The Space Between Us: What Family Means to Me
Family has always been my anchor. Not in the abstract way people say “family is everything,” but in the deeply tangible way where laughter lives in shared meals, comfort comes from squeezing together on the sofa, and healing begins in the warm chaos of a tickle fight.
We’ve always been a small family—just my mum, stepdad, brother and me—but we’ve always been a tight unit. We’ve eaten dinner together at the table, laughed until our stomachs hurt, supported each other through every possible high and low. Our closeness was forged not only in joy, but in hardship. The kind of bond that holds even when the winds blow hard.
It hasn’t always been easy, but even when we didn’t fully get each other, we never stopped being there for one another. That, to me, is the very definition of unconditional love.
And even through all the struggles life threw our way, we never forgot to have fun. We laughed, we snuggled, we dreamed. And I knew: this is the kind of family I want to build for myself when I grow up. This feeling. This togetherness.
So I found a man I fell in love with, got married, and had a child—she has been the perfect addition to the family. She just fit right in. Eventually, I got divorced, and the family structure I had always longed for was no longer possible.
But then I realised—what we have is already perfect. It doesn’t need changing. It doesn’t need fixing. Because we have a new family member we all adore, and with her, the laughter, the love, and the sharing of life’s highs and lows continue—just as they always have.
Bonding Doesn’t Need Glamour
I was the one who started the travelling. It began when I went to university and became fascinated by how people live and think in different parts of the world. First came holidays, then longer stays—and wherever I went, my family followed.
We didn’t need fancy hotels or perfect plans to have a good time. We stayed in tiny flats, shared beds, made do with what we had, and always ended up laughing until our sides hurt. There were language barriers, travel mishaps, and moments that could have turned stressful—but somehow, with us, they always became stories to tell and laugh about years later.
Through every move and every visit, my family brought home with them. They turned ordinary trips into memories stitched with love and chaos—proof that connection doesn’t depend on comfort or luxury, but on the joy of simply being together.
Now, with a new generation in the mix, the adventures continue—sometimes far away, sometimes just around the corner. From silly themed teas to messy days at the beach, the details change, but the feeling doesn’t. We are loud, unpredictable, and endlessly loving—and that’s exactly how I want us to stay.
Held in the Hardest Moments
A few years ago, my life unraveled in ways I never imagined. I was alone in another country with a young child, navigating the pain of a pregnancy loss, a divorce, financial hardship, court battles, suspected neurodivergence in my daughter (and me)—and the heavy fog of CPTSD (and probably perimenopause, to be honest). But even then, I was never alone.
When I lost a baby at five months, it wasn’t my then-husband scrolling on his phone who supported me—it was my mum, flying in that very day, sitting with me in hospital, and turning a painful memory into a happy one of bonding. When I left the marriage, she was there again—despite her own illness—to help me move and build a new beginning when I was left with almost nothing.
I had planned my first night away from my daughter, and I didn’t want to spend it alone and miserable. So I waited until my mum arrived and asked, “How do you fancy driving across Scotland for a Coldplay concert?” She was instantly in. If there’s one thing my mum knows how to do, it’s have fun and party.
That night, we stood in a crowd of thousands, singing at the top of our lungs—me to every word, her to whatever lyrics she imagined (since she doesn’t speak English). I lost my voice. And I found a little bit of myself again.
My mum has been there for every defining moment—through heartbreak and healing—helping me turn even the hardest chapters into memories worth keeping.
When my daughter’s needs became more complex, she ran around Spain researching specialists, reading all the books I couldn’t read, and rallying support.
But she’s not the only one that’s been there for me. My stepdad and my brother have each supported me in their own crucial ways.
In moments of uncertainty, a single conversation with them reminds me that, no matter the distance, they would always find their way to me if I needed them.
Still, there are moments when their physical absence stings. The Sunday lunches we don’t share. The evenings I spend alone after bedtime. The inability to just “pop over.”
And when we do get together, there’s that pressure to be “on” the whole time, to make the most of every second, leaving no room for solitude or private space.
But I chose this life. So did my brother. We left to see the world, to grow. And we don’t regret it. But we live with the contradiction: the longing for both adventure and proximity.
And maybe, if we had stayed, we wouldn’t hold our family as dearly. Maybe we’d have taken them for granted. Maybe we wouldn’t have become who we are.
That is the paradox of love and independence. A life built far away from home, still rooted in the people who made you.
We are still that same tight-knit family. Always will be.
In the distance, and in the closeness. In the silence, and in the laughter. In the places we live, and the places we carry each other.
A Family’s Footprint on My Journey
It felt only right that one of my posts would be dedicated to my family—because without their unwavering support, I might not have had the confidence to start this journey.
Yet this post is not only dedicated to the family that walks this earth with me, but also to those who have crossed to the other side. To the loved ones who have passed on, who have changed my belief system from thinking there was no continuation after death to showing me that they are still here, still guiding me, still keeping me company through the hardest of times. (If anyone is interested, I wrote a post about my spiritual awakening journey.)
Now, I’m building something solid—something I hope lasts. And I can’t wait to make them part of it. Because whatever I create, it will always have their fingerprints on it too.
If this story spoke to you, I’d love to hear your own reflections.👇Drop a comment below and share what family means to you, how distance has changed your bonds, or even just a memory that makes you smile.
And if you haven’t yet, take a moment to watch last week’s episode with Lamia Ziam—she beautifully explores what it’s like to live far from the family she loves, and how connection finds a way, even across miles.
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