There I was, living my best life in Chicago, a city I loved, with the man I loved, an amazing group of friends, a great job, and a magnificent apartment in a trendy neighborhood that was at least 20% less than market value.
It was 2017. My partner Jaime and I had been living together for about a year when he decided, with input from his Ph.D. advisor at the Illinois Institute of Design, that he should get some work experience in the UX design research field.
Jaime is a Colombian national, so that limited his options — and the competition in Chicago is fierce. (One interviewer actually told him she couldn’t hire him under his student visa status — but would like to give him a hug!) As I held out hope that he would find something local, he began receiving offers from everywhere else: Grand Rapids, Austin, Florida, Seattle. I begged him to accept the job in Mumbai — at least we would be going on an adventure — but he passed, worried about the political climate and possible reentry to the U.S.
My only “hard no” was Dallas, Texas. I’ve always had a thing against Texas. It was almost arbitrary, but the idea of “everything’s bigger in Texas” and “open carry” was more than off-putting.
One day, I got home from work and he was excited to tell me about a great interview and offer he had just received. Where? Richardson, Texas. A suburb of — you guessed it— Dallas.
Suddenly, I had a tough decision. Could I stomach moving to a place I loathed — or would I stay put in my best life, but lose one of the best parts of it?
Academic training only lasts 18 months. I decided I could handle 18 months. And so, I did.
Leaving my comfort zone
Dallas was exactly what I had dreaded: car-dependent, spread out, unbearably hot. As we looked for an apartment, whenever I would ask the real estate broker how long it would take to get to the nearest grocery, the answer was always: about 10-15 minutes — by car. Everything looked the same since everything was new, but not in a good way — in a Stepford way. One of the first questions people would ask me when meeting them was: So where do ya’ll go to church? Uh, we don’t.
I suppose I never gave Dallas much of a chance. I flew up to Chicago at every opportunity, spending weekends with friends and visiting my favorite restaurant, parks and shops. Dallas never felt like home — more like a long-term hotel stay complete with pool and obnoxious guests. I did make a couple of casual friends through Meetup, but they were also transplants trying to navigate the city. (Misery loves company!) I liked the Bishop Arts District and a free art museum is nice, but getting to anywhere seemed like such a slog — and my car didn’t have AC.
At the job I had found at a suburban library, the employees were constantly gossiping and sabotaging each other’s projects. I made it about three months before I completely threw in the towel. Fighting through my frustration, I applied for a job at a law firm. I’d never really done that kind of work but I had nothing to lose; I called my lawyer friends and got the vocabulary I needed and read as many American Lawyer articles as I could for free. The director took a chance on a former public librarian, and I have never looked back. This is the career I was always looking for.
That was just the beginning of my trailing spouse journey, however.
Going south of the border
After 18 months in Texas, instead of heading back to Chicago, we spent two years in Bogota, Colombia while Jaime worked for the Universidad Nacional at the invitation of the university’s design chair. This move, I was on board with — but Jaime wasn’t exactly excited to go back to his hometown, which he described with stories of kidnap express and dar papaya and the Transmilenio. He was absolutely certain I would be relentlessly catcalled and harassed. But, I wasn’t worried. Rightfully so, since neither of these things came to pass!
For the first few weeks, however, I hated it. Chicago has a perfect grid; Bogota was unorganized and the sidewalks were always broken and uneven. The altitude sickness left me feeling dizzy and tired, like I had a never-ending hangover. But then we went to Cali to visit his family; after two weeks in the blazing heat and arguably the slowest place I’ve ever been, Bogota was a welcome sight.
With fresh eyes, I enrolled in Spanish classes, started to look for a job and began to explore the city on my own. I found shops and restaurants and parks, and I began daring to think Bogota was better than Chicago. I learned to embrace the idea that things could all be a little bit broken, but they mostly worked — and it was okay.
After an uneasy start, Bogota had become exactly what I had hoped it would be.
