When I was eight years old, my parents got divorced.
There had been a long period of relentless arguments between the two. Finally my mother took me and my sister, and moved out.
While not fun at the time, I am grateful that they got it over with when I was still as young as I was. I think it might have been harder for me to adjust to the new situation if I had been older. They did not have a healthy relationship there at the end. So it was better for us all that it ended.
We ended up living with my mother, while my dad had us on Wednesdays and every other weekend. For most of my life up until that point I had lived in a municipality on an island just outside of Bergen, Norway.
When we moved out of our old house, mom first found us a temporary cellar apartment for rent on that same island. But as soon as she had found an apartment for sale closer to the city, and closer to her work. So then we moved for good.
I find that I have fewer clear memories from my early childhood than people I know who lived their entire childhood in the same area.
I think that when you keep seeing the same surroundings over and over, it reinforces your memories of events that happened in that area.
Like, you see a tree and think “Oh, that’s where that happened.” But the next time you see the tree your brain goes “Oh, that’s where I remembered that thing that happened.” And so on until the memory is ingrained in your brain.
Could also be that I’ve repressed memories from the break-up period. But I prefer my first theory.
Related article: Forgotten Friends