• As a Canadian, I dreamed of living in Europe — and then, I finally got the chance to move there.
• There were parts of my new life I loved, but I missed Canada more than I expected.
• After five years, I moved back to Canada with a new appreciation for my home.

I first fell in love with the idea of Europe when I was 14.

My mom and I went on a trip to Russia to visit relatives, and Moscow won me over with its grand boulevards and trendy cafés. We also stopped in London, where we explored the city's central neighborhoods and shopped in stores I'd only read about in fashion magazines back home.

I was amazed by everything. I was convinced Europe was better — more aesthetically pleasing, more interesting — than my hometown of Vancouver, and vowed to go back as often as I could.

By my early 20s, I was traveling to Europe almost every summer. My sister had moved to France, so I had a great excuse to visit: I'd stay with her in Paris and later Toulouse, and I'd also check out other destinations like Spain and Italy when I could.

I became more enamored with the continent with each trip. Like so many North Americans, I considered it somewhat of a utopia where the overall lifestyle is healthier, the food is more delicious, and everything is more beautiful.

Love gave me the opportunity to live in Europe

In 2018, at age 26, I met and fell in love with a Brit who was living in Vancouver. When his Canadian working-holiday visa expired, we started a long-distance relationship — and I applied for a British visa so we could be together.

After years of romanticizing the continent on vacations, my dream was finally coming true. I moved to Birmingham and got a UK-based job.

My first year there was great. I loved being surrounded by historic architecture, feeling comfortable dressing up in fancier clothes, and knowing that countries like Spain, Italy, and Greece were just a quick flight away.

But eventually, the novelty started wearing off. Things I initially found so charming became mundane after a few years. The old buildings blurred into the background of my daily commute, and I never quite adjusted to certain cultural differences, like the Brits' less direct communication style.

I also started to miss the things I took for granted back home, like easy access to the ocean and mountains. Back in Vancouver, I used to spend weekends at the beach or hiking, and though these activities were possible in the UK, they were more difficult from my inland location.

Plus, although some things were more affordable — like groceries — others, like transportation fees, weren't. I was also getting paid a lower salary for the same job I was doing back home.

Even the travel benefits weren't as cut-and-dried as I'd expected. Yes, I was close to the rest of Europe, but farther from plenty of other destinations. In Vancouver, I could easily hop on a flight to Mexico to escape the winter blues.

My husband and I traveled to the Canary Islands a few times from the UK, and they were stunning — but in my opinion, they just couldn't compare to the soft white sand and warm azure waters of the Riviera Maya.

I realized I missed my life in Canada

In 2021, I visited Canada for the first time since moving, and started to see everything from a different perspective. I had a newfound appreciation for the rugged natural beauty around me and the laidback coastal lifestyle.

Once I got back to the UK, I started to realize just how much my Pacific Northwest upbringing had influenced my lifestyle preferences. I realized I'd rather be surrounded by the ocean, mountains, and forests than historic buildings.

As someone with a multicultural background, I also felt homesick for my Canadian hometown's diversity. I really felt like my community back home was shaped by immigrants, and cultural traditions there felt less uniform.

After our second trip back to Canada in 2022, my husband started to sense just how homesick I was. We agreed to move back the following year — though we chose to go to nearby Victoria instead of Vancouver, as we preferred the more relaxed vibe of a smaller city.

I'm glad we left, but I have no regrets

We've now been back in Canada for just over three years, and it feels like the perfect place for us right now.

Despite everything, I don't regret my move to the UK. I fulfilled my adolescent dream, and I know that if I hadn't taken the opportunity, I'd have always wondered what my life could have been like there.

Those five years also gave me a better appreciation for where I am now. Sure, there are things I miss about living in the UK, like the multitude of dog-friendly pubs and British chocolate. But as someone who prefers a more nature-oriented life, I know Southwest British Columbia is the right home for me.

Still, I'll never say no to another trip back across the pond.

• I'm 30 years old, but I look young and am often mistaken for being half my age.
• This has made it difficult for me to feel like I'm being taken seriously in professional settings.
• Oftentimes, when I apply for jobs or go to the office, I try to make myself look older.

"Have you just started studying?" a tall, smiling man in a suit asked me.

Although I was in a university building, I wasn't there as a student. I was struggling to find a conference room for a work-related meeting — one that, I soon realized, he was also attending. Of course he was.

"Oh, you just look so much younger," he said after he realized we were colleagues. Maybe it was a compliment, but it didn't feel like one to me.

I have countless examples of people perceiving me as half my age, from movie-theater cashiers trying to sell me children's tickets to police officers on the street asking me where my parents are.

There have been several times when I arrived at a youth support group for my job, but the receptionist assumed I was one of the teen clients. It doesn't exactly inspire confidence.

I'm 30, but between my youthful features and my 5-foot-1 height, I am often told I look like a teenager. Many people consider looking young a dream, and it's even a goal for skincare aficionados.

In reality, though, I believe it's made parts of my life — especially my professional life — considerably more difficult.

I've found it's tough to be taken seriously when you look half your age

I have several years of experience providing peer support for individuals with autism and ADHD; helping develop mental-health programs; and leading projects addressing issues faced by refugees, the LGBTQ+ community, and people with disabilities in several countries.

