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I don’t have the word to describe it, but being here – really being here, at the beginning of a lifestyle I never dreamed I’d achieve, in a town I’d only ever fantasized about living in – is inducing a low level of… guilt?

Guilt is the wrong word. But I can’t think of another one.

I just feel like I’ve cheated the system and I’m waiting to get caught, even though I’m a citizen of this country, I’m here legally, and nothing I’m doing is remotely wrong. It reminds me of the feeling I had for the first several years of my relationship and marriage: that this is too good to be true, I don’t deserve any of this, and I’m going to get found out. I’m not a good enough person.

Impostor syndrome?

That doesn’t feel right either. It feels too… specific.

In any case, I’m trying to turn this feeling into gratitude, into something positive.

I worked, planned, and saved for this move, I came here with a wonderful job, an enthusiastic partner, and into the arms of dear friends that want us here.

I’m home, and I’ll be damned if low self-esteem makes me feel like being here is just being on borrowed time.