8 years ago, I moved.

Today marks eight years since I took the massive step from living with my Mum and Dad in Essex, to starting out alone in Wigan, just outside of Manchester.

At 23 years old, I knew everything and nothing. I never anticipated that my brother and sister would also stretch their wings and fly so far from the nest (sister in New Zealand, brother in Andover). I never anticipated that as I got older, Mum and Dad would too, and I’d start to worry. I never expected to be facing my current challenges.

These things overcome me at the strangest times, but I wouldn’t change my decision in a month of Sunday’s. I’ve very much found my happy place!

I am a planner. I am the maker of lists. But you can make all the plans and lists you want – some things are just out of your control. None of that matters though anymore. Whatever happens you just crack on and do it. And who knows, the life that you end up with could be better than you could ever plan. Moving up North is the best thing that I ever did. I can’t see me ever regretting my choice.

In Essex, I was unhappy. I had few friends. I’d had shit boyfriends. Unbeknown to me, when I made my decision I would have been made redundant from my job if I’d stuck around.

Having the opportunity to start again in the way that I did was just what I needed, and I really believe it all happens for a reason.

I now have the most incredible bunch of girls around me, I have great work colleagues and I have an awesome boyfriend with the most lovely family. I’m still in the same job, in which I’ve grown and developed. The vast majority of the time I thoroughly enjoy it as well, which isn’t something I take for granted.

Dear Northern folk. Thanks for having me!

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