The Truth About Why We Moved

Grief, distance and the pull of family took us back to Scotland. This is the story of starting again – and what it really means to belong

Back home in Scotland

We didn’t expect to leave Canterbury.

It was a city we fell in love with on a day trip, when life was hard and I was struggling – not least with the menopause. Canterbury gave me a home, a sense of purpose and a welcome when I badly needed it. I thought we were settled.

But life has a way of jolting you sideways.

In just a couple of years, I lost my mam and saw my work life change dramatically. All my anchors were gone. And suddenly, the distance between us and family felt overwhelming. It took six hours to see my sister and nine to visit my father-in-law – if everything ran on time.

We started rethinking everything: where we lived, how we worked, and what kind of future we wanted. And through all those conversations, one thing kept coming up – I wanted to be closer to family.

That brought us back to Scotland, where we first met. Not to an area we’re from – we’ve no family ties in the North-East; my husband was born in Leith, with roots in Musselburgh – but to somewhere I already knew and had friends. It was also somewhere we could afford a home, find work, and turn those day-long journeys to see loved ones into easy day trips. The kind of trade-offs Kirsty and Phil talk about on telly.

Home in Madrid – one of those nights that finishes in the morning

I tried to explain this on social media, to explain how my move was tied to grief and heartbreak over the loss of my mam, only for someone to ask: “Did your mam die in the last two months and was she from Fife?”

I didn’t reply. Some things deserve more than 280 characters. And I already knew where it would go: “But you also said you loved Canterbury. What’s the real reason you left?”

And yes, I did say that. Because it was true. But truth isn’t static. Lives shift, priorities change. Grief reshuffles everything.

I know some people will try to twist that. That reply on X was just one example – a hint at some hidden motive because I stood in last year’s general election.

But the reality is simpler: life happened.

We never know what’s around the corner and the plans we make can change in a heartbeat.

I intended to live in Edinburgh for a year. I stayed eight. We moved to Madrid and hoped to buy a home, then the financial crisis hit. I turned down work in Toronto because I was homesick and regretted it two months later.
And as for London – thank you, menopause, for casting a cloud over living in one of the world’s greatest cities.

Still, despite the ups and downs, each of these places has a hold on my heart. Why? Because of the people I met every day.

I’m lucky. I’ve found that again – a community that’s welcomed us as their own, even while we banter about football teams and whether a well-fired roll is just burnt.

And home in Canterbury

“Home is where the heart is,” goes the saying. What it doesn’t say is: your heart grows. It stretches to make space for new places and new faces.

My friends used to laugh that I had “too many homes”. In Madrid, I’d say I was “going home” to Newcastle. In Newcastle, I’d talk about “back home” in Madrid. But they weren’t wrong. Because my home is where I’m with people I love, from the baker setting aside my favourite bread to the friends on nights out that turned into early mornings.

I’ve never cared much for the idea that belonging comes with a birth certificate. Belonging is about turning up for each other, giving a damn about what happens to your neighbour and knowing someone’s looking out for you and doing the same in return.

That’s what makes a place feel like home. That’s what makes a life.

I don’t live in places. I live in communities. And I’m lucky enough to be in one again.

I’d love to hear your thoughts. Please leave a comment below.