I wanted to move from LA to Kentucky and my husband didn't. It took years for us to get on the same page.

“I have a plan,” the text to my friend began, “would you meet us for dinner so we can talk about the greatness of Louisville?” My plan was simple: Reassure my husband that leaving Los Angeles and moving to Kentucky was the right move.

We both loved my hometown and always looked forward to our visits with my family.

Still, my partner needed an objective opinion — someone who’d lived in LA but chose Louisville.

I hit send, and the reply came quickly, “I’m in.” My hope was that after dinner, my husband would change his opinion about moving just as quickly. “I don’t want to live in LA forever,” my husband said when he was my fiancé.

During our engagement, we had lengthy conversations about our future together.

We talked about moving away from perpetual traffic jams, fire season, and the cost of simply existing in Los Angeles.

We had no particular deadline, but when I gave birth to our son, the pressure to relocate got real.

This surprising revelation occurred in the two weeks following our baby’s birth.

My mom and dad came to LA to help, at a time when motherhood was a muddled mix of sleeplessness and self-doubt.

I borrowed my parents’ confidence in parenting, and in me.

When they left, I wanted us all to go with them — a pull I couldn’t ignore. “Let’s call Papa and Maw,” I whispered to my newborn.

Whenever my baby was sleeping, if I wasn’t sleeping, too, I was video calling my parents.

I also called them during playtime, walk times, bath times, and, well… basically any time at all, I called home.

I felt closer to the support and safety I craved when I saw their faces and my childhood home.

I brought up all the pros and cons of raising our son in Kentucky, and my husband listened.

Then he said, “I’m not opposed to it, but can we wait to make sure?” His nervousness was hard to hide.

So, before I pulled cardboard boxes out of the garage to pack, we decided to wait.

As our newborn grew into an infant, my video calls continued, and the urge to move home never faded.

Every three or four months, I’d check in, and my partner’s resistance was clear. “Honey, you’re asking me to leave my career and best friends,” he said.

He softened as we talked, but he still wasn’t ready.

The idea of moving was such a strange closed door between us that there were times I was afraid to open it.

Each time my partner rejected the idea, it felt like he was rejecting me — a feeling I didn’t enjoy.

Having such differing desires and viewpoints created an awkward disconnect, and I communicated as much.

So, we compromised by visiting home more often, meeting with friends in Louisville to gather more info, and keeping the dialogue open.

Eventually, for me, this wasn’t enough.

Around the time my son turned 4, my inner moving clock rang with such urgency that I reopened the discussion.

Again, I explained that I wanted the safety of living close to family, and for our son to have weekend sleepovers at his grandparents’ house.

I also told him how lonely I felt being so far away.

Finally, the door swung open, and my husband said he’d grown to love the idea of surrounding our son with family, and a new city would be a fun new adventure.

The disconnect vanished, and that’s when we made the decision together.

We’ve been back in Louisville for eight years now, and we agree that moving was the best choice for all of us.

While it was a slow decision, I think that made it even more meaningful.

Living close to family and the support they offer is foundational for building our own family — and the palm trees and the traffic are still there whenever we want to visit.