A couple of weeks ago, I ran across a Facebook group post from a parent who expressed anxiety about how growing up as third culture kids might impact their children long-term.

Where will they go to university? What kinds of jobs will be available to them as non-EU permanent residents? Is it better to go to university in the U.S. for job prospects?

I’ve been circling these same questions lately, especially as my oldest inches closer to high school.

And then a few days ago, I saw a post from a Facebook friend whose son moved to Spain as a preteen, went to post-secondary school in Ireland, and is now returning to the U.S. for a great job as a young adult.

One is a fear. The other is a reality.

As I watch parents a few years ahead of me launch their children, I’m realizing that no matter where mine finish growing up, I have little control over what their lives will look like in a few years. After all, if my mom had had her way, I would’ve lived down the street from her in my Kentucky hometown.

Instead, as most kids do, I carved my own path, finally landing two hours away in the suburbs of Nashville.

During the early days of our move to Spain, our son—the oldest, and the one with the strongest memories of life in the U.S.—spoke often about returning as soon as he graduated high school. He wanted to go back to his friends, familiar foods, and the scenery he’d grown up with.

Over time, he stopped talking about it as much. Conversations have turned to university options and where he might complete his education.

To my surprise, he’s beginning to consider Europe instead of the U.S.

This is the shift I’d been waiting for, because the selfish part of me—the part most like my mom—wants him to choose Europe, if not Spain.

Because I don’t want to move back to the U.S. If my son chooses Europe, I get two things:

1. My son is close enough to visit often.

2. Our decision to relocate our family abroad becomes the “right” decision.

Will and I wanted to expand our own world, and as parents, we wanted to expand our kids’ world, too. But like any parents, we want to be near our kids as they start their adult lives, find spouses or partners, and maybe someday have children of their own. We want to be part of their lives.

And if we don’t plan to move back to the States and our kids do move back, that dream sort of … falls apart.

It’s the same thing my mom had to accept when I chose to live in Middle Tennessee instead of near my Kentucky hometown, but instead of an interstate, we’re dealing with an ocean. The kicker here, though, is that it was Will and I who showed them what was possible—that moving half a world away is not only doable but often fun.

We might have set ourselves up for our own grief and heartbreak somewhere down the line.

Will and I showed our kids the world, offered them the ability to navigate a new country, new language, and a new school all at once. We showed them how to leave a whole life behind in favor of starting a new one.

If our son returns to the U.S. to begin adulthood, what does it say about us as parents? That Spain was merely our adventure and not his? That he never felt the connection we wanted him to feel to this new country or, more broadly, Europe? That the safety and reduced anxiety we chased for our family was for naught?

I’ve always wanted to raise well-rounded kids who feel “worldly,” but if my son returns to the U.S., I’ll always wonder if we accomplished that goal.

Now, as we enter the teen years, we’ll have to come to terms with what we’ve taught them may be what leads them to live lives far away from ours.

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I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

More on raising third culture kids:

This school year, my kids are in 7th and 5th grades. No longer “little kids,” they’re beginning to shoulder bigger responsibilities at school.

But they’re also gaining some newfound freedom here in Spain.

In our Tennessee schools, it was pretty typical to take one or two field trips a year. Parents always had to sign the permission slip to go, and there was nearly always a cost—often nominal.

And they were usually to local places. Think Nashville’s Adventure Science Center or Cheekwood. Educational and cultural activities were tied closely to what they were learning in the classroom.

Our first year at our international school in Spain was a learning experience in all kinds of ways.

I remember the first time I opened an email from a teacher, reminding parents that “next week, we’ll take a trip to X, so be sure your student wears their school uniform, comfortable shoes, and pack a small snack. Lunch will be provided.”

I read it again. Surely I was missing something.

No mention of cost. Nothing to sign. That couldn’t be right.

Okay, maybe more information would come later.

Spoiler alert: It did not.

Then the next field trip notice came. Same pattern: notification, what to bring, and then the trip happens.

After that, I asked a teacher if this was typical for field trips at the school because my American-trained brain just could not fathom how an off-campus excursion could happen without permission.

It turns out this is just how things are done here. Unless it’s an overnight trip (more on that shortly)—at least at our school—day trips will happen with some instructions and not much else.

As an American mom, I'm hardwired to want control. I want all the details of a field trip and, when possible, I want to chaperone it. And I want to be asked if my kid can go, even when the answer is always “yes.”

But that isn’t how things work in Spain, and my desire for control, knowledge, and even participation will not be indulged.

Instead of control, what I received in emails before field trips was a list of behavioral expectations and the dates of the trips. My job as a parent is to ensure my kids know how to behave while they represent their school, and everything else is left up to the school and the kids.

