in: hope, optimism, happiness
out: loneliness, wallowing, taking for granted
Here’s the understatement of the century: it’s been a while! I haven’t updated you on my life in months – and there’s a lot to catch you up on. We’ll start from the beginning soon, but I want to give you an insight into where I am right now.
I’m sat at my desk in the apartment I now share with my husband, our cat perched on the bed behind me, feeling a deep sense of optimism that has undeniably expanded since first moving to France ten months ago. I thought things were good, but things such as looming admin work, a growing feeling of isolation and the stress of renting a (old) new apartment were all weighing on my shoulders – despite the subsiding anxiety, I still felt the pressure.
That was until recently. I went into 2025 with no expectations, nor any resolutions that I could punish myself for not acting upon. Instead, I simply started as I meant to go on. I applied for my visa renewal, my French driving license and my carte vitale in one fell swoop, finally alleviating the stress of not having these major things sorted. I finally stopped going on Twitter, because I wasted so much time and energy bickering with people that simply weren’t worth it. I even started cooking more (in part because my amazing parents bought us a Ninja Foodi for Christmas, which I literally use every single day).
Things continue to get better, which feels good to say. Despite the ongoing chaos ensuing in the world right now, I have my own little slice of paradise here – and I feel more at home with every passing day. In fact… this is home.
So, what’s been going on since I last wrote?
Let’s start with the biggest update: we finally moved into our own apartment! Last August, we found an absolute steal on leboncoin (essentially the French Gumtree), located in the heart of Montpellier. We’d wanted to move to the city for a long time, as I’d mentioned previously. It isn’t anywhere near as overwhelming as London, but there’s always something happening here. Whether it’s the bustling Christmas markets in the winter or endless club nights and festivals in the summertime, Montpellier is a lot of things – but it’s never boring. It’s also beautiful, with an abundance of historic buildings, cobbled streets and sandy beaches only a stone’s throw away.
Considering the advertised price for the entire three-bedroom flat was less than what we paid for a double room in Hackney Wick, we enquired about organising a visit within a minute of the ad being posted. That same evening, we’d booked to have a tour of the apartment that weekend. It was sweltering, being in the middle of August, and we were heading back to the UK for a holiday two days after, but it was our first viewing and we were buzzing. My husband and I had never lived alone before – we’d either been staying with family or sharing with housemates, even after getting married. To put it simply, getting our own place couldn’t come any sooner.
As soon as we walked into the apartment, situated on a quaint, quiet side street just five minutes from the centre of Montpellier, we were struck by how unique it is. There’s authentic and original Mediterranean tile mosaic flooring throughout, with a massive lounge and dining room that open onto each other to maximise the space. The windows open up to luscious trees and the distant buzz of the city. There’s a brand-new shower, three decent-sized bedrooms (enough space for working from home and comfortably hosting guests), and a kitchen with recently-fitted units – that we had to pay the old tenants 400 EUR to keep.
That’s just one of the many quirks that come with renting in France. Had we not paid that fee to keep our kitchen installed, we would have arrived to a barren, empty room. Here, you install everything yourself, from the oven to the sofas, the washing machine to the beds. We spent a small fortune furnishing the flat, and only just finished the dining room last week at the time of writing. I’ve put enough flatpack items together to last me a lifetime, and to callus my hand permanently. Let me tell you, though – our new dining table is fucking beautiful. Look at her!
It’s also an extremely old apartment, which adds to its charm but also poses challenges we weren’t prepared for. I’d never painted a room before in my life, but within the first month of moving in I donned my gloves and shitty old clothes to tackle the spare bedroom. My family were coming to stay for my mum’s birthday in October, and I wanted to spruce the place up as much as I could before they arrived. I never thought I’d have the motivation to renovate my home myself, but I definitely don’t have the funds to get a professional in. So, I repainted the walls, scrubbed the skirting tiles that were caked in old paint, fixed the hinges on the door and cleaned up the wall-mounted lights. The end result looked so good, I wondered if a new career beckoned (spoiler alert: it doesn’t).
The bathroom is in dire need of a touch-up, as are the walls throughout the entire apartment, and we want to get the floor cleaned up or replaced this year. Instead of seeing this things as a hindrance, though, I’m looking at them as a challenge. I really, really love this apartment – the location is perfect, the size is ideal for hosting anyone who flies over to visit and I like that it isn’t a carbon copy new build. I’m excited to keep adding to it, improving things and making it feel even better. It already feels like home, though, and the freedom that comes with having your own apartment is so liberating.
We have the train station less than five minutes away, where we can quickly pop over to Barcelona or head up to Paris for the day. We’ve got local boulangeries and supermarchés, amazing restaurants and bars, tattoo shops, every clothing store you could think of and so much more right on our doorstep. It was so much fun to show my family around a few months ago – even we found places we hadn’t visited before, such as La Tomate. This rustic restaurant is tucked away on Rue Sainte-Anne, and offers up some of the best home-cooked cassoulet you’ll find in Montpellier. All of us were blown away, and to top it all off, my mum said it was the best birthday she’d ever had.
