Last Friday, my kids closed the book on the 2025-26 school year. When they return in September, I’ll have a 6th grader and an 8th grader.
When we left Tennessee in 2024, I had rising 4th and 6th graders. We were about to move to Spain, and we were saying goodbye to an elementary school I genuinely loved. I spent a lot of time at the school in my kids’ classrooms, volunteering for their teachers, attending events, and hovering in the car line every morning and afternoon. It was almost a second home.
Our future in Spain was uncertain, but at least we had secured spots at a school for the upcoming school year.
I don’t know that I ever planned to be in Spain indefinitely. It was an experiment, which is why we couldn’t bring ourselves to sell everything before we left, including our house.
At first, my son frequently asked how long we planned to stay in Spain. Our answer was always two or three years because we thought that might be the target. He talked about what he missed in the U.S. with longing, especially food. And after the school year began, I watched as he struggled to acclimate and find a new peer group. He would’ve faced these same challenges during the transition to middle school in the U.S., but figuring it out in a new country and a new language was doubly difficult.
My daughter withdrew. Normally a bubbly girl with an effervescent personality, shyness took hold. She made one friend and clung to her for dear life, nearly refusing to try to socialize with anyone else. She held her complicated feelings about this move in, not sharing as much about what she didn’t like as her brother.
Food played a large role in grounding all of us. I figured out how to make familiar foods at home, and we occasionally ordered food from American restaurants like Five Guys, Wingstop, McDonald’s, and Domino’s. We popped in at American Twizz and Taste of America for familiar snacks like Goldfish and Cheez-Its and Skippy peanut butter.
Bringing preteens to a new country nearly broke me more than once. I wanted to swoop in and fix it, but at their ages, swooping in meant big embarrassment.
And oh, the hormones.
This would have been an emotional roller coaster with younger kids, but with preteens? Jesus, take the wheel. During the first school year, we went through a litany of teen angst: crushes, broken hearts, peer drama, and some bullying.
In the midst of all the preteen issues, the IB grading system was completely different than the system we were accustomed to in Tennessee. School academic expectations were higher.
As the “new kids,” my kids had to learn how to advocate and stand up for themselves. A bright spot was when we had a parent-teacher meeting with one of the middle school counselors, who pointed out how well our son recognized his needs and advocated for what he needed all on his own. He was just 12, but he had learned to speak up instead of quietly collapsing.
By the end of that first school year, we were all relieved it was over. My daughter had just begun to come out of her shell—babbling on about lunchroom drama with other girls. Now we knew what to expect going into the next school year.
This past school year was smoother, but it wasn’t without its hiccups. We’re talking about a 7th grader and a 5th grader, after all. But it had begun to feel more like a familiar environment rather than something we were surviving. No longer the “new kids,” my kids knew how things worked at their school. And when my son had some run-ins with a group of kids I call the “hyenas,” he stood up for himself, with the school supporting him all the way. My daughter learned to speak up when the “mean girls” tried to get under her skin.
Will and I have asked a lot of our kids since moving to Valencia. We asked them to change schools, give up our big house in suburban Nashville, learn new languages, find new friends—all in the middle of blooming adolescence.
It's also why we can't bring ourselves to move them again. For go-with-the-flow kids, changing countries probably isn't a big deal. But my kids aren't those kids. They thrive when they have stability and familiarity. Valencia is finally becoming that for them, and so we're here now. Settled.
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More from poco a poco:
What My Kids Lose — and Gain — by Growing Up 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.
We Showed Them How to Leave
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.
I have three kids, two are about the same ages as yours. It’s been so hard and I spend so much time worrying about whether this is the right thing for them. It’s impossible to know. But I do know they faced every challenge and grew so much this year. Wishing you and your kids a very wonderful summer break! Congrats on getting through another year.