This blog of mine has always been honest, and I want the people that do read my blog to know the hardships of doing something like I have.
They say that once you’ve spent a year in London, you’ve ‘made it’ – but what does ‘made it’ even mean? That you’ve made the move worthwhile? That you’ve battled all the hardships that you’ll ever face? That you’ve made it without giving in? I don’t like this. A year doesn’t label success, to have ‘made it’ is irrelevant. I’m writing this to tell you that true ‘success’ will take different lengths of time; whether it be for me, you or the next one to move here.
Everybody will take a move differently. Moving across the world from your family is like starting a new school. You walk through the gates, excited and nervous. After a few days you find yourself a bit more comfortable and right as you start to settle into the idea of being new, you find yourself alone and lost. At your old school you had your friends who knew everything about you, they liked you and stuck up for you, but in this new school – it’s just you. Of course you have your parents to cry to when you get home, but whilst at school, you only know and have yourself; the only way to move forward and make it, is it to find yourself new, true friends.
When I first moved to London, I was terrified and alone. I pushed myself to be brave and aspire since the wheels touched down at Heathrow, and evidently had to deal with the ups and downs along the way. The first year of being in London was fairly smooth sailing, however it wasn’t until last month – 13 months in – I saw myself beginning to crack. I saw my sense of humour and bubbly self slowly be replaced with a blank stare; I no longer wanted to blog or write; I was exhausted yet not sleeping, and the worst thing was I felt so lost. I still do. It’s a difficult thing to be upset when you have no idea why. I found myself in a mindset of avoiding my family’s calls from overseas in fear of failing them, I didn’t write because my mind was so confused in itself, and I walked home from work at midnight in states of despair thinking, “what is wrong with me?’. I was in a downward notion to the point that people began to notice and asked me about it. I am thankful for these people.
I’ve always been a person that doesn’t admit to my feelings nor want to appear weak. I remember the weeks leading up to leaving, being so outwardly excited and ‘brave’ about moving, going to bed and instantly weeping as I closed the door behind me. That same feeling has been around me lately; of putting on a brave face, and not wanting to seem like a failure in anyone’s eyes. At one point I even seriously thought I should just up and leave – go back to the comforts of home in New Zealand. Over this past month I’ve opened up to the closest people in my life, talked to my parents in NZ, and I’ve realised that all going home would be is running away. I know I’m brave enough to get through it all.
I’m on the upward mend, and I’ve found myself slowly getting more sleep and being less stressed. I’m definitely not back to my aspiring and motivated self, but I’m being positive. I’m not going to give in because, like the friends I’ve confided in keep reminding me, I am no quitter. Let’s go back to the idea of ‘making it’. I think you’ve made it when you get to the point of wanting to go home and overcoming it. The friends that help you through these times have allowed you to create a life; they are the new support network – as much as you want to do it alone, sometimes they are what will get you through the hard times. If you can be so down and fight back, that’s when you’ve done it. I am still getting past this point in my move, but I know I will do it. I will make it and will go on to slam it.