I can’t wait for more family and friends to come and visit this year. Being able to host is a fantastic feeling, and I can’t wait to drink wine around our dining table with some pals in the summer, or take my family to La Grande Plage for cocktails and oysters on the beach. There is an endless amount of things to do, see, eat, drink and enjoy in this city, and it’s even better when you get to share it with people.
It’s funny that London is known as a city full of potential – it’s not untrue, but I always felt stifled living there. Montpellier, on the other hand, is the total opposite. I’m coming back out of my shell slowly but surely, feeling more confident in myself, recognising my ability to thrive in a different country, and feeling proud of where I’ve ended up. I refuse to speak anything to existence, because I don’t want to jinx things, but I have a good feeling about this year for me. I think things will be very different, in the best way possible.
I really think that part of this newfound motivation and joy is down to one tiny little bundle of fur: our new daughter, Willow.
After years of longing for my own cat, it finally happened – I won my husband over. He had never wanted one, partly because of allergies, but also because he thought they were universally horrible little bastards. I can’t blame him, considering the amount of compilations on TikTok and YouTube of cats knocking things off shelves, spontaneously attacking their owners and generally being harbingers of chaos. I, however, still wanted one of my own, and it played in my favour that our landlord won’t allow dogs (our primary choice of pet) but would allow cats (my primary choice of pet).
This November, we got word of a puppy and kitten convention happening at the exhibition centre in Montpellier. We didn’t need many more details – we were on the tram bright and early on a Sunday morning, marching towards the entrance with such excitement that we almost accidentally entered an international poker tournament instead.
After finally locating the right hall (aided by the sound of screaming chihuahua and Jack Russell puppies), we walked in and immediately knew it was a bad idea. One of these animals would be coming home with us. We didn’t have the money, nor had we prepared at all, but we simply could not resist. There was every single breed of cat and dog you could imagine, from ragdolls to huskies and so many more. We played with a cheeky little Bengal kitten, awwed over the baby golden retreivers and almost cried over the baby Shiba Inus.
It was a giant, statuesque Maine Coon cat that caught my eye as we were pulling ourselves away from the convention. She was sat as still as possible on her plinth, her owner gently brushing her long, dense silver fur. I’d seen these massive cats online before, but never in person, and this one was huge. My mind was made up instantly – I wanted one. It was literally love at first sight.
I spent the next few days researching them in-depth, learning about their temperaments, their typical behaviours, what they like to eat, and: just how big can they really get? It turns out, they can get pretty fucking gigantic – up to one metre in length and up to ten kilograms in weight. They’re also gentle giants, with an extremely loving and calm nature despite sometimes resembling a wildcat.
Not long after we’d been to the exhibition, my husband sent me another leboncoin link (this website is magical, I swear!). This time, it was for a female Maine Coon kitten in Montpellier for sale – and she was gorgeous. Her fur, a mix of brown, ginger and white, and her pointy, fox-like ears made me well up after just seeing a photo. We decided to go and view her, just to test the waters and see how we felt (and to make sure it wasn’t a scam). It was a hasty decision; even though we knew we wanted a pet eventually, we wanted to make sure we were ready.
Our willpower is non-existent, though, and as soon as we set eyes on her in person, we knew she was ours. Out of four Maine Coon kittens in the room, she was the only one to come to us and play, rolling over on her back and grabbing our fingers as I tried to listen to what the seller was saying. We told him that yes, we wanted her, and as soon as possible. However, we were once again heading to the UK not long after (that country always seems to get in my way) and we didn’t want to do the irresponsible thing of picking her up before we went away. So, we put a deposit down and had to wait a few more weeks before we could bring her home.
My husband and I decided to walk home from seeing her that night, giddy with excitement over the fact we finally had our own cat. Her parents’ owner told us that we should give her a name beginning with V, W, X, Y, or Z. The reasons why were unclear but, not one to fuck around with superstition, we followed the rules and started batting ideas off each other as we strolled through the city centre. “Velma? Xena the Warrior Princess? Zelda?”
“What about Willow?”
We stopped and looked at each other. My husband is a massive Taylor Swift fan, which is admittedly where the name came from, but it also just felt right. We knew we’d landed on her name there and then, and straight away it became part of our daily lexicon. Repeatedly looking through the photos we had of her before we picked her up, we’d constantly be saying things like, “Willow looks so cute in this picture” because it just felt natural. During our trip to the UK just before Christmas, we’d mention Willow almost non-stop – and we hadn’t even brought her home yet!
