My son was born with a medical condition that doctors said may or may not kill him. In those first months, to keep my sanity, I rescued a plant — a dried-up stick I named Vasily. The plant was free, and I was desperate.
Amidst the sleepless nights, hospital stays, medication dosing, and screaming into the pillow, I cared for the plant (and my son), thinking, in my delusion, that if Vasily were going to live, my son would, too.
My son outgrew his condition by age 3, and, in the search for more affordable healthcare and life, we decided to move to Spain in 2018.
A revived Vasily stayed behind in New York City with a friend. “The friends we leave behind will stay our friends, and in new places we’ll make new friends” I told my son at the time. I had no idea whether it would pan out that way, but I hoped it would.
First, we tried Barcelona
As a city, I loved that Barcelona was near the water and it seemed like a nice way to downsize a bit after being in New York City.
Once we settled, we took a bus to Ikea and bought a new tree to make our empty apartment feel more like a home. We named it Josep.
Barcelona felt distant, but not unkind. Other expats who had flocked there from all kinds of places were eager to offer companionship, compensating for the locals that seemed much less welcoming to me and my son.
When he was 4, my son started school, and I spied on him through a hole in the fence one day. He was sitting alone and I cried. At first, I thought it was a language issue. Eventually, he found his friends, two boys and two girls, and I became friends with their parents.
During Covid, however, the local Catalan language became a hurdle we couldn’t clear, especially during remote learning. So we put our belongings — including Josep — on a truck and moved 600 miles down the coast of Spain.
Spanish-speaking Malaga was our next stop
I was more prepared for this move. Stuffed to his little ears with Spanish lessons, my then-6-year-old went to school ready to make friends in the local language. I found a forest school that emphasized time in nature over dictation, which seemed perfect for a world recovering from the pandemic.
My son was immediately absorbed by a group of kids who loved the outdoors and their parents adopted me into their group. Soon, he had many playdates, and I felt like I had the support I needed.
As Covid restrictions were lifted, however, the city of Malaga was overrun by tourists. When the school failed to live up to our expectations academically, we hugged our friends, put Josep in the car and moved to the capital city in the center of Spain.
We’re thriving in Madrid, but it took time
We settled in Madrid in August 2023, choosing the city for its cultural diversity and educational opportunities.
The mistake I made in Madrid was not listening to my son when he voiced his choice of school. We had seen a few and he was clear on where he wanted to go. I chose differently, a decision I still regret.We gave it two years, but it wasn’t the right fit for him or me.
In the end, my son took the leap of being the “new kid” yet again. He chose his new school, and I listened. Now he’s thriving at a place that encourages him to be his creative, math-loving, chess-obsessed self. I can now focus on my friendships. We’ve also come to love Madrid with its museums, shows, and the nearby hikes.
By trusting my son’s instincts, working with a psychologist to better understand him and his needs, and taking the leap to make a change, I ended up in a place where he is happy and we finally feel ready to build our life here.
And Josep? He’s doing quite well on our little patio.
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