People often ask why — and it’s a fair question.
Big moves rarely come from one moment. They grow quietly, over time, until staying begins to feel harder than leaving.

This wasn’t a sudden decision. It’s something we’ve talked about, stepped away from, and returned to — more than once. Gradually, it stopped feeling like an idea and started feeling like a plan.

In early 2025, my husband and I had a serious conversation about the possibility of moving to Zimbabwe. It’s where he was born and raised, and around that time his parents had made the decision to sell their house and move back home. For him, it felt familiar. For me, it felt anything but.

Zimbabwe wasn’t home to me, and the idea of leaving everything I knew was frightening. I was on the verge of finishing my nursing degree — something I had worked incredibly hard for — and when I mentioned the idea to friends, their reaction was understandable.

“What about your degree?”
“What will you do for work?”
“You’ve worked so hard — why would you leave now?”

If I’m honest, my biggest fear wasn’t work or qualifications. It was leaving behind my friends, my routine, and the comfort of the familiar. I spoke to as many people as I could, often framing the idea negatively because that’s how it felt in my own head. Unsurprisingly, most people agreed it didn’t sound like a good idea.

But one conversation stood out. A couple we know had previously relocated to Australia. They stayed for about a year before deciding to return to England. What stayed with me was the reassurance that trying didn’t mean failing — that home would still be there if it didn’t work out. That perspective softened something in me.

Not long after, I completed my degree, but there was no job waiting. The UK was facing serious shortages, and around the same time I gave birth to our second baby. Even if work had been available, it would have needed to be local, flexible, and fit around two very young children.

During my maternity leave, the topic of moving resurfaced — this time more frequently. We were struggling to see a way forward. We were living in a two-bedroom flat: mortgage-free, yes, but with no garden, in an area that didn’t feel right for raising our family. The local school wasn’t what I wanted for Sophia, and that realisation was deeply upsetting.

The plan had been for me to work, pay down the debts accumulated during three years of university, and eventually either save for a deposit or sell the flat to move somewhere better. But with a thin job market and two children needing constant care — school drop-offs, pick-ups, nursery, childcare — it all began to feel impossible.

We ran the numbers. We talked through business ideas. We tried to make it work. And eventually, one evening, I sat my husband down and said, “I’m tired. This isn’t working. Let’s go.”

And that was it. The decision was made.

What we want is simple: more presence, more connection, and more time as a family. A life that feels fuller — not faster.

There are so many aspects of this move that feel right. The girls will be able to attend excellent schools. While we will pay for schooling, it won’t be anywhere near the cost of private education in the UK, and the quality will be high. They’ll be surrounded by children who look like them. Sophia is already aware that her skin colour is different from most of her classmates’, and that makes me sad. Growing up, I was often seen first for the colour of my skin, and that kind of awareness can quietly shape your confidence. I don’t want that for my girls.

For Wellington and me, this move offers space — mentally and physically. We’ll be able to create a life with more balance, and with the support of a helper to ease the everyday pressures of parenting.

Zimbabwe isn’t just a place on a map for us. It’s tied to family, history, and a way of living that aligns with what we value now. My husband’s parents have settled back there and created a space for us to live initially, giving us time to find our feet. They speak honestly about the opportunities available and the potential to build a good life for our children.

Of course, there are fears. Big changes always come with uncertainty. But we’ve learned that fear doesn’t always mean don’t go. Sometimes it means this matters. And the fear of the unknown feels less frightening than the thought of staying stuck.

This move isn’t about escaping something.
It’s about choosing something.

And for us, this feels like the right next chapter.