Profile Image
The six-month slump is a rite of passage for expats: here's how to cope with it
Going out as a teenager I’d often call my dad to ask him to pick me up early. If I wasn't keen on the party - or if I hadn’t spotted any cute boys - I’d just want go home. Years later, a few months after I landed my first job in Brussels, I found myself wishing I could have done the same. Having moved from my hometown of York I’d found a flat share with friendly people, my social life was good, and I’d even wrangled my way through EU red tape for a genuine ID. But instead of embracing my new life, I’d have gladly swapped my Belgian blonde for a Yorkshire brew.
featured image
Comment icon
  • Profile Image