I left home at 27, and it would be a minute before I returned to it.

photo: me & kc doing things...

I left home at 27, and it would be a minute before I returned to it.

 

I arrived at Heathrow in August, excitedly like a child after a sunny day at the pool.

 

 I stepped off my Virgin Atlantic aircraft, thinking of the dreams and hopes I had for my new life in England, which I'd only read about as a child.

 I'd grown up imagining myself dining in her rich ancient castles and taking a tumble on her lush green landscapes, rolling hills, and grassy marshlands, all waiting for me to express my fondness for places such as England.

Looking back at my journey and arrival, I know now that I should have held back on the 'this place is amazing' wonderment I shared with everyone who chose to listen.

 I should have instead spent moments looking for a manual on 'how-to-live-and-stay-sane as an immigrant'

Or one not as dramatic that would read 'welcome to England; it's cold, still, and testy - enter if you dare'; a guide not as cut through but equally as realistic in its depiction of life in England as a young single girl away from home for the first time in her life.

 

 

On arrival, as I made my way past the gates and towards my sister, who waited with a broad smile and a feeling of home, I realised that my life going forward would be unlike anything I'd ever known it to be.

 

For instance, being the few in a sea of many, the realities of being darker-skinned--Black-- were now more glaring than ever. After swift hellos and welfare checks, my sister and I hopped in a taxi and zoomed our way to her Dudley flat. My stay with my sister has become one of my core memories in England. In those two weeks, brief but equally as impactful, we engaged in activities and fun days that left me feeling like I was meeting my sister for the first time. We talk endlessly about things we have never had the grace to, exploring feelings and opinions on schools of thought, in a way we had never done. Unpacked the experiences that have made us closer as siblings, and stronger or weaker as individuals on this thing called life - in many ways, those nights spent head to head on her plush beddings evoked feelings of healing and a grace to move on from traumas I'd carried for so long.  Those two weeks will always remain irreplaceable to the narrative of my existence.

 

 

 September came, and with it the move to Chelmsford, Essex.  The first few weeks of the new month moved fast; faster than I've ever known life to be. One minute I was settling into my "cozy" apartment, the next I'm attending ARU's Freshers Week events, and the next, taking endless hours in lessons that were taught with words that felt so foreign to me. Safeguarding, Person-centred practice, trauma-informed -anti-oppressive-inclusivity-Children Act, etc..etc, etc. Words and terms that held no recognition.

 

Then there were the massive lifestyle changes borne from challenges with integrating into an unfamiliar culture. For a while, it seemed as if my days consisted of eating food that didn’t taste like home, and being afraid to speak my thoughts for fear of offending. I especially missed the warmth of being with family, which was made worse by the loss of (the love of my life,) my father, four days after arrival in England. I just couldn’t breathe.

 

And after a few anxiety attacks and meltdowns, it dawned on me that life had changed, and I was left with two choices: sink or swim. I am proud to say that I choose to swim.

 

As I pen this entry, seven months later, in March 2025, life hasn't evolved much from those early days. I still feel inadequate doing the activities that make up my reality. My master's degree in social work still overwhelms me because I never know enough, and I am constantly surprised at how the days turn. I have started an initial practice placement at a college, which is an experience on its own. One that is only made better by welcoming colleagues and a practice team that accommodates my peculiarities in learning. The last 7 months have been a rollercoaster of lessons and insights into self and life. So, therefore, I will do my best to end this long thingy by giving you a quick run-down of lessons learnt from this journey in England:

 

1. Taking care of myself has become more than just about physiological desire to be prettier. It's now more about internal (mental) self-care. Taking walks especially when I don't feel like it. Making healthier food choices in Aldi aisles, and staying the hell away from bad habits like Soda and cigarettes

2. Turning off the devices and ging to bed in time to get in a good number of ZZ's before the hustle and bustle begins. The hardest part is knowing when to turn off in the face of building deadlines and mounting pressure.

3. Making compromises for content with the new normal. For instance, the food will never be as spicy or as tasty as I would find at home but may be if I tried hard at it, a good plate of beans on toast wouldn't make for such a terrible breakfast.

4. Finding time to exhale. My favourite is putting my headphones on and listening to a good episode from Simon Sinek's A Bit of Optimism podcast and watching life be as the bus rolls on home.

5. Recognising the importance of finding the courage to integrate into the vastly different English culture. Yes, it is much isolating than I've ever known society to be, put even in silence there's a comfort to be found.

6. Seeking connections and finding a community in the people around me who provide moments of happiness and positivity and without fear of racial differences and what may happen as a consequence of the psychosocial identities I wear. Black or White, it doesn't matter if their spirit is right.

7. Understanding that life as an immigrant and a working student will never be an easy feat for anyone regardless of an abundance of resource or lack thereof but making the best of all opportunities for development that life affords me and approaching my dreams from a place of 'I will keep trying until I can try no more' is all I can do to make things easier at the moment

 

 

That said, I would like to add that while some details from my experience since immigration has been left out of this piece for convenience sakes', it is worth a mention that the point of this piece is to establish a historical introduction of who I am and why this journal exists. My experiences are one I feel is worth sharing as I have recently been made aware that it may be of some benefits to a community of people who can identify with some of the themes I will be exploring during the course of my entries.  I however recognise that these changes are hallmarks of a future that I am yet to fully grasp, and until then, welcome to the Young, Dumb, & Not So Broke Journals inspired by a transformative journey into adulthood, and a rewarding career in social work.

 

1. Debbie.