For my husband, me, and our kids, it was a learning curve that set us up brilliantly for what came next.

Early in 2025, I received an email from the school about an end-of-year trip—an overnight trip—for our son, who was in 6th grade at the time.

And it’s actually the only time permission or money was requested.

This excursion would be two days and three nights, about two hours away, north of Valencia, and on the Mediterranean coast.

While many kids start going to overnight camps in the U.S. around this age, my son never had. Internally, this was a big deal to me, but I also knew it was a growth and social opportunity for my son. Honestly? Maybe for me, too.

So, after a conversation with my husband, I said yes.

The overnight itself was pretty anticlimactic. My son had a great time, bonded with his friends, and returned home feeling a little more grown-up than when he left.

And me?

I hated not knowing what my son was doing or having any contact with him (no phones!). But I also recognized that this was the first step of many toward young adulthood, and as much as I miss my kindergartner, he’s been replaced by a young man I’m incredibly proud of.

At the end of this school year, both kids have an opportunity to go on overnight trips. My 5th grader is so excited and hasn’t stopped talking about how much fun she’s going to have.

The control freak in me still doesn’t want to let go. But I’m learning. Spain is teaching me, poco a poco.

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I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

Read more on raising kids in Spain:

Yesterday, I saw a post from a woman I follow on Instagram who also lives in Spain. Her story is different from mine, but in other ways, our stories echo one another. Her kids are the same age as mine, and some of her family’s reasons for living abroad are similar to mine.

So, when I saw this post from her on Instagram yesterday, I was curious to flip through what she was going to confess.

@goanddogood

Meg James & Family | Americans in Spain on Instagram: "Not tryi…

Meg has built quite the following on Instagram, amassing nearly 80,000 followers. She posts pretty much every day, which is a commitment I could never make (and why I’ll never be an Instagram star). I enjoy reading what she has to say, often nodding along but sometimes shaking my head in disagreement.

In yesterday’s post, Meg shared 18 honest confessions about living in Spain (and yes, they were very honest).

Her Preference for Raising Her Kids in Europe vs. the U.S.

Meg says she has multiple reasons for preferring to raise her boys in Europe versus the United States, and I feel her on that. She loves the “safe, warm” feeling about life in Europe in general, and it “feels right.”

Same, girl. Same.

Spain and Europe aren’t perfect. No place is, but one of the things I love about raising my kids here is that I rarely worry about their safety.

My son is 13, and for nearly the last year, he’s been riding the tram to his jiu-jitsu class twice a week – by himself.

In the U.S., I would never consider allowing him to do that, and, if you’re from the U.S., you understand why I feel that way.

And I’ll go one further with my son’s jiu-jitsu example. For most of that time, he didn’t have cell phone service.

Just after his birthday in October, we finally relented and added cellular service with a phone number to the old phone he’s been using, so he was traveling across town twice a week with just an AirTag in his backpack (peace of mind for Mom and Dad to locate him in an emergency). Occasionally, we give him cash and tell him to stop at Taco Bell and treat himself after class before he comes home.

I frequently go out at midnight, sometimes later, to walk the dog one last time before bed. I never give it a second thought.

In Tennessee, I wouldn’t walk the dog past 10:00 P.M. even in our safe, suburban neighborhood.

These are just two examples of safety in Spain that have completely adjusted the independence we allow our kids to have, but it has also adjusted us.

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Living in One Place Forever vs. Moving Abroad

Meg writes, “You may look at me like you wish you had done this experience with your kids, but sometimes I look at you and wish I had lived in one house, on the same block, forever.”

Oof.

My mom raised my siblings and me this way. As a child, we moved into the house I grew up in when I was six years old. It’s where we remained until I left home at almost 20.

My brother followed that pattern, starting his marriage in one home, eventually moving into a different house, but staying in the same area. My sister did as well.

And then you have me.

Will and I have moved a lot. In addition to the four house purchases, we’ve also lived in multiple apartments over the years, never able to stay in one place for long.

I’d like to say that’s been a mutual decision every time, but the truth is, I’m the provocateur.

A big part of me wishes I weren’t so restless – always seeking something but never quite knowing what it is. To my credit, when we had children, we decided to stay in the same general area of the Nashville suburbs, knowing our kids would need a sense of stability as they grew. After all, we weren’t moving for jobs or family. We moved because “Jen wanted to.”

Our kids attended the same elementary school from kindergarten through third and fifth grades, and then we moved to Spain.

What must it be like to be content with living on the same block forever?

My Choices vs. My Kids’ Futures

In her post, Meg worries that her life choices will affect her kids’ long-term futures.

What mom hasn’t worried about this?

Then again, most moms don’t move their families abroad.

