About
British.
30 years
in America.
Then I left.
I moved to the United States in my twenties — convinced it was temporary, convinced I'd figure it out, convinced it was the best place in the world for what I wanted to do. For thirty years, mostly, I was right.
I built a career as a creative director. I got married. We got dogs. We put down roots in the way you only do when you stop counting the years. America became home — not in the abstract, but in the real, messy, complicated way a place becomes home.
And then it didn't feel like home anymore.
The decision to leave wasn't one decision. It was a thousand small ones, made over a long time, until one day the weight of them added up and we realised we weren't wondering if anymore. We were wondering how.
In April 2025, my husband and I left. We took our dogs. We took what we'd learned. We left behind a lot — but not the things that mattered.
France, 2025
This is what “figuring it out” looks like. New country. Dog on lap. Getting on with it.
Why I wrote it
I searched for this book.
It didn't exist. So I wrote it.
When we started researching how to leave, I expected to find a clear guide. Something practical. Something honest. Something that treated me like an adult who understood that leaving a country is complicated.
What I found instead: Reddit threads that contradicted each other, immigration lawyers quoting thousands for a first consultation, and books written before 2020 about a world that no longer exists.
Nobody was explaining what actually happens to your Social Security. Nobody was giving honest answers about which countries are actually safe for LGBTQ+ couples. Nobody was talking about FATCA, pet import rules, or the psychological truth of walking away from your entire life.
I documented everything. Every form. Every bank account. Every visa application. Every mistake. Then I turned it into the book I wish had existed.