Every Wednesday morning, I would set out on my bicycle and pedal through the bustling streets of downtown Madrid, immersing myself in the lively rhythm of the city as I made my way to the Spanish language school where I was enrolled in an intensive immersion course. Upon arriving, I would settle into my usual seat beside classmates from Russia and Thailand, our diverse backgrounds adding richness to the linguistic chaos as we sipped coffee from travel mugs and practiced our hesitant phrases—particularly our clumsy but earnest attempts at asking “¿Cuánto cuesta?” Together, we laughed at our own mistakes, bonded by the mutual humility of learning in a foreign tongue.
Sundays carried their own ritual. My husband and I would wander through the labyrinthine corridors of El Rastro, Madrid’s legendary open-air flea market. The stalls overflowed with color and character—vibrant scarves fluttering in the breeze, vendors calling out prices, and tables piled high with discounted clothing and trinkets of all sorts. We strolled past mounds of vintage jewelry and bargain underwear, savoring the sensory overload that seemed to define the city.
After our wedding—but before parenthood transformed our lives—we made a radical choice: leaving behind stable jobs and familiar routines, we moved to Spain for an entire year. My husband had accepted a teaching contract at a local middle school, which provided both a source of income and the practical paperwork necessary for our visa and rental accommodations. I continued my professional work remotely, writing for companies based in the United States and Australia, balancing time zones and deadlines as I navigated this liberating, unstructured chapter of life.
During that transformative year abroad, I indulged in simple yet profound pleasures—from savoring warm churros dipped in thick chocolate beneath the arches of lively plazas to browsing outdoor markets near the Douro River in Portugal, where the scent of roasted nuts mingled with the salty Atlantic air. Yet, at the time, I could not fully grasp just how grateful I would later feel for having embraced the freedom to explore the world before the responsibilities of raising children arrived.
Living thousands of miles away from family and friends demanded resilience and trust. Early in our marriage, those experiences taught us to rely on one another in ways that might have taken years to develop under ordinary circumstances. When we first landed in Madrid, seemingly minor logistical challenges quickly became major tests of patience and communication. Finding a landlord willing to rent to foreigners on a one-year lease, for instance, proved unexpectedly difficult. On one hectic afternoon, we found a promising apartment but were told that the deposit had to be paid within mere hours. I remember standing at an ATM, frustration rising to tears as my international debit card stubbornly refused to cooperate. In that moment, my husband stepped forward—his Spanish far more fluent than mine—and took control of the situation. He ultimately found us a comfortable flat near the Madrid Río park, a neighborhood alive with music, runners, and families. In trusting his judgment completely, I discovered how capable he was under pressure, a quality that would later anchor us during far more demanding moments of our shared life.
That trust was again tested when we decided to hike a portion of the Camino de Santiago, the historic pilgrimage path that winds across northern Spain. Midway through our journey, a bee sting caused Joe’s leg to swell painfully, forcing him to relinquish his backpack. Suddenly, it was my turn to carry the weight—both literally and figuratively—as I hauled our shared belongings from one hostel to the next. Those challenging days revealed the depth of our partnership and our ability to problem-solve together, even when things did not go according to plan. The lessons of those trials lingered; today, when we find ourselves awake at 2 a.m. comforting a crying child or dealing with a diaper disaster in the middle of a public outing, we instinctively revert to that same teamwork forged on unfamiliar soil. Living abroad built not just memories but a foundation of mutual reliability that sustains us still.
Beyond strengthening our bond, our time in Spain reinvigorated our sense of joy and spontaneity. With long weekends and school holidays offering regular reprieves, we seized every opportunity to explore Europe. Low-cost flights carried us to destinations that had once lived only within the pages of travel books—Greece with its shimmering seas and crumbly white architecture; Ireland with its green fields and jubilant St. Patrick’s Day crowds; Poland’s rich history and hearty meals; and Lithuania, where Joe’s relatives welcomed us with homemade vodka and horseback rides through open meadows. In southern France, we hiked the rugged Pyrenees, pausing to marvel at the distant peaks. In Greece, we tasted locally made cheese alongside factory workers during their midday break and wandered mesmerized through the columns of the Acropolis, history wrapping around us like sunlight. These shared adventures—undertaken before the gravity of parenthood—brought lightness to our marriage. They reminded us that life is meant to be both expansive and intentional. Traveling without constraints of time or childcare allowed us to dream widely and live fully; it sowed within us the belief that we could design our own version of an extraordinary life.
Being in an entirely new environment also gave us the rare gift of perspective. Free from the cultural expectations and familiar influences of home, we were able to slow down and ask ourselves what we truly valued. Our priorities reshaped naturally: we began pursuing a gentler pace of daily life, cultivating friendships with international neighbors who felt like family, and dedicating time to travels that nourished our sense of wonder. That separation from the noise of home provided clarity—we began to imagine what could be different about our future, not based on obligation or comparison, but on authenticity and shared purpose.
Now, years later, as the parents of four spirited children, I often hear seasoned parents remind me, “It goes by fast” or “Don’t blink,” referring to the fleeting nature of childhood. They’re right, of course—but I’ve come to realize the same is true for marriage. The years with one’s partner are equally precious and fleeting. Each month we skip a date night, I feel the absence acutely, as though I’ve missed a small but significant opportunity to reconnect. Life with a spouse, just like life with children, rushes forward at a pace we can barely grasp. That awareness makes me even more thankful for those years of freedom and discovery we shared before starting our family; they were, in every sense, the wonder years of our marriage—time that fortified us for everything to come.
Traveling now, with four young children in tow, has become an undertaking of logistical complexity. Between naps, mealtimes, schoolwork, professional obligations, and the sheer cost of transporting a family of six across continents, our global ambitions require more planning and patience than before. Nevertheless, the dream persists. We still talk about returning abroad one day—perhaps for another year or two—when the timing aligns with our children’s ages and needs. Until then, I’ve filled our home with reminders of that transformative year: oversized photographs from our travels line the living room wall, each frame capturing a memory that anchors us back to who we were and how far we’ve come. Those images serve not merely as decoration but as daily affirmations of love, adventure, and shared purpose. They remind us that while we once found beauty in the distant landscapes of Spain and beyond, there is also profound beauty unfolding now, within the walls of our own home.
Sourse: https://www.businessinsider.com/how-living-in-spain-before-kids-saved-my-marriage-2025-10
