My First Two Weeks in London: Not Exactly a Fairytale Start

You know how everyone says, “Moving abroad will be the adventure of a lifetime!” Yeah… well, my first two weeks in London were less Eat, Pray, Love and more Cry, Panic, Question.

I had only seen my new place in photos and videos. I knew it was going to be small, but when I opened the door, I thought, There’s no way anything is going to fit in here. On top of that, it was filthy. That “professional clean” I had written into the contract? Definitely skipped. And while I had also insisted on a fresh coat of paint… let’s just say I knew that had been done, because the chemical fumes nearly knocked me flat. It was as if they painted, sealed the place up tight, and waited for me to come and marinate in it.

Luckily, my mom (who came to help me get settled) and I spent the first two nights in a hotel. Because if I had stayed in that house immediately, I probably would have U-turned straight back to Heathrow. On the first night, meltdown #1 hit. I sat on the hotel bed, questioning if I had just made the biggest mistake of my life.

But we pushed through. We got the house cleaned, some new furniture delivered, and I thought: Okay, this might work. The next day, I went shopping for linens, ready for my first real night in the house. Except… apparently soft sets of sheets were no where to be found. Cue me almost crying in the middle of Marks & Spencer again. (And when I say “almost,” I mean very, very close.)

That night, I had to accept defeat. I ordered linens online and slept directly on the mattress, wrapped in a blanket and towel like a sad little prisoner. Dinner was equally luxurious: cheese and crackers shared on a single plate, cut with a wine opener, and wine poured into a coffee mug. Honestly? Five-star dining. The paint fumes, however, were so strong that I had to call my dad and ask, “Am I going to survive the night, or should I write a will?”

Night two = breakdown two. This time over my couch, which turned out to be both uncomfortable and possibly broken. Oh, and my mom spotted the biggest spider she has ever seen in her life... in the house. If I had been the one to see it, trust me, the house would be ashes right now, and I’d already be writing to you from California.

Every day felt like a new test. And just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, I got an email from the shipping company. I thought it was finally time to schedule delivery of my stuff. Nope. It was an invoice, because apparently the port was congested, and I now owed extra storage fees. Essentially, I was paying to not get my belongings. And the kicker? They said it could be another six weeks before delivery.

By this point, I was ten rugs, two couches, and several breakdowns deep, desperately searching for a silver lining.

The truth is, those first two weeks were brutal, overwhelming, and nothing like the “fresh start” I imagined. But slowly, things did turn around. The place began to feel like home. Maddox settled in. I settled in. And while I’ll save the details for another post, I can promise you this: it did get better.

Because as much as London tried to break me in those early days, I didn’t get on that plane for an easy life. I came for a new one. And sometimes, the only way forward is through the [paint] fumes.