We sold everything to start a new life with our 2 kids in Argentina. I don’t know how long we’ll stay, but so far it’s worth it.

Being an immigrant can be hard. This wasn’t the case for me.

I didn’t have to flee my country because of life-threatening reasons. I chose to leave Argentina to pursue a Master’s in Creative Writing in Madrid.

While I was living there, I traveled to London for the weekend and met a nice guy in a pub, whom I married a couple of years later. Not long after, I was pregnant.

We had our first son and lived in London for another two and a half years, until our second son was born. We needed more space and help with the kids, so we moved to Wales, where my in-laws were 20 minutes away and a nursery was around the corner.

I was able to carry on working remotely. My husband left his job in London and found a new position close by. Life went on. We were fine.

In fact, we were more than fine — we had a stunning house in a lovely village, the boys were happy with their school and friends, and although we didn’t have our dream jobs, we were able to pay the bills and had a good work-life balance.

That’s why I don’t think anyone expected us to announce a move to Argentina.

It was a difficult decision, but we were determined

When we broke the news to friends and family, they understandably wondered if we were sure about our decision.

Of course, we weren’t. Who on Earth can be sure of such a move? We’d have to sell our dream home and everything in it, find a new home and new school for the kids, and quit our jobs and find a new way of living halfway around the world.

Not to mention, we lived in a first-world country. Argentina is not first world. We’d be throwing everything away to start a new life in an economically unsteady country. We were determined, however.

I wanted to give my sons a chance to make the most of being part of a multicultural family. They had to experience both heritages in the flesh. They deserved to know what living in their mom’s country and speaking Spanish was like.

It was an emotional nightmare at first

The kids weren’t happy about the move. The eldest literally said, “You’re ruining my life.” There was no turning back, though.

Preparing for the move meant we were completely swamped with the logistics of estate agents, removal companies, Facebook Marketplace postings, and video calls with schools in Buenos Aires.

The amount of things we collected as years went by was insane, and because the house was big we kept them all: strollers, teddies, high chairs, rocking chairs, bottles, breast pumps, bicycles, scooters, puzzles, keyboards, microphones, blankets, books, you name it. Not to mention the piano and every single piece of furniture.

My husband drove back and forth from the garbage dump so many times, and each time he came back, his face spoke to me: I’m exhausted, this is hard. We gave things away, too.

I remember the tears every time I put baby clothes in a bin bag and every time I dropped something meaningful at a charity shop. What am I doing? Am I crazy? I remember those thoughts, too.

Despite the doubt and hardship, we kept going.

We’ve been in Argentina for 9 months

Having my husband’s support was what really made the move happen. Even though the move seriously affected his career and finances, he went along with it anyway, for which I’m extremely grateful.

In Argentina, there are no more gardens, mountains, or sheep on our way to school.

We now live in an apartment on the outskirts of the city, the boys share a bedroom, and we drive past three different schools on our way to school.

There’s traffic, horns, bikes, buses, and lots of people. When we first got here, my youngest would cover his ears. Yes, son, city life is loud.

It’s been nine months now — nine crazy and intense months. We’re surviving and still adapting.

Things are looking up

My husband and I no longer have corporate jobs. I work as a contractor interviewing candidates for different clients and also make a living out of my podcast and artistic workshops. My husband works a remote job with fewer hours than in London, which gives him more time to do what he loves: engage with the kids.

When I’m a bit sad, I go to my sister’s or arrange to see my friends: they know how to make me laugh. My husband has made some friends through football. And the kids are not asking when they’ll be going back to the UK as much.

They like their school and the fact that we have a swimming pool in the building. They enjoy hanging out with my siblings and their little cousin and having lunch with their grandma once a week. And they speak Spanish now.

As much as I loved their British accents, I hated that they couldn’t roll the “r” or say anything in Spanish apart from “Hola”, “cómo estás”. Now they can communicate, for real, and that’s truly awesome.

We still don’t know how long we’ll be staying here, but we know it was right to come, no matter the suffering. We may not have a fixed income, but we have a feeling that no one can take away from us. We feel alive.

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