I was born just outside of London, in a town called Aylesbury. Not long after, we moved to North Wales to be closer to my grandparents—quieter, greener, and a lot more sheep. And then, just when I was settling into life there, we packed up again. This time, it wasn’t a short drive—it was a one-way flight across the Atlantic.

I moved to Canada at quite a tender age. I don’t remember the exact date, but I do remember crying on the plane. In the way that only a seven-year-old can cry—genuinely, dramatically, and with the full belief that nothing would ever feel familiar again. But even in that moment, I tried to frame it as an adventure. That was my way of coping: telling myself that maybe, just maybe, something good was waiting on the other side.

Landing in Canada

Our first stop was a hotel room in Kitchener, Ontario. Not exactly a fairytale beginning, but it was a start. From there, we moved into a rental in Cambridge, and then made our way through several cities—Elmira, Mississauga, and eventually Brockville. Each move brought new schools, new people, and the now-familiar challenge of figuring out how to fit in all over again.

Adjusting wasn’t just about location—it was also about language, in the smallest ways. Words I grew up using suddenly didn’t land. “Crisps” became “chips.” “Bin” turned into “garbage.” “Trainers” were now “sneakers.” I didn’t dwell on it too much, but every so often I’d catch myself—and even now, I still enjoy gently correcting people when they misuse the word “crisps.” It’s a little inside joke I have with myself.

School, But Not As I Knew It

One thing I never quite got used to was the way school was structured. Back home, we had “infants” and “juniors.” Suddenly, I was being told I was in “Grade Three,” which sounded far more serious than anything I’d signed up for. I didn’t miss the school clubs or routines from the UK—I was never particularly attached—but I did find the new system a bit… puzzling. It was like the same game, just played with completely different rules.

Growing Up, and Growing Through It

Over time, things got easier. I learned how to navigate life in this new country. I made friends. I figured out what snow boots were and how to survive a Canadian winter without crying (mostly). I picked up the culture in bits and pieces, finding a way to merge my old life with the new one.

I’ve now lived in Canada longer than I ever lived in the UK, and yet, both places still feel like home in their own way. I carry pieces of each—sometimes in the words I use, other times in the memories that come out of nowhere.

Moving young taught me that resilience isn’t always about doing something big. Sometimes it’s just about showing up, again and again, even when everything around you feels unfamiliar. It’s reminding yourself that you’re allowed to miss things, and still make space for new ones.

If You’re Moving as a Kid—or With One

Here’s the truth: it’s not easy. It is an adventure, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be confusing, overwhelming, or just plain exhausting some days. But you do adapt. You stretch and bend in quiet ways that make you stronger without realizing it.

So pay attention to the small stuff. Let yourself miss things. Let yourself enjoy the weird new things too. And remember, the version of you that’s growing through all of it? That’s the one you’ll thank later.

Did you move countries when you were young? Still catch yourself saying “trainers” or “crisps” without apology? I’d love to hear how you handled the changes—big and small. Leave a comment, or share this with someone else who’s growing roots in a new place. Because sometimes, home isn’t where you started. It’s where you learned to start again.