Her pickup date was the same day that we landed back from London, exhausted after a 2:45am alarm and a 6am flight. We had to wait until the evening to go and get her, and those few hours were the longest I’ve ever experienced in my life. But, as we finally arrived with her empty carrier in hand, I was struck with a wave of anxiety and my hands started to sweat and shake. I realised there and then the responsibility that comes with having your own pet, and the gravity of it hit me.
I immediately felt protective, even as we put Willow in her carrier and started to walk the quiet way home. She kept meowing through the air vents and my heart broke a bit more each time – I just wanted to get her out and hold her in my arms. Within five minutes, she was my baby, and that deep love has only grown ever since.
She was apprehensive when we got back to the apartment, eventually hiding under the kitchen cupboards. I knew it was a possibility that we might not see her for a few hours at first, but with the help of some toys and treats, she eventually made her way out to us and was cuddling us in bed by the next morning. The next night, my husband was out for a work dinner and I sat with Willow on the sofa as she played with the sleeve of my jumper. At one point, I looked down and she looked up at me with her big eyes and I started to bawl. As in, full on sobbing, loud, ugly wailing by myself. My neighbours probably thought I was insane. I haven’t felt that feeling of sheer adoration many times in my life, but it’s happened several times now with Willow. She really is our baby girl, our ball of energy, our beautiful daughter who I will fiercely guard with my life if I have to.
Since Willow arrived in our lives, I’ve felt so much less lonely. I had a bit of a “moment” around the New Year, where I finally recognised how isolated I’ve been feeling and told my husband about it after bottling it up. Moving countries is hard. It’s fun, yes, and nothing beats the feeling of settling into a place that feels so much more suited to you, but it comes with its downsides – one of which being the loneliness that I’m sure every expat feels. I moved away from my family and friends to a place where I’m a complete and utter outsider. I still don’t speak the language fluently and, although I have my wonderful in-laws who I love dearly, I don’t have my own circle here.
I met some friends at a civic course that I had to undertake as part of my visa requirements. Across four separate days, we learned about the history of France and how it shaped the country it is today – from the origins of the laws of the land to Bastille and La Marseillaise, it was less of a chore and more of a fascinating insight into my new home, contextualising a lot of what I had already seen and experienced. I ended up bonding with a musician from Nottingham who moved to Montpellier to study jazz, as well as a guy from Bosnia who, like me, moved to France so his partner could rejoin her family. We exchanged numbers, but I’ve been too shy to reach out since and I’m kicking myself for it. This is a note to self: do that soon!
But, having Willow around has made things feel so much lighter. I talk to her whilst I’m working from home, even though she has no fucking clue what I’m saying and either wants me for chin scratches or treats. She’s given me the motivation to stop wallowing around and make the most of my situation – hence the sudden pivot to cooking fresh, nutritious meals every day instead of grabbing a quiche from Carrefour. I’m taking a much-needed step away from social media, because nothing and nobody on it is real and none of it matters in the grand scheme of things. I was a Twitter addict for years, but I finally woke up in the last few weeks and realised I was wasting my life away trying to win arguments with idiots on a platform owned by a Nazi. We’re living in crazy times, but I need to preserve my sanity as much as possible, and I already feel so much better for it.
The loneliness has almost certainly been exacerbated by the gloomy winter weather, as even Montpellier is often steeped in thick grey clouds during this time of the year. But, I know the sun will come out again very soon, I know that my favourite people on the planet will be visiting us shortly and I know that I am so unbelievably lucky to be here and to be living this life, and I cannot ever take any of it for granted.
In summary, then, I’m still very much enjoying this journey. So much has happened in the space of a few months, much less a year, that it feels almost unbelievable. If you’d had told me in October of 2023, as we packed up my stepdad’s van and moved back to my parents’, that I’d be sitting at mine and my husband’s dining table in France with my cat just over a year later, I’d have probably laughed in your face… and then broke down crying over how much I wanted it.
It’s very easy to lose sight of things when you’re in the middle of a trivial struggle. I found myself bordering on being overwhelmed in these last few months, sometimes beating myself up for not putting enough effort in or making a minor mistake – but then I look back at where I was not that long ago, and I realise just how far I’ve come. My god… things are so much better than they used to be, and that’s all down to my husband and I making it happen. We often remind each other of that, finding ourselves wandering down memory lane and discussing the times we were teetering on the edge of rock bottom, then looking at where we are now and feeling nothing but pride and love.
Who’s to say what 2025 holds? I certainly didn’t imagine 2024 unfolding in the way it did – but I didn’t really have many expectations at all. I just went with the adventure of moving to France, embracing the challenges and the opportunities that came with it, and it served me well. That’s how I aim to take on this year, too. I’m going to say yes, I’m not going to wallow and I’m going to keep moving. If things keep looking up, who’s to say the sky’s the limit?