Meanwhile, in Thailand…

And yet, alongside all of that support, there was a harder truth running in parallel. While my world, in some ways, was expanding again — reconnecting, rebuilding, re-rooting — Susi’s world had become smaller.

There was also a deeper shift taking place — one that is harder to see from the outside.

When we were living together in Thailand, life, while not always easy, was balanced. I was able to contribute financially through work that could often be done from home, online, and within the local context. Susi, too, had her own working history and independence. We functioned as a family unit, sharing both responsibility and resilience.

But once I returned to the UK, that balance disappeared.

Susi and Sebastian became, in practical terms, entirely dependent on me.

In a country like Thailand, there is no meaningful welfare safety net for situations like this. No structured support for a mother suddenly raising a child alone while her husband is abroad trying to meet immigration requirements. The expectation is simple: you cope, or you rely on family.

And so Susi’s world became smaller.

Her ability to work was limited, not by willingness, but by circumstance. Caring for Sebastian, managing the household, navigating daily life without support — all of that left little space for meaningful employment. What she could contribute financially was minimal, not because she lacked capability, but because the structure of our situation made it so.

Meanwhile, I was living a very different reality.

I carried the cost of rebuilding a life in the UK (albeit with the support and financial assistance of family and friend) — travel, daily living — while also supporting my family in Thailand. Health insurance, school fees, as well as daily food, or monthly utility bills — all of it continuing, all of it necessary, all of it dependent on an income I was still in the process of securing.

It is a strange kind of pressure.

To be working toward a financial threshold set by the state, while at the same time already carrying the full financial weight of two households. One visible, one distant — but both entirely real.

And perhaps that is one of the least understood aspects of this process.

From the outside, it can look like a straightforward requirement: earn enough, provide evidence, meet the rules.

But inside it, the reality is far more complex.

After I left, she placed him into a more affordable, Christian faith-based school, trying to give him some sense of continuity in the middle of disruption. She carried on, as she always has, with resilience and quiet strength.

But the reality was stark. When either of them was unwell, there was no one else to share the burden. No one to step in. No one to take over, even briefly. They simply had to get on with it. And I was not there.

I could support financially — or at least, I was trying to — but in those early months, even that felt like a heavy and uncertain responsibility without stable work. I relied on credit cards and a bank loan. There is a particular kind of pressure in knowing that your ability to provide is directly tied to your ability to bring your family back together.

It sharpens everything. So yes, this journey has been about work, income, and meeting requirements. But if I succeed at anything, the story would only be half told if I did not make it about the people who helped me. I have not named anyone specifically, but if you have been involved in offering me support, in person, offering me a dinner, a call on the phone or even reaching out with a text asking for an update, then you know who you are.

The story is as much about;

The strangers who became companions in online forums.
The church that quietly held me when I had little left to give.
The family and friends who reappeared as though no time had passed.
The family, far away, carrying more than their share.

If this process has taught me anything, it is this: Even when systems separate us, it is people who hold us together.

Lloyd Hobbard-Mitchell