And yet, because of how I look, I still struggle with confidence and worry about being taken seriously at work.

Often, before I've even had the chance to properly introduce myself when interviewing for a job or meeting new people, I'm concerned my appearance has already shaped how I'm perceived.

Looking like a teen feels like an even bigger obstacle when I'm applying for higher-level and leadership roles, especially because most of the work I do involves peer support or management.

A manager is expected to be wise and knowledgeable — qualities not usually associated with youth. And in my field, a peer supporter is someone who has enough lived experience and training to help others navigate situations they have experienced firsthand.

But would a 70-year-old really take advice from someone who looks like their grandson? I don't know, but I do know that appearance and age aren't the same thing as experience.

I try to look older to be taken more seriously, but I wish I didn't have to

Over time, I've developed little tricks to try to avoid unwanted questions (or surprised reactions) about my age at interviews and at work.

Sometimes I wear platform shoes to appear taller or deliberately choose clothes that make me seem more mature — for example, wearing a plainer dark shirt rather than a colorful one, even though both would be equally appropriate for a meeting.

I also find myself consciously steering conversations with work colleagues toward things people associate with adulthood. I'm more likely to mention politics or current affairs than "The Hunger Games" or "Doctor Who," even on days when I would much prefer to chat about sci-fi than the news.

Sometimes I offer to show my ID as soon as I arrive for a job interview, hoping that "proving" my age will immediately change how potential employers perceive me.

In a perfect world, though, people would be judged in the workplace for their actual skills rather than their appearance and age, real or perceived. Age doesn't automatically come with wisdom, and youthfulness isn't equal to inexperience.

I've known teenage peer-support volunteers who were fantastic at their work, and I've also encountered professionals decades older than me who were far from the best in their field.

For now, though, I'm willing to play the game when I need to. I'll wear platform shoes, put away the "childish" T-shirts, and show my ID — whatever it takes to be taken seriously as a professional adult.

• I dreamed of being a mother for a long time; it is what I wanted most in this world.
• I have two beautiful children, and I think the world of them. They are my greatest joy.
• They are also my biggest burden, and that's never going to change.

My children bring me more joy than anything else. It's not an exaggeration when I say that I would do anything to make them happy.

Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed of becoming a mother. I played with baby dolls and treated them as though they were real. My dream was never to have a big, fancy job or travel the world. I wanted to be a mom.

That dream came true in 2018, when my daughter was born. Five years later, my son came into the world, and my heart grew in ways I hadn't known were possible. My children are my greatest blessing, the loves of my life, and the source of a happiness I had imagined since childhood.

They are also my biggest burden.

Two truths can exist

I know my words might sound harsh. How can the people you love most in the world also be a burden? Before you judge, let me explain.

I am happily married and have been for going on 10 years. I have a thriving business, I have friends and hobbies, and we travel quite a bit as a family. I have many things in my life to be grateful for.

But none of those things bring me the kind of happiness, pure joy, and love that my children do.

But along with that kind of love comes something else. A burden, if you will. As long as I am a mother, I will worry about my children. It doesn't matter how old they get or how far away they go. They will always be a part of me, and a part of my mind will always be occupied by them.

My feelings will evolve

The worries will change, of course. Today, I might worry that they will fall at the park, come home crying about a bad grade, or have a fight with a friend.

Tomorrow, I may worry about whether they can find a job, if they are happy in their relationships, or whether they are struggling under the weight of life.

The older they get, the more I will have to accept that there are parts of their lives I cannot see, decisions I cannot make for them, and difficulties I cannot always help them overcome.

That is the hardest part. I can love them, guide them, support them, and do everything in my power to protect them. But I cannot guarantee that they will always be happy. I cannot shield them from every disappointment or make sure that life will be kind to them.

This is the burden I am talking about. Not my children themselves, but the weight of loving them so deeply that their happiness and well-being will always matter to me.

This is a feeling I can't turn off

I will never stop thinking about my children. In that sense, motherhood is a mental burden. It is the constant awareness of someone else's well-being, the knowledge that there will always be someone to worry about, even when there is nothing immediately wrong.

Sometimes, I think about the freedom of having a mind that belongs entirely to you. To be able to sit quietly, enjoy a moment, or make plans without a part of your mind wandering toward the people you love and wondering whether they are OK.

If I had only myself to worry about, I would surely still have problems, fears, and anxieties. Life would not suddenly become easy. But there is a difference between worrying about yourself and worrying about someone else, especially someone you brought into this world.

There is no real escape from this responsibility. I can be on holiday, enjoying a beautiful day, or sitting quietly with nothing pressing to do, and still find my thoughts returning to my children. The responsibility does not disappear just because, in that moment, there is nothing I need to do.

I chose this and have no regrets

Motherhood takes away a certain kind of freedom, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I wouldn't give up the joy, the love, or the privilege of watching them grow just to reclaim that part of myself that existed before I became a mother.

But I can acknowledge that something has changed. Becoming a mother has meant that I will never again experience life in quite the same way. My heart is no longer concerned only with my own happiness. It is tied to two other people, and it will remain so for the rest of my life until the day I take my final breath.

Maybe this is what it means to be a mother: to carry a love so great that it brings you your greatest happiness, and your greatest worry, all at once.