We are living in a time of migration, and many of us are leaving our homes — not just for personal reasons but often due to circumstances beyond our control. Whatever the reason, we find ourselves saying goodbye to our homes and our parents.

Of course, everyone’s relationship with their parents is different; some of us became independent earlier than others. But no matter the circumstances, leaving your parents is a significant milestone, one that we might not fully grasp at the moment.

I first moved out at 16, but my mom and I were still in the same city, just a few dozen kilometres apart. That changed when, at 31, I moved to another country with my daughter and husband. Now, thousands of kilometres separate us. We have an incredible relationship — she is my best friend and has played both parental roles for me since I was a child (my parents are divorced, and my dad has played very little role in my upbringing). So, leaving her wasn’t easy, no matter how grown-up or busy I was or how much my “own life” had started. It is easy to say, “This is your life now; you’re building it yourself,” but in reality, it is much more complicated.

When I moved to another country, I began to feel a sense of unease, like something was missing. Even though I had and still have the incredible support of my husband, there was this underlying feeling of insecurity. At first, I thought this emptiness, this sense of a void, was just a reaction to being away from home in a new country with different customs. And while that might be part of it, I realised it is not the whole story.

My mom is over 60 and lives alone, and thankfully, she is healthy. Even though I am focused on my life here, I still feel a deep responsibility for her. Maybe it is because she is on her own. Maybe it is because our bond is so strong — we have been through a lot together. Maybe it is because I am deeply grateful for everything she has done for me. Or maybe it is all of these things combined. Now, we try to call each other every day, sharing everything as if we were still nearby. And, of course, we make time to visit each other.

My experience hasn’t been easy, and this era of migration is a unique one. I wanted to hear from others how their experience has been.

Sophie She, Creative Editor at The Sandy Times

I left my parents when I was 16 years old, and while some might say that is too early, I believe it depends on the situation. I grew up quickly, especially after my younger sister was born when I was around 10 years old. In many Eastern families, the eldest daughter often takes on a parental role for her younger siblings, and that was true for me. I felt like I had two kids — my sister and my younger brother — whom I was responsible for while my mom was at work or occupied with other things. At the same time, I was finishing school.

At some point, I realised I wanted to be alone, to experience life on my own. Growing up in a large family with many responsibilities I hadn’t asked for, I was grateful for them but also craved independence. I was determined and smart enough to finish school a couple of years early, so by the time I was 16, I had completed my education and moved to the Netherlands to study at Erasmus University of Rotterdam. Since then, I have been living on my own, becoming an autonomous person.

Ironically, since I moved out, my relationship with my family has dramatically improved. We are all very opinionated, strong-willed individuals with complex personalities, and being together in one room all the time could be challenging. My move brought a sense of peace and balance. My relationship with my mother became more loving as we both started to cherish the time we had together. She became less controlling, and I found value in my independence.

The distance also allowed me to separate from the parental role I had with my siblings, and it strengthened my bond with my family in the best way possible. I now treasure the times we spend together because they are no longer taken for granted. My family is always my top priority, and whenever they need me — whether it is a request, a task, or just to chat — I set everything else aside to give them my full attention.

Being with my family makes me feel like a child again, especially when I am with my grandparents. It is like stepping back into a simpler time, enjoying my grandma's dolma or other traditional Azeri cuisine. These moments are my treasures, my jewels, and I cherish them deeply.

Sana Bun, Author at The Sandy Times

I moved out of my parents' house in my early 20s, but we have always been close, so we kept in regular contact — calling a couple of times a week, meeting up at least once a month, and sometimes going on vacation together.

When I told them I was moving to Amsterdam, they weren’t really surprised — it was a logical next step. They took the news calmly and assured me of their full support. This reaction made sense: on one hand, they generally don’t interfere in my life and respect my choices, and on the other hand, they know I’ll do what I think is best anyway. In some situations, they might offer advice, but they are aware that trying to change my mind is usually pointless. So, in this case, they didn’t even try.

There wasn’t any drama around my move at all. It probably helped that I had spent nearly six months travelling beforehand, so they were already used to not seeing me for months at a time.

I don’t think my parents are overly worried. They miss me, of course, but they know I am doing well and are happy for me.

Naturally, we don’t see each other as often because of the distance, but our relationship hasn’t become more distant because of it. We still call regularly, I visit them, they visit me, and we occasionally travel together.

We have even developed a new way of connecting: since I started missing Russian cuisine while living abroad, my parents now teach me and my European boyfriend how to cook it over video calls.

Christelle Eldaher, Author at The Sandy Times

I left Lebanon at the age of 17 to return to France to finish my studies and attend university. My parents were ecstatic because, in terms of opportunities and education, France offered much more, and they were pleased with the decision.

However, my mother was a bit sadder than my father, and here is why. When I travelled, I was still a minor, so my father had to accompany me to sign all the necessary papers and make everything official. He was there with me, but my mother wasn’t able to join us. She doesn’t like travelling or flying, which created a psychological barrier for her. She felt that she was missing out on this important transitional phase in my life, and that really affected her. Even though she tried not to show it, I could tell she was upset. But once I settled in, we all adapted and maintained our close relationship.

We did what most people do nowadays, but back then, it was quite new. We had a family group on WhatsApp, where we’d share funny or random moments from our day through pictures and messages. Back then, WhatsApp didn’t have voice calls, so we relied on Skype for our daily calls. We’d schedule a time each day — usually 7 pm in France, 8 pm in Lebanon — when we’d all jump on a Skype call for 20 to 30 minutes to catch up, share accomplishments, or talk about anything that was bothering us. It was a way to stay connected and get advice from my parents, which was important for my emotional and social maturity at that age.

As time went on and I stayed in France for about 10 years, our conversations naturally evolved. They shifted from daily updates to more adult topics, like sharing recipes or asking for financial advice. But no matter the topic, technology was the main thing that allowed us to maintain our relationship. It was our way of staying close, even when we were miles apart.

For me, the biggest challenge was managing housework and cooking. I was never good at either, and it was a major learning curve. I am still not a master cook — I can eat what I cook, but I wouldn’t serve it to anyone else! And when it comes to house chores, I still rely on external help because I haven’t quite mastered that yet.

Living alone requires you to handle everything — from taxes to grocery shopping to maintaining a house. It is a huge responsibility, and it can be overwhelming, especially at a young age. I believe not everyone is suited to manage life on their own without a support system. It can be emotionally challenging, too, especially on tough days when you come home to an empty apartment. You might miss having someone to hug or talk to for emotional support. It takes a strong character and a willingness to evolve to make it work.

In our part of the world, the Arab world, it is more common for children to live with their parents until they get married, and even then, they often live close by. There is always a sense of family and community. But when you emigrate and live on your own, you lose that safety net.

One final comment: Today, emigrating and leaving your family has become more of a necessity for survival rather than a personal choice. When I left, it was because I wanted to accomplish personal goals, and when I returned a decade later, it was because I wanted to be closer to my family. But now, many people worldwide are forced to emigrate due to conflicts, instability, and the need for safety or employment. It breaks my heart to see people leaving their families out of necessity rather than personal conviction. I hope that those who have to leave their parents, especially as they age, do so because they want to, not because they have no other choice.