When my son was barely a year old, our small family of three made the monumental decision to uproot our lives and relocate across the country. We left the expansive mountains and familiar comfort of Colorado and traveled nearly 2,000 miles to Massachusetts, a place that felt both exciting and utterly foreign. In this transition, we said goodbye to more than geography—we left behind the deep roots of family connections and the comfort of lifelong friendships, alongside the rhythms and routines of a life that had always been familiar. This was not an impulsive choice, but one born of a shared vision between my husband and me: an opportunity to reset our trajectory, to pursue new professional and personal possibilities, and to deliberately shape a future on our own terms.
That life-altering choice was made over thirteen years ago, and the passage of time has given me both perspective and hard-earned wisdom. Today, our family has grown to four. Our children, who were raised almost entirely in Massachusetts, now see this place as the only home they have ever known. Our son, once a toddler strapped into a rear-facing infant seat on the long drive here, is now stepping into young adulthood as a freshman in high school. Looking back, I can confidently say that we are thriving, yet I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge that the journey has been laced with both triumphs and trials. Relocating to a distant state in adulthood carries not only logistical complexities but also deep emotional repercussions, and those realities were impossible to ignore. I remember clearly how lonely those first months felt.
It is impossible to make such a significant move without encountering trade-offs. What drew us to the Boston area was its reputation as a hub of professional innovation, the cultural richness of the city, and a sense of adventure that comes with immersing oneself in a completely new region. My husband found his enthusiasm reignited by fresh career opportunities that seemed perfectly aligned with his skills, and his employment helped us take the leap. Yet even with this optimism, it quickly became evident that establishing a new social fabric for our family was far more difficult than either of us had imagined.
I personally thought I was well-prepared for the transition because moving had been a familiar rhythm of my twenties. After graduating college in Colorado, I lived briefly in San Francisco and spent subsequent years in New York City before finally circling back to Denver. In each of those periods, I was never far from friends I had known since college, and the casual social structures of young adulthood—roommates introducing me to new acquaintances, spontaneous post-work gatherings, or running clubs—made it simple to cultivate connections. However, relocating to Massachusetts as a new mother was a different reality altogether. Gone were the serendipitous encounters that had once helped me weave friendships. Instead, we were anchored by the needs of an infant, which limited my opportunities to meet others. Life here also felt different because many people in the Boston area already had entrenched networks of family or long-standing college friends who lived nearby. By contrast, we were outsiders, acutely aware of the absence of an established support system. In midlife, few people seemed eager—or even available—to add new friendships to their already full lives.
Some might contend that parenthood, especially having very young children, creates natural pathways to meet other families. My own experience contradicted this assumption. Trips to the park more often meant conversations with professional nannies rather than fellow parents, and attempts to form bonds with families at school were frequently cut short when those families relocated in search of greater family support elsewhere, a pattern only accelerated during and after the pandemic years. Rather than opening doors socially, the responsibility of caring for a small child without extended family nearby magnified our isolation.
The absence of a close-knit circle of relatives or dependable friends made early parenthood immeasurably more demanding. Parenting is already laden with endless responsibilities, and without the relief that comes from having trusted people to lean on—whether for an afternoon at the park or the occasional babysitting favor—we often felt stretched to the breaking point. I vividly recall the nearly two-year span after our move during which my husband and I did not enjoy a single date night together. One evening we attempted to hire a babysitter through Care.com, but when she simply failed to appear, the disappointment was overwhelming. In those moments, I questioned whether uprooting our family had been a grave mistake.
Of course, the story is not solely one of hardship. There were unexpected benefits and joys that emerged over time. Our move to the East Coast unlocked the chance to travel widely, an experience that might have been far less accessible had we remained in Colorado. As a family, we explored remarkable destinations within driving or train distance: historic Washington, D.C.; the majestic beauty of Niagara Falls; and countless other sites along the northeastern corridor. These explorations infused our years here with memorable adventures and broadened our children’s understanding of the world beyond their daily routines.
My relationship with Boston itself has been far from static. It has unfolded in waves, alternating between periods of affection and times of lingering dissatisfaction. Professional turbulence added to this push and pull. I endured two unexpected layoffs within two years, blows that left my confidence shaken. Yet even those setbacks bore hidden gifts: they compelled me to reimagine my professional identity. What initially felt like devastating losses eventually guided me away from communications and into education, a field where I discovered meaningful work, a sense of belonging, and a community of colleagues who share my values.
Although I sometimes still long for the ease of regular contact with my oldest and dearest friends back in Colorado, I have also grown to accept that geographical distance does not entirely diminish those relationships. Life moves quickly for everyone, and even if we had remained in Colorado, our collective responsibilities would still have made time together more scarce than in our youth. What I carry with me now is a belief that struggle often carries with it a hidden potential for personal growth. It is easy to believe that fulfillment lies elsewhere, to assume the proverbial grass is greener on the other side. But after years of navigating life in Massachusetts, I have come to understand that such illusions can obscure the reality: fulfillment is not so much tied to place as to perspective, perseverance, and the ability to adapt.
Sourse: https://www.businessinsider.com/family-moved-from-colorado-to-massachusetts-had-no-support-friends-2025-9
