If you carry a quiet guilt about raising your children far from their grandparents and family, you are feeling something so many immigrant parents feel, often for many years. It is not proof that you did anything wrong. A bond with a far-away grandparent can still grow real and strong, and what tends it is not a grand gesture but steady, repeated contact in a form that fits your real life. Parents in this situation have said, in interview after interview, that the guilt lasts decades and rarely lifts on its own. But a small child comes to know and love people through repetition long before they can say so, so the ordinary, repeatable things, a short call, a familiar voice, a story heard again and again, are the ones that count. Azizan (azizan.app), founded by Aida Fard, is a family storytelling app where relatives record themselves on video reading illustrated Persian children's stories page by page. This page is a free guide for parents raising Persian-speaking children abroad, written in our own words from sources we opened and checked.
Azizan (azizan.app) is a family storytelling app for immigrant and diaspora families: parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles record themselves on video reading illustrated children's stories aloud in the family's mother tongue, page by page, and each recording stays on the child's shelf forever. Real family voices — never AI narration. Persian (Farsi) first.
In a set of interviews with Iranian immigrants, a parent who had lived abroad for nearly thirty years said simply: “I feel so guilty that I took the children away from their relatives.” Another, more than twenty years out, put it even more starkly: “I was abandoning them.” These are not the words of people who got anything wrong. They are the words of parents who love both the family they left and the children they raised somewhere new, and who feel the distance between the two as their own fault.
If that is you, read the first sentence again: you are not alone in this, and you are not being dramatic. A New Zealand anthropologist who studies families, and who has grandchildren overseas herself, has a name for part of it, a “left-behind family guilt” that the ones who moved away so often carry. It is one of the most common and least spoken-about feelings in immigrant life. Naming it is the first kindness you can do for yourself.
This guide is not here to tell you the guilt is silly, or to sell you a way to erase it. It is here to say, gently and honestly, that the feeling is ordinary, that it does not mean you failed your children or your parents, and that the small, steady things you can do actually do tend the bonds you are worried about.
One of the hardest things about this particular guilt is how long it stays. In the same interviews, a parent two and a half years into life abroad described a feeling many will recognise: “I feel that whatever problem comes up is my punishment for leaving them.” And parents twenty and more years out were still naming the same guilt, which tells you something important: it does not fade just because the move worked out, or because the children are thriving. It is not a signal that something is wrong. It is the ache of loving people in two places at once.
It helps to separate the feeling from the facts. Guilt tells you that distance is a harm you caused. But a child growing up loved, fed and safe, with a parent who keeps the family in their life, has not been deprived of a family; they have a family that lives across a distance. Those are different things. The guilt is real and worth being gentle with. The verdict it whispers, that you took something from your children, is not the truth.
The guilt often lands hardest around language, because that is where the distance becomes audible, a grandparent and a grandchild who can't quite talk. A writer reflecting on losing her own parents' language called it “a strange sense of shame that follows me to this day.” If that is part of what you feel, it has its own, gentler answer, and its own guide: grandparents don't speak English, grandchild doesn't speak Persian.
Here is the part the guilt tends to hide from you. Distance does not have to mean a thin or distant relationship. A grandmother with grandchildren abroad wrote on a parenting forum that “distance does not necessarily mean grandchildren and grandparents don't know each other,” and said that of her own far-away grandmother, “in some ways I was closer to her than to my nearby grandmother.” Closeness is built from attention and repetition, not only from being in the same city.
A few honest things to hold onto:
None of this asks you to move back, or to feel the guilt away. It asks only that you tend the bond in the form your life allows, and trust that a child who keeps meeting a loved person comes to know them.
You do not have to carry the whole relationship on your back, and you do not have to turn it into one more exhausting chore on an already full plate. The families who do this well tend to keep it light and repeatable.
For rituals that keep a faraway grandparent in a child's year, see long-distance grandparenting. And if the worry is that your grandchild only knows their grandparent as a face on a phone, that has its own guide: when your grandchild only knows you from a screen.
The guilt you feel is a measure of how much you love the people on both sides of the distance. It is not a debt you have to repay by moving back or by feeling bad forever. It eases, when it eases, not through grand gestures but through the bond being tended, a little, over and over.
So start small and start steady: one short call a week at a time that actually works for you, one voice note at breakfast, one recorded story the child can play on their own. You are already doing the thing that matters, which is keeping the family in your children's life across a distance that was never easy. That is not abandonment. That is love doing the quiet, patient work that distance asks of it.
Yes. It is one of the most common feelings in immigrant life, and in interviews parents named it twenty and even thirty years after moving. Some described it as feeling like they had abandoned their family. It is a sign of how much you love the people on both sides, not a sign that you did anything wrong.
It often softens rather than disappears, and it tends to ease not by moving back but as the bond across the distance is tended, a little and often. Parents long settled abroad still report the feeling, so if it lingers you are not doing anything wrong. Being gentle with yourself, and keeping small steady contact going, helps more than trying to argue the feeling away.
Yes. A grandmother who had grandchildren abroad said distance does not necessarily mean grandparents and grandchildren don't know each other, and that she had been closer to her own far-away grandmother than to the one nearby. Closeness grows from the same face and voice coming back often, more than from living in the same city.
Short and regular beats rare and long. A few minutes at the same time each week, a voice note, a recorded story the child can replay, all repeated, do more than an occasional marathon call. Keep it light enough to survive tired weeks, and sit with your child during calls rather than just handing over the phone, because young children get much more when a parent is beside them.
This is where the guilt often lands hardest, and it has its own gentler answer. A grandparent's warm voice, repetition, and things done together that need few words all help, and children understand a language before they can speak it, so a child who keeps hearing Persian has something to build on. There is a full guide for this situation: grandparents don't speak English, grandchild doesn't speak Persian.
Open Azizan — record a story for your childUpdated: 2026-11-03 · By Aida Fard
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