I am getting this from my mother a lot. I grew up in a small market town, in a large house with lots of space for activities (we had a woodworking bench and a table tennis table in the garage), with woods to play in, very healthy climate and fresh air, skiing and skating on local pond in winter and I got to spend my summers near the beach.
We live in an average 3 bed semi, small rooms, urban setting, near a main road.
My mother cannot get her head round the fact that my children are not actually deprived.
I remind myself that dd is actually getting quite a few things that I would have given my eye teeth for at her age: she has friends interested in the same things as herself, she goes to a local drama club which she loves, she gets taken to the theatre at regular intervals, there are lots of potential activities around. By the time I got to secondary, all my friends were ever interested in was getting legless at weekends.
I tell myself that by most people's standards, living in a pleasant urban setting, where most people know each other and greet each other in the street, does not count as Deprivation. Not by a long stretch.
In my mother's case, I know what the problem is. She had moved away from her home town and parents to somewhere that was very different. She hated it. I have moved away not only from my parents, but from my country. So why aren't I hating it? Well, maybe because I'm not her. Or maybe because I did actually make a better choice.
Funnily enough, I did get a chance last year of moving to the sort of place that would have made my mother very very happy. And the sort of place dh and I had been talking yearningly of for years. And you know what- we turned it down. Because we realise that we actually like our lives as they are.