My kids are missing out on some uniquely American experiences as they grow up in Valencia. Dances, homecoming, prom, football games … the list goes on.

Will and I didn’t grow up abroad. We both grew up in rural Kentucky, a place so vastly different from what we’re experiencing in Spain that it might as well have been another planet. We don’t have any reference points for what this means for our kids’ futures.

Will they choose to attend university in Europe? How will that shape their career paths? Will they have European spouses? Could it mean that because their lives are in Spain, ours are now tied to Europe as well?

They’re third-culture kids now, and I don’t yet understand what that means for their futures.

None of us has a crystal ball. I can’t predict how moving across the world at their ages will shape their lives. What I do know is that our choice to move to Spain has already altered their trajectory. Good, bad, complicated? I don’t know yet. Maybe I’m not supposed to.

I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

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Last summer, we arrived in Valencia just two weeks before school would begin in early September. That, in and of itself, was a culture shock. Coming from Tennessee, school starts in late July or early August. We were starting an entire month after everyone else we knew.

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Summer sucks.

Summer is my nemesis. It has always been, but my fervent dislike has grown as my children have grown older. Too old to want to go to camps, and not quite old enough to let them be feral teenagers.

Or maybe they are, and my own anxieties prevent me from letting them figure out summer all on their own.

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In Tennessee, our kids attended a school in a highly ranked district. Their standardized test scores were excellent, and both kids were on track for each of their grade levels. They rarely had homework; instead, they were required to read for 20 minutes every evening. The kids had supportive teachers and an engaged administrat…

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“When I have kids, I will never send them to a private school.”

You know where this story is going.

In early 2024, we had to decide where our kids would attend school in Spain. For families moving abroad with older kids, this decision can shape the entire experience. Whatever city we chose, we were committed to it for at least a year. By the time it was time to enroll them (most schools here begin that process in March), we’d decided on Valencia.

We could take one of three paths: public, concertado, or private.

The public and private options are self-explanatory. But what is a concertado school? In a nutshell, they are similar to charter schools in the U.S. Like U.S. charter schools, they vary in quality and instruction. Some are bilingual. Nearly all are religious. (Spain is a Catholic country, after all.) One of the biggest benefits of a concertado is its affordability. The parents usually pay a couple hundred euros in tuition each month while the Spanish government contributes the rest.

I loved the idea of the concertado option, but we would not be in Spain to start the registration process. Thus, we had two other options: public or private.

At the time of the move, our kids would be 10 and almost 12. In an ideal world, we would put them into a public school, they’d learn Spanish fast, and we’d be well on our way to integrating into Spanish culture and life. But my mom Spidey senses told me that was not our best option. Our kids had never been exposed to a language other than English; they were hitting puberty, and we were asking them to leave behind everything they had ever known: friends, family, house, city, and even their toys.

With all of this information in hand, Will and I knew a private school was the best (and most expensive) choice.

Remember what I said earlier about never sending my kids to a private school?

You’ll find many private international school options in the larger cities around Spain. Most follow a British curriculum, but not knowing that system at all, we settled on finding an American school. There are far fewer of those in Spain and only a couple in Valencia, so we knew our most likely option–if we could get in.

International schools tend to be competitive. There are several reasons for that, but suffice it to say, it worried me if we couldn’t get our kids into the school I felt would be the best fit.

We started the admissions process for our school in February 2024, gathering paperwork to submit for the initial application. In March, both kids were administered a shortened version of MAP testing, which would help the school determine whether or not they’d be a fit.

Just one week later, we got their admission acceptance letters! (I felt like they’d both just been admitted to Harvard.) Having their school squared away was a relief, another box checked in this long process.

Will and I have been happy with the school, although we’ve had a few hiccups along the way as the kids have adjusted. Our son is in sixth grade and began the school year with one language: English. He’s now learning three others alongside it: French, Spanish, and Valenciano. Our daughter is in fourth grade and started with one language, and she’s learning two others: Spanish and Valenciano. It was a lot to throw at them, but they’ve grown and stretched so much from the challenges. They’ve made friends. They’ve been exposed to an international community they wouldn’t have known back in Tennessee. We’re so proud of how well they’ve done.

Would I choose an international school again? Absolutely. I think it was the best transition for them. A woman we know who moved to Spain from the States as a child said she wished her mom had placed her in an international school first because she went directly to a Spanish public school, which was rough. Still, it’s a big hit on the budget every month and a consideration the longer we’re here. I’m still keeping my eye on the concertado schools.

As long as our kids remain happy, Will and I will grin and bear the cost because, even though I believe this move was for the best, they didn’t ask for it and have had to make adjustments they would not have made in the States.

I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

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