumes and frustration began to weigh down our connection. We still loved each other deeply, but we were too exhausted to express it as we once had.
Everyone around us seemed drained. People were rude and agitated, honking in traffic and rushing past one another without a care. There was no serenity, no silence, and worst of all, no sense of possibility. Each day felt filled with bad news, higher taxes, increasing pollution, and the constant feeling that something beautiful was slipping through our fingers, and we couldn’t quite name what it was.
We had talked about leaving for years. But migration, especially finding not just a new place, but the right place, is never easy. We tried one country, but it didn’t feel right, even though we knew those places so well in the past. Then we searched another, and this one (quiet, green, and clean) felt like a balm. Slowly, I began to heal.
It wasn’t just my lungs that felt better; my heart did too.
I started sending my parents a photo or two every day: a tree in full bloom, a calm river, a small bird on a bench, green landscapes from our hikes. Nothing big, nothing unusual, just small pieces of peace, the kind we had forgotten existed.
And something changed.
The distance began to bring us back together. My parents started smiling more during our calls. They asked questions and listened longer. Our conversations became more joyful and frequent, as if the fog had lifted, not just for me, but for them too. They could feel my peace, which gave them hope. The pressure was off. The silence between us transformed from heavy to light, having room to breathe, to feel, and to remember who we were before we had to survive a hostile environment.
Though they remain in the same polluted, noisy city, something has shifted within them. They feel lighter because they see us healing. The energy I send through daily messages, photos, and stories of fresh air, kind people, nature walks, and quiet evenings touches them. Knowing that we are better gives them strength. Even though my dad had flown to other countries in the past, my mom had never flown before. They even came to visit us. It was a significant step for my mother to try something new, and to my joy, she loved the experience.
During their visit, they embraced the calm we experience each day. They sat in the stillness, breathed in the green, and felt the difference in their own bodies. When they left, I could tell they didn’t leave empty-handed. A part of this place, this peace, stayed with them.
Now, even though they’re back in the old city, they sound different. They act differently. They speak with a new softness and a steadier rhythm in their stories. When we talk over video, I notice the change: less tension in their shoulders, more brightness in their eyes, slower gestures, and warmer smiles. Their tone has changed, as has their posture. These nonverbal signs speak louder than words. It's as if they’ve been reminded that a gentler life is possible, even if only through our connection for now.
Strangely, I believe that moving away saved our relationship. Not because we didn’t love each other where we were, but because our environment had become too toxic, too loud, too heavy to sustain love in the way we once did. We needed space to feel light again.
Now, when we speak, we laugh. We share our possibilities, dreams, jokes, and the small joys we've often overlooked. We haven’t forgotten where we come from, of course, but we appreciate even more than ever what we have now.
We now see the significant impact our environment has on our psychological well-being, how our minds need green space just as much as our lungs need clean air, and how peace is not just a privilege, but a necessity for healthy connections.
Moving away didn’t create distance; it brought us closer together. For that, I’m profoundly grateful.
I’m Andi. I'm endlessly captivated by the quiet dance between mind, body, and behaviour. With roots in economics and psychology, I listen for what’s felt but not always spoken: the gestures, the silences, the emotions we bear in our skin. My writing is where science meets soul, a space to give shape to what we hold inside. I hope you’ll find something here that makes you feel seen, and I’d love to hear what you carry, too.
If my words have touched your heart, a small gift in return is a thoughtful gesture.
You can subscribe, share, and even support my work via Ko-Fi, Buy Me A Coffee or PayPal.
What a deeply resonant piece, Andi. Thank you for sharing!
i think distance can help relationships for sure - it makes you release more what's important and gives u a need to share