Making adjustments, taking control
I did have make a lot of adjustments, of course. I am so very impatient, by nature. Everyone in Bogota walked in the most leisurely way, and I’m just trying to get from Point A to Point B. Every transactional experience was accompanied with a conversation, creating interminable lines for every service. (Unless you’re at the airport — then it’s a free-for- all!) Not to mention the language. I never really got over my hesitancy to speak it freely. Our social circle all spoke English and I had enough to navigate Metro Pandebono downstairs in our building. It took forever to find work because of my limited language skills. It may have been an adventure but I was still professionally stagnant and that was so very hard.
I ended up teaching English, like all gringos who can’t speak Spanish. But the company I worked for and the software developer students I had will always be so very special to me. They are good people who made my life in Colombia so much richer.
In Colombia, I also took control of my health. I’ve always suffered from health anxiety but did very little on my end to mitigate that physically or mentally. The former was much easier when processed food was less prevalent and really expensive. I joined a gym four blocks away and hit it every single morning before work. I wasn’t just “skinny” — I was fit. It also substantially improved my mental health substantially. Feeling strong is so gratifying. I had control over this and could determine the results. Looking back, I had so little control during my time there but this was a gift to myself when I needed it most.
We only ended up spending a year in Colombia, however. Our plans changed when my sister called to tell me my dad’s surgery hadn’t gone so well. He had stage 4 pancreatic cancer and the prognosis was bleak. I had spoken with him before he was given the news, and he said he felt better than he had in a year. I went home from my English teaching job and asked my husband to come back to central Ohio with me. He didn’t hesitate for a second. He said yes, wrapped his arms around me and said, “Go home. I’ll meet you there soon.” He had become the trailing spouse.
Who says you can’t go home?
I had always said I would never head back to Ohio. I was raised in a small town where I always felt like an outsider and just couldn’t find my niche. It wasn’t until I arrived in Chicago after graduate school that I had finally felt at home. But at that moment, I felt so privileged to have the freedom of movement to go back and spend what little time my dad had left with him.
My dad passed away a little less than a year after we returned to the States. We had planned to head back to Colombia, but the pandemic has kept us in Columbus, Ohio instead. Here, Jaime is remotely defending his Ph.D. and I’m back in a law library. Luckily, the skills I learned at the law firm in Dallas led me back to my chosen career path. However, we both feel hopelessly out of place here. I guess we are waiting to see who follows whom this time around — and to where.
Learning about myself
Both my moves as a trailing spouse left me with important personal insights. It’s easy to be comfortable, but by managing what felt impossible in Texas, I ended with my dream job. By living in Colombia, I learned how to be healthier and more patient, and how to view the world beyond my U.S.-centric lens.
I also talked Jaime into the dog I really, really wanted and we packed her back to the States. That’s the biggest win!
My two relocations were on opposite ends of the Gupte Scale.
Dallas: Literally a zero for location. Probably a 2 for timing since I felt like I was in a really good place. Resources: solid 5. He was earning an exceptional salary and my sister lived nearby in Rockwall, TX. Total: 7/15
I cried until probably Missouri when I left Chicago, but I made the right decision to go. No one answer is right and what-ifs only sully the now. I do wish I had gone to Dallas with a more open mind. Perhaps I would have explored more, made myself more open to the new environment. I had written it off before the Chicago skyline disappeared in my rearview mirror. That was a mistake but a lesson learned. I knew going to Bogota had to be different and I couldn’t wait.
Bogota: Easily a 5 for location. I was so excited to understand the environment that shaped my husband. 2 for timing. I had ended up in a career that I really loved in Dallas and I was leaving after only a year. I was lucky to land the gig and I didn’t want to be shut out of the industry because of an absence. Resources was a solid 5 (I thought). Jaime was joint owner of a large single-family home, with his brother, so housing wasn’t an issue and his family and friends were there. Total: 12/15
So many of my close friends are from outside of the U.S. and they were all in my corner with so much good advice about the international move. But, it can still be scary. I was lucky that I had a native Bogotano at the helm but I did so much research before going and it made it so much easier. I was really able to lean into the culture and vibe in a way I might not have if I had only listened to Jaime’s horror stories.
Everything is temporary
For any trailing spouse, especially if you’re only considering a temporary relocation? I would advise that you quiet the frightened voices as best you can, and try to really enjoy an experience that has so much potential for enrichment. The results may surprise you — in a good way!
