I pulled down the extendable ladder covered in cobwebs and dust and watched dead woodlice roll down the steps onto the new carpet in our bedroom.
With a deep breath, I willed myself to go up into the attic — a place I hated to go — to retrieve our family’s suitcases and duffel bags. We were heading back to Canada, and it was time to start packing.
When we had moved to England seven months earlier, I never imagined returning so soon.
At first, moving to the UK felt like it could be a grand adventure
Packing up a life in Canada and starting a new one in England had been a herculean endeavor, but I had been excited to do it.
For two years leading up to our move to the UK, my husband, two kids (ages 7 and 10), and I had been settled in Alberta, Canada.
As much as we enjoyed it, I ached for a new adventure; something different. I didn’t feel particularly connected to our community, and our day-to-day lives had felt monotonous for a while.
Some of our only reprieves as busy young parents were monthlong summer holidays spent with my husband’s family in the bucolic British countryside.
We enjoyed these trips so much and looked forward to them for weeks, from planning excursions to castles and museums to researching the best local restaurants and pubs.
When we arrived, we loved taking day trips to nearby locales and eating fish and chips by the seaside. I started wondering if living in England would be just as enjoyable and exciting as these monthlong stints. Maybe it’d also satisfy our longing for adventure.
Although moving meant leaving my extended family in Canada behind, the idea of our kids spending the rest of their childhoods with my husband’s family nearby felt like the right next step.
My in-laws also seemed excited about the arrangement, as they offered to help pay for my visa application to live in England permanently.
My (more skeptical) husband decided he’d continue running his business in Canada after we moved, occasionally commuting back every few weeks while working remotely from the UK in between.
After six months of figuring out some logistics and filling out paperwork, we boarded our flights.
Not long after the move, reality began to sink in
We arrived in the UK in September 2025, lugging heavy duffel bags, suitcases, and backpacks, feeling exhausted, sweaty, and weary from a much-delayed flight.
We were ready to be in our new home. Home, however, did not yet exist.
For the first week, we stayed at my husband’s grandparents’ place, which was vacant while they were on holiday. We spent it navigating sleepless nights, trying to get over jet lag, and dealing with horrible colds.
From there, we bumped around to three different Airbnbs and holiday accommodations. My husband returned to Canada for a three-week work stint while I earnestly tried to find us a place to live.
Securing a rental was more challenging than anticipated, and it felt unlikely that a landlord would approve our application. My husband was still earning Canadian income, we had no local credit history, and we had two kids — yet we were trying to rent a smaller (read: more affordable) home.
After six weeks and more than 20 different applications, we finally had a landlord agree to rent us a beautiful, newly renovated historic cottage that couldn’t be more picturesque.
It was, however, at the very top of our budget. We knew we were heading into a precarious situation, but we could no longer afford to keep staying in vacation rentals.
We signed a six-month lease with the help of my in-laws, who loaned us the deposit and acted as guarantors, and moved.
We faced more and more challenges as we settled into our new home
Our new rent ate up so much of my husband’s pay that we couldn’t live the way we had hoped.
There wasn’t room in our budget for the fun things we’d dreamed about doing when we moved here, like overnight stays in nearby towns and small trips to other parts of Europe.
And as a Canadian living in the British countryside, I increasingly felt like an outsider who would never fully be accepted.
My accent betrayed me every time I spoke, prompting locals to assume I was on holiday despite my residential status. Giving the full explanation of why I left Canada to live in the UK felt so exhausting that I started to just let them believe I was on vacation.
When I’d imagined my life here, I pictured being surrounded by a close-knit community of friends and family. Instead, I mostly felt alone in a new place while my husband, who understood the local culture, spent weeks at a time working in the country we’d left behind.
On top of that, we realized how challenging it can be to go from seeing loved ones a few times a year to living close by and having more frequent interactions.
Being near my husband’s family didn’t go as well as I’d hoped; instead, it seemed to lead to a series of disagreements and misunderstandings.
In less than a year, living permanently in the UK no longer felt worth it
Although I hated the idea of “giving up” after all of the time and effort we had put into the move, building our dream life here no longer felt possible, and we returned to Canada after less than a year.
Looking back, I realize excitement clouded my judgment about how viable this arrangement really was, but I pushed forward, believing that moving was the solution to my loneliness, restlessness, and lack of community. It was not.
We hadn’t properly prepared for what life in a new country might bring, and we didn’t achieve our goal of blending international families.
I realize now that our move was a misguided attempt to feel free and unburdened. Now, we’re trying to repair the financial damage from it while figuring out what’s next.
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