Missing home

So I’ve successfully hit the one-week milestone. It feels a little weird to think that I’ve been living here for a week. On the one hand, it has completely flown by, and on the other hand, the day I left the UK feels like a lifetime ago.

I suppose I haven’t had the time to be homesick, and missing home won’t really sink in for a while. I’m in a constant state of contentment, and think that once I find a job and get myself into a routine, this will continue. But I’m also anticipating the day when it does sink in. Everything feels a little too good to be true. I’m trying to live my life with a positive mantra right now, always looking at the best in things and trying to keep any negativity out of my mind. Over the years I have suffered a lot of anxiety, and I guess that this kind of thinking helps to keep that at bay, but I am still waiting. Waiting for that grey fog to transcend and engulf me…. what if it doesn’t though?


Although I loved my friends and family and home in the UK, I was never truly happy. While I was at home, I never really felt like I was at home. I wasn’t where I was meant to be.

I see so many people so content with their life at home. They’re happy with the job they have now, going to work, coming home. They will probably be happy with that job for many years if not for the rest of their lives. They have partners and houses and a routine that they are quite comfortable in. I just never was.

From being a kid I’ve always felt like there was so much more out there, way more to see and do than what we were confined to in that small northern city where everyone knew what everyone was up to. Who was dating who and working where. Who was friends with who, and who wasn’t.

I think I’m finding my feet and finding out who I really am. I can escape negative influences and really carve out the life I have always dreamt I would have.


That’s not saying I won’t miss home. I miss the little things. The smell of my bedding at my mum’s house when it is freshly washed, walks along the beach and the smell of fish and chips, even the constant notifications telling you that “the metro is sorry for your delay”. I miss my best friends and my mum and forcing my dog to snuggle in bed with me. And I think this feeling will only get stronger the longer that I am here. But it’s worth it.

I had my first real dose of homesickness the other day after facetiming with my mum. I was telling her how happy I am to be here, and she looked like she might cry. Not because she was sad, but because she was happy and proud. And that’s all I could ever want- to make my parents proud.

The leap I have taken in relocating almost 4,000 miles away from home has been huge. It’s a little scary at times, but I know I’ve done the best thing for myself at this time in my life. In your early twenties, it is important to be a little selfish, in order to pursue the life you want. I know how I want my future to be and I truly hope that this will shape that.

I’ll never stop missing home though.


2 thoughts on “Missing home

  1. mumundone says:

    Love this post. So inspiring and spot on! When i was 19 I took the leap from Canada to Holland! Fast forward 7 years I am in North of England and no where has ever felt more home!! Good luck on your adventure… I look forward to following them!


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