As my dear friend Ian said, “people take off longer to move boroughs [in New York] than you did to move across the ocean.”

He said this after I had a small menty b (mental breakdown) six days into my new London life.

Let me back up to the actual move.

I booked my movers for Friday, May 24th. The pickup went off without a hitch – only eight boxes of stuff to ship over on the container ship. If I had it to do over, I probably would have used Send My Bag since my shipment was so small. Logicstics was wonderful, though, and I would use them again if I were shipping more stuff.

My dad drove up to meet me at my apartment, and we spent about an hour schlepping stuff to the car. There were things that I loved and wanted to keep, but wouldn’t need in London. We drove that stuff down to my childhood home, and I spent the night hanging out with my parents and their dog, Pippin.

In the morning on Saturday the 25th, my mom dropped me at 30th St Station for my amtrak back to NYC. I got one last manicure at my favorite spot up in Washington Heights. I got Mr. Softee and takeout from Tampopo with my roomie/bestie, Jenna. And then I got in a cab and cried my way to the airport.

My checked bags were both overweight, but the British Airways man who checked them for me waived it because I was clearly so stressed about it. My sisters surprised me by treating me to an airport lounge for my first time EVER (truly deluxe, love y’all!!!). And then it was time for the flight!

Somehow I slept, and when I landed at Heathrow on Sunday morning and picked up my bags, my amazing boyfriend was waiting just outside baggage claim with my fave Costa coffee bevvy (hot latte w/ coconut milk) and a huge hug.

We opted to take a cab which was a HUGE MISTAKE – it was the London Bike Race that day and traffic was horrendous. When we finally got to our apartment flat, I jumped right into unpacking. Quinn’s been living in this flat since January, but once we knew I would be moving in soon, he didn’t want to do all the nesting without me, so there was plenty to do! 

We unpacked/cleaned/shopped straight through Sunday and Monday, and on Tuesday I was back to work, working from home at my new desk in my new pink desk chair. I worked from the office Wednesday and Thursday, and by the end of work on Thursday I was absolutely exhausted. 

And thus…a menty b.

But Quinn was out with folks from his work and invited me to join. I was excited to have a social life in a new city this soon, and happily found my way to the bar they were at. All was going well until Quinn went to get us another round and suddenly, I realized I was alone. Not just at this bar, but in this city, in this COUNTRY.

Lack of sleep, exhaustion…it all hit me at once. Quinn was ready to leave, so we headed out. I kept it together until we got into the apartment flat, and then I burst into tears. Quinn was wonderful, giving me space to cry it out, but in that moment I knew I needed to take a mental health day.

So I took it. I never take days off for illness. In my two+ years at this job, I think I’ve taken two cumulative sick days, spread out across multiple afternoons. But I knew I needed a breather.

I slept til 11am. I worked out. I went to the mall shopping center and bought some clothes (I packed all summer clothes and it was 50-60℉. And then I came home, curled up on the couch, and spent the night relaxing with my guy.

When I woke up on Saturday, I felt a need to explore my new neighborhood, so I went for a run to a lovely park near my home. I went to Hackney Wick to meet up with a friend from high school who happened to be in town, and a quick coffee date turned into a four hour brunch. Q and I met up with a friend of his for dinner at my fave restaurant, Dishoom.

And on Sunday, Q and I did chores and stuff around the house, did a little pub crawl around our neighborhood, then dragged our table out onto our balcony for a Sunday steak dinner. I survived week one, and I ended the weekend reinvigorated and ready for week two.