I left London for the suburbs – within a month I asked to return

In 2018, when I first moved to London, I was a bit of a cliche – a 24-year-old girl from a small town I’d never heard of, with dreams of living in the big city and making my own. .

I grew up in a small town in Norfolk, and always wanted to be somewhere bigger and brighter, with more.

New York was where I really wanted to go, but moving there was quite complicated, so Big Smoke had to do it.

Family and friends were skeptical. They didn’t think I was being held back by the fact that I was living in London. ‘You’ll be back here in six months,’ the colleague declared as I left the drink. ‘It’s wonderful to live somewhere like that.’

Flash forward to 2023 and I definitely prove them wrong. I love living in London. I can’t get enough of the hustle and bustle, the endless array of things to do and see – and don’t even get me started on the food! It was everything I had hoped it would be and more.

Sure, there are some downsides; Crazy rental prices for one, rats, and unbearable heat in the summer. But for the most part, I was in my element.

Then my husband received a cancer diagnosis and everything changed.

My favorite person with cancer really puts everything into perspective. Nothing I thought mattered anymore.

Fortunately, the surgery went well and he did not have to undergo further treatment. We were really lucky, because it could have been worse, but it took a lot out of him however.

Suddenly the city became an emotionally and physically exhausting place for him. He wanted a change of pace and even though I was worried, I wanted to give him whatever he needed. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss my own feelings…

We soon found ourselves in Tunbridge Wells, looking for a two-bedroom cottage on the outskirts of town. The kitchen itself is bigger than most of our flats, and has a garden and parking, all for the same price we pay in the city.

We can see lush green fields out of our bedroom window, and the nearby Dunorlan Park is a great place to walk your puppy which is a must if you move here.

After living in an apartment with a pokey half-galley kitchen and a bedroom that was only big enough for a double bed, this place seemed too good to be true. And on paper, the town was perfect for us – Pantiles is picture perfect, there’s Gail and Anthropologie, as well as some lovely independent shops (Pink Mary) and restaurants. It ticked a lot of boxes.

So here we go on the dotted line and in January 2024 we pack everything into the van and say goodbye to the home we will make in Kennington.

At first it was kind of fun. We started going to the local pub on Saturday night with friends who live nearby, we took a leisurely walk into town to enjoy brunch at the weekend, and we got to explore Kent and the surrounding counties – visiting places like Pooh Corner in Hartfield, and Rye and Camber Sands (East Sussex).

We actually talked to our neighbors, who smiled when they saw us and would probably be more than happy to borrow a cup of sugar.

It all felt incredibly healthy… for a few weeks. Just a month after moving in, I asked our landlord to let us go.

Turns out there is something I’m not cut out for – commuting. I never thought I’d miss being squished into someone else’s armpit on the Northern Line, but suddenly I feel incredibly nostalgic for it.

Frequent delays and train cancellations mean I wake up at 5am every day to make it to work on time, and sometimes don’t get home until 11pm. I would go in, eat something, then go straight to bed, only to do it all over again the next day. It doesn’t feel like I’m really alive, I’m just there.

People tell me that commuting is the sacrifice you make during the week to enjoy the weekend in a place you love. But the thing is, I don’t like Tunbridge Wells and I’m not sure it will grow on me either. Whenever I hear someone say the words ‘Commuter City’ I immediately get ick.

I like to imagine what it would be like to live there, but it’s not like I actually want to live there. I’m still a girl who dreams of living in New York, I will never be happy living in suburbia.

And I’m not the only one struggling – my husband, who was the driving force behind the move, regrets it too.

He is someone who enjoys being outside in nature, or sitting on the sofa with a good book, so this new lifestyle should suit him perfectly. Unlike me, he didn’t get FOMO, and growing up near London, he wasn’t as fascinated by the city as I was. However, he also didn’t understand our life there and was bored in Tunbridge Wells.

He had underestimated how much he got out of London. From booking last minute theater tickets after work, to killing time by nipping at the National Gallery – being impulsive is hard when you have to get the last train home.

And there is just not enough to do in the city to keep us entertained. In London you are constantly spoiled for choice, there is always something new to do, or part of the city to discover, but you can see everything Tunbridge Wells has to offer in one day. All the shops that close at 5pm are also a major buzzkill when you don’t get home until 7pm.

The house itself is also incorrect. We missed the cosiness of our small flat and quickly realized all the things we’d convinced ourselves we needed – more space, garden, and upstairs – we were actually perfectly fine without.

In order to save from the situation we have not bought a house, and decided to rent instead. Even better, we ask for a six-month break clause to be included in the contract if we regret our choice.

The next few months definitely felt like they dragged on, and I was miserable for most of that time. Home has always been my sanctuary, but this was not where I wanted to be. I found myself working later and later every evening, not wanting to return to Tunbridge Wells and I immediately refused to turn 30 there (I booked a stay at Art’otel Battersea for the night, it was amazing).