My mom had one rule for me: 'Don't fall in love and move away.' I now live 5 minutes from her and am full of regret.

I live about five minutes from my mom and have never really left.
I dream about living far away in Australia or Mexico, but my anxiety prevents me from leaving.
I'm raising my child differently. I hope she doesn't consider my feelings when choosing where to live.

I live in Denver, about five minutes away from my mom. And I've never really left.

I went to college an hour away. I traveled a little in my 20s, but never for long, and always with the knowledge that I'd return.

"Don't fall in love and move away" was my mother's one rule before any trip. And I followed that rule.

Never mind that my parents moved away from their small towns in Indiana in their 20s, or that my close friends from high school moved to London and Sydney. Their lives make me feel a complicated mix of envy and awe.

Of course, I've felt the call to move. One of my favorite activities on vacation is to look at homes nearby for sale on Zillow. Cannon Beach, Oregon; Sydney; Guanajuato, Mexico; even the Twin Cities — they're all places I've visited and thought, "I could live here."

But that's not my lot in life.

Responsibility was baked into my childhood

Alison Meyer in Sydney.Courtesy of Alison Meyer Business Insider USA

Clinically, it may be called "parentification" or "codependence," but I knew it as love.

My dad struggled with mental illness and holding a job. He was exciting but also known to bankrupt us with one manic trip to Williams and Sonoma.

My kid sister had chronic health issues. My mom worked for a nonprofit and, despite her best efforts, we struggled financially.

Being the oldest daughter, I was the one who took myself to school and kept things quiet at home when they needed to be. I sat beside my sister in hospital rooms and explained to teachers why my parents couldn't come to conferences.

Walking on eggshells and anticipating people's needs are what I know.

My parents might have seen my decision to stay as an act of love, but it was also driven by my own anxiety and the gnawing feeling that if I left, my family might fall apart.

I believed my presence would prevent disaster. That by staying nearby, I could keep the people I loved safe.

So I stayed.

Now, I'm a mom myself

My daughter is 7, and she's already making plans to leave.

When she grows up, she wants to design a house to live in with her best friend and "lots of cats." She's considering Vail or maybe California.

Like my mother, I also (secretly) hope that my daughter will live near me forever. I even considered delaying her start in kindergarten just to get an extra year with her, but didn't go through with it.

When she grows up, I think I need to be nearby in case she needs me. There's that codependence again — but I catch myself.

More than anything, I hope my daughter grows up without my same anxiety and has the peace of mind to leave, if she wants.

I want her to trust that she's allowed to grow out of me and her dad. If she never once considers my feelings when choosing where to live, I'll have succeeded (and hate it).

I regret never moving away, but I've found the silver lining

I attend family dinners and get to watch my nephews grow up — not in jarring leaps between holidays, but in the slow unfolding of ordinary days.

I know what they look like when they're sleepy before bedtime or proud from playing a tough soccer game. My kid knows her grandparents, and someone is always around to lend a rake or give a hug.

I didn't move. I bought into the idea that love meant staying close. But I hope my daughter knows that love knows no boundaries. It can mean building a full and joyful life from anywhere — and that I'll be just fine watching her go.