14/06/2022
My sister and I moved to the UK exactly nine years ago, though I was born here, and lived here for about a year before my parents returned to Australia with my brother and I in tow. So technically, for me, in 2013 I moved back to the UK.
Last week was the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee, and while I didn’t do anything for it, the occasion did make me reflect upon my own Britishness. I do feel Australian still; I lived there for twenty years. At the same time, this country feels like home, and I have no plans to return to Australia to live, despite my fondness for it. My accent has apparently softened after these nine years, but that was not conscious, and it still sounds Aussie to me. A natural mellowing of one’s accent after years living abroad is quite common, I’ve found, as is adopting the new country’s vernacular. However, embarrassing myself by saying 'pants’ instead of ‘trousers’ for the first three years taught me this is not necessarily a bad thing, and now, even when around other Australians, I can’t help but say ‘trousers’, just in case there is a British person hiding amongst them.
My psychiatrist in the UK, who I’ve worked with the entire nine years, asked me once when I was in hospital if things would have been different should I have stayed in Australia. I said, ‘I don’t think so, it seemed inevitable.’ Now I can confidently say that is true, because after years of therapy, including a year of trauma therapy, I’ve discovered that many of the seeds of my troubles were planted long before I came back here, and the fact I lived in London when they came exploding out of me (many years ago) meant nothing more than that London was where I was standing at the time.
In fact, I experienced a lot of my trauma in Australia and while I had to bear the consequences of this in London, being away from the site of those events and removing that extra triggering factor was a plus. When I suffered from PTSD and depression in Brisbane I felt tied to the events that caused them, unable to escape and constantly reminded of them by my surroundings. Moving to the other side of the world freed me of those immediate triggers, and for that I am grateful. I was still naïve, though, and bringing the psychological burdens with me despite all the dividing oceans was something I didn’t anticipate. Despite this, I am happy every day that I live here. I have experienced difficult events in London too but this is also the place I have received treatment to slowly heal those old wounds.
That can take a long time, but I feel like I’m in a good place, literally and figuratively. There were things that followed me everywhere like ghosts, but now, for the first time, after a lot of painful work, they feel like history. Back in my teenage years in Brisbane, when I first got PTSD, that felt like a dream. I know now that dreams do come true. I haven’t published a book yet, and there are other hopes that remain in the hope bank too. But wandering along, even at the slower pace that is my reality right now, feeling like the past is the past has been the million-dollar cash prize. I found the prize here, in London.
The other major element of my life here in London is family. My immediate family are all here and that’s a blessing. There is also my church, and they are my family too. I’ve never given the name of the church I attend for security reasons but suffice to say it’s my home. It’s the church my family attended when I was born here in the UK, it’s the church I was baptised in, and twenty years later I returned with my sister and it immediately felt right. Throughout trials and triumphs my church has been a steady rock and true gift from God. When I am amongst His people I am, indeed, home.
The old adage is, ‘Home is where the heart is.’ Even in times of loneliness I have not felt without a home, and perhaps this is because my heart has been nurtured emotionally, mentally and spiritually by the many different facets of my life here. I still desire to travel around, and I find little pieces of home in many different places, particularly in Italy. Yet I love the feeling of returning to London, because I realise how I good I have it, being able to return from a holiday and not be sad to do it. Later this year I am going to Scotland, and after that I am going to the USA. I cannot wait, and I have the comfort of knowing that when these trips come to an end I will be flying back to my favourite place and picking up the strings of my life that I momentarily laid down while I adventured elsewhere. There are many exciting things on the horizon, and while there are always challenges, I could not be in a better place to overcome them and move forward.
On a more metaphysical level, my home could be called my identity – so what is that? My identity lies in my faith, and my family. This means my true home doesn’t exist in one physical place, but a spiritual and emotional place. Physically that could be anywhere. One day home will be perfection, and as much as I love London, that’s not it. But I am grateful for today. My life in the UK is a blessing, and so I will continue here, thankful every day, dwelling on the many gifts of love and healing, my walk with Christ and those people who hold my hands no matter what.
