When we moved into our first apartment in Israel, I cried because seeing the empty apartment emphasized how ugly the floors were. We brought in our furniture, hung up our photos and turned it into our home. Three years later, we could barely see the floors. Somewhere along the way, our empty apartment that echoed with our laughter became too loud, too full, and too small for the life we were trying to build inside it.

Last year, we outgrew our home. Literally. We were two adults and two young kids in a small, two-bedroom apartment. Our dining room was part of the hallway that we could only use when the kids were awake, otherwise the sounds of our meal would wake them. Our office sat in the living room and the space we used to relax and unwind from the day was two feet away from where we sat for our stressful jobs. Somewhere in the three years of living there, every room became a storage room. We filled every nook and cranny with furniture we needed, toys, old baby clothes, you name it. The walls in our rooms were covered from ceiling to floor. The only peace we ever had was inside the kids’ room, which, while the baby slept in our room, was fully baby proof so our toddler wouldn’t get herself into trouble during the night. We had no space to have the occasional friend over. The closest we got to hosting was letting people use our apartment when we were out of town 

We were overwhelmed not only by the visual noise, but the actual noise as well. We lived on a main city road and were constantly bombarded by honking, traffic, and loud in-car phone calls that we heard from four flights up. We lived right by constant construction noises that prevented us from opening the windows lest the dust creep inside. We couldn’t breathe and our walls felt like they were closing in on us. 

We found ourselves lost in the same conversational loops, emotional states, and reactive parenting. We couldn’t open ourselves up to new possibilities or even push ourselves to grow. We felt stuck in a way that we couldn’t escape. 

But then we moved. We doubled our space, and halved (or maybe even quartered?) the city’s population. We replaced skyscrapers with four-floored apartment complexes, houses stacked one on top of the other for private residences with backyards, and the city roads for mountains and greenery as far as the eye can see. And suddenly? We could breathe. We exhaled into the mountain air for the first time in a long while. And the things that felt stuck before? Suddenly they felt easy. Somehow, the long days at home, working while caring for two kids felt more manageable. Rather than stumbling down four flights of stairs carrying two kids, we are one floor and an elevator ride away from green grass, flowering trees and fresh air at all times. Our windows are open almost year round and seeing the palm trees outside our bedroom window still makes me feel like we’re on vacation. 

Without all the noise in our heads, we can finally find peace. We can relish the small moments and even in the chaos, we can always look out the window at the mountain view and breathe. I really see the power in where we live. Our home now matches our nervous systems’ needs and we can sit down, watch the sunset and enjoy sitting on a couch that isn’t also serving as our children’s wardrobe.