Life has a way of drawing circles. We grow up in a place we think we know intimately, leave it behind in search of our own identity, and then find ourselves circling back — not to the exact same place, but to a version of it that is filtered through time and our own growth. A Daughter’s Journey Back is a story about that circle: the long arc of leaving, learning, and eventually returning to the place we call home.
In the story that follows, time is more than a calendar of dates; it is a backdrop against which relationships evolve, decisions are made, and reconciliation takes place. Whether you have moved away for university, travelled halfway around the world for work, or drifted emotionally from loved ones, there is a universal resonance in the act of coming back.
Leaving Home: The First Departure
On 17 September 2015, when I was eighteen years old, I boarded a train at London’s Paddington Station, my backpack stuffed with textbooks and dreams. I was bound for a university in Edinburgh, eager to pursue a degree in archaeology and to carve out an identity separate from the small world of my childhood. The day I left, my parents stood at the platform with a mixture of pride and sadness; there were hugs, promises to call every Sunday, and the silent knowledge that life would never quite be the same again.
The Pull of Independence
Over the next four years I thrived. I excavated Roman ruins, hiked through the Scottish Highlands, wrote papers late into the night and read books by Joan Didion and James Baldwin. I developed friendships with people from other countries and discovered the joy of living on my own terms. In the summer of 2019 I took an internship in Rome. It was meant to be a three‑month stint, yet I decided to stay on when the museum offered me a contract. The distance from home grew from a few hundred miles to over a thousand.
My parents supported me, albeit with heavy hearts. Video calls bridged the gap between Rome and London, yet there were missed birthdays, empty chairs at Christmas dinner and the sense of living life on parallel tracks. When the COVID‑19 pandemic struck in early 2020, flights were grounded and the physical gap felt wider than ever. I celebrated my 23rd birthday in my small Roman apartment, a cake delivered by a neighbour, my family singing “Happy Birthday” via video link.
Pushing Away to Understand Yourself
For me, staying away was not an act of rebellion but a pursuit of self. I needed to test my abilities, to see how I responded to new cultures, languages, and work environments. There was a sense of pride in the independence I had forged, but there was also an undercurrent of restlessness. After nearly six years, the adventure began to feel like an escape. I missed the smell of my mother’s Sunday roast, the sound of my father humming in the garden, the familiarity of London’s streets and even the unpredictable drizzle of English rain.
The Road That Leads You Home
By the summer of 2021, I started to talk openly with friends about returning. I weighed the professional advantages of staying in Rome against the emotional toll of being away. What tipped the balance was a phone call in November 2021— my father, a normally energetic man in his late fifties, had been diagnosed with a heart condition. The news landed like a stone in my chest. I spent a sleepless night thinking about all the times I had postponed visits, assuming there would always be more time.
In January 2022 I flew back to London. The journey home was surreal. The plane’s descent over the Thames, the familiar glow of the city lights and the rush of memories made my heart pound. I was returning as a different person than the one who had left at eighteen. I had aged, seen new places, loved and lost, but the sense of belonging to my family had not diminished; if anything, distance had made it clearer.
Reconnecting With the Familiar
The first days back were a blur of hospital visits, household chores and long conversations over cups of tea. My father looked thinner but still wore his mischievous smile. I cooked meals, listened as he recounted stories from the past six years, and slowly allowed myself to be present in a way that video calls never permitted. There was nothing grandiose about this phase of my journey; it was rooted in ordinary acts of care.
I also reconnected with the neighbourhood: the corner shop owner remembered my favourite snack; the librarian still had my old library card in a drawer. Even the streets felt welcoming. There is a particular magic in walking routes you once knew by heart and seeing them with older eyes. The park where I had first learned to ride a bicycle became a place for reflective strolls. The graffiti under the railway bridge had changed, but the feeling of home remained intact.
Rediscovery and Reconciliation
Returning home is rarely seamless. For all the comfort of familiarity, there were unresolved emotions. I had to navigate the subtle tensions that accumulate over years of physical distance. There were misunderstandings about decisions I had made, hurt feelings about missed milestones, and assumptions about what my life abroad had been like. Conversations that began with small talk sometimes swelled into disagreements.
Healing Old Wounds
One evening in March 2022, while sorting through a box of childhood photos, my mother and I came across a photograph from Christmas Day 2004 — me, then seven, beaming at the camera while my parents watch from the sofa. We laughed at the hairstyles and outfits of the early 2000s, but the photo also opened a pathway to a deeper talk. My mother spoke candidly about how my absence had affected her, the loneliness she had felt during lockdowns and the fear of losing touch. In turn, I shared my struggles to balance my career aspirations with family obligations. Tears were shed, and through vulnerability a new understanding was forged.
Balancing Old Identity With New Growth
Another challenge was reconciling my sense of identity. I had become someone different abroad — more assertive, more self‑reliant and influenced by Italian culture. Returning to London required integrating these facets into my old environment. I introduced my family to Roman recipes, taught my father how to make espresso and tried to communicate in Italian with the local deli owner. I realised that coming back did not mean reverting to my teenage self. Instead, it meant bringing my experiences home and allowing them to enrich my family’s life.
Lessons Learned Along the Way
As months turned into a year, my decision to come back evolved from a short‑term stay to a committed choice. My father recovered from surgery and began to garden again. I found work at a local museum, applying the skills I had honed abroad to a British context. More importantly, I discovered that “home” is not static; it is a living, breathing relationship that requires effort, patience and presence.
The Importance of Showing Up
The greatest lesson I learned was the power of showing up. Many of the difficulties I had feared were softened simply because I was physically there. Picking up prescriptions, attending doctor’s appointments and being present for Sunday dinners built trust and closeness. When my younger brother struggled with his own career choices, I was able to listen in person and offer guidance. Showing up did not solve every problem, but it laid the foundation for healing and growth.
Holding Dual Identities
I also learned that I could hold multiple identities without betraying any of them. I continued to speak Italian at home sometimes, kept in touch with friends in Rome and visited Italy whenever possible. However, I no longer felt the need to choose between two worlds. My life became richer because it wove together different cultures, places and relationships.
Coming Full Circle
My journey back is both literal and metaphorical. It is the physical act of returning to a family home, and the emotional work of mending bonds and integrating past and present selves. When I left London on that crisp morning in 2015, I saw the world as a canvas waiting to be filled. When I returned in 2022, I saw that the canvas could not be complete without the colours of my family and my roots.
If you are contemplating your own return — whether from a distant country, a different city or an emotional exile — know that coming back is not a surrender. It is an act of courage. It requires acknowledging mistakes, owning your growth and embracing the people who have loved you from the beginning. It may involve uncomfortable conversations and a reassessment of priorities, but it also offers the possibility of deeper connection and the comfort of belonging.
As I watch my father tend to his garden in the golden light of a late summer evening, I realise that the journey back is not the end of my story. It is a new beginning, rooted in an enduring love for home and an expanded view of the world. The circle has closed, but the path forward is wide open.
Do you have a story about returning home after time away? Share your experiences in the comments section on this blog.
