I don't know if this will be worth it

By Holly Nilson-Clay
April 25th, 2026

On paper, this kind of setup looks like a choice.

Because it is. This is my choice.

Which makes it harder in some ways, because I don’t really feel like I get to sit around complaining about something I chose. My husband didn’t push for this. He is however supporting it.

There are moments, not constantly, but enough, where I catch myself going down the same path in my head.

I could just go back.

Put the boys into school in the US.

Move back into the house we’ve already built. Maybe actually finish the renovations.

Make everything… simpler.

Plenty of people do it. Plenty of families raise their kids in the US and don’t overthink it. The things I worry about - safety, lifestyle, all of that - they’re not zero risk, but they’re not what my brain sometimes turns them into either.

We’d figure it out. Everyone does.

It would make my husband’s life easier. It would probably make mine easier too, if I’m honest.

And I definitely wouldn’t need half the systems I’ve built just to stay on top of the admin that goes with being self-employed in Spain.

We’d just… live in one place. Together.

And then I swing back the other way.

The reality of living this split life is a bit less calm than it perhaps sounds. I carry most of it.

School runs. Homework (which I hate). Doctor’s appointments. Keeping two boys on track while also trying to keep work going and the bills in Spain paid.

Some days it feels like I’m juggling flaming cats.

Most of the time I just get on with it. I always have. But if I’m being completely honest, there are moments where I look at his life and think - that looks a lot simpler. He has space. Not loads, but enough to focus on what he’s doing, his flying, his training, where he’s going next.

And I’m here trying to hold everything else together.

I don’t sit in resentment for long, because realistically, even if we were in the same place, I’d probably still be doing most of this. And he is doing this for the benefit of us all in the long run. But it’s there, sometimes.

The part I don’t really say out loud is that I don’t give myself much room to feel any of this. Because this is what I wanted so I don’t feel like I get to wallow in it.

I just keep moving.

But when I do stop, even briefly, my mind wanders somewhere else. I start questioning everything.

Whether I’ve made life harder than it needed to be?

Whether I’m overthinking things that other people just… don’t?

Whether I’ve made the wrong call?

I’ll look at schools in our neighbourhood in the US. I’ll think about what it would look like to just go back and simplify everything. And then I shut it down, because it doesn’t actually help.

The hardest part isn’t the logistics.

It’s not the distance, or the time zones, or even the coordination. It’s the uncertainty.

What we thought would be a few years has already stretched. Plans change. Timelines move. And there’s no clear point where you can say - this is when it ends. 

We talk about putting a deadline on it. But that depends on how the next phase of his career plays out… and that just means the goalposts keep moving.

I don’t worry about our relationship the way I used to. That part feels solid now.

What I do think about is whether I’ve chosen the right path. Not just now, but long term. Five years from now. Ten years from now. Will this feel like it was worth it? Will the boys benefit in the way I think they will?

Or will we look back and realise we gave up more than we expected to?

I don’t know. And that’s the part I can’t really solve.