Ladies and Gents, it happened; I got my green card.
On Monday, at the US embassy in London, a very kind man said the six words I’ve been waiting to hear: “Congratulations, your visa has been approved.”
What a relief! It was starting to get embarrassing to keep telling people I was leaving. Only I was still here, in England.
I don’t think I was ever quite so prepared for this type of waiting. And it sucked because it was all for something as foundational as starting a life together with the man I married. Two years ago.
For those who don’t already know, my husband, David, is American, and we knew we would most likely be based in America. We had our town hall nuptials in London in October 2022, applied for my spouse visa in April 2023, and heard back regarding my embassy interview in November 2024.
This timeline isn’t unusual, but the reality of it has been something else entirely. For me, it’s felt like taking a deep breath in and not knowing when I’m able to exhale. And I know there are countless others who share this feeling. We’re all staring at the calendar, trying to make it to the finish line.
The US immigration system has no qualms about keeping families apart. We knew this going in, and as a result, our married life thus far has been shaped by the rigidity of countless rules and sub-rules, often turning simple decisions into logistical feats.
Thankfully, we’ve been fortunate to manage short stints together between the US and the UK. With my British passport, this meant visiting the US on an ESTA, which allows stays of up to 90 days at a time.
I can’t imagine how tough it is for those who would’ve needed separate tourist visas or for those who couldn’t travel at all.
Even with an ESTA, however, there’s an unspoken rule that you’re expected to spend as much time outside the US as you did inside before returning. For instance, if I maxed out my 90-day stay, I’d be advised to remain outside the US for another 90 days before re-entering. So no, a quick trip to Canada or Mexico to ‘reset’ the time cap wasn’t an option.
The coming and going, the back-and-forth, has turned our relationship into a series of hurried reunions and goodbyes, neither of us really feeling settled and both of us just basking in some form of hope.
Perhaps it’s true that immigration shouldn’t be easy, I understand that. But there’s something demoralising about how love and family, of all things, become procedurally bound.
Whenever I caught couples simply coexisting, waking up and going to sleep under the same roof without a clock counting down, I was reminded of what we’ve been missing. We’re practically professionals at planning, forced to view our relationship in months and years as opposed to days and weeks.
I’ve done my best not to dwell on the toll this process takes. There’s a fine line between venting and hosting a personal pity party. And I’ll admit, I crossed that line a few months ago.
I’m drained and a little bit mad. There’s a different kind of loneliness that comes with it—a weird, suspended reality.
“I’m stuck in limbo,” I would say frequently. It wasn’t just about the waiting, it was the sense that my life was neither here nor there. I found it hard to commit to certain opportunities or outlets because so much of my focus was tied to sustaining this relationship across borders.
Of course, we knew this wouldn’t last forever. But there’s also a fragility in that knowing. Now, being in one place means I can reclaim parts of my life that might’ve been on pause.
It’s not that I regret the ‘sacrifices’. They were necessary. But there’s a reassurance in knowing I can finally focus on things I’ve set aside, not because I had to, but because I chose to.
I’m just grateful we went through this at a time when technology makes staying connected so much easier and more accessible.
I’m also grateful I got my green card before the presidential inauguration.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: the waiting game is not for everyone. It’s certainly challenged what I thought I knew about patience and flexibility in a relationship. But I’d like to think we’re stronger for it. The experience has added ‘colour’ that probably wouldn’t have existed otherwise.
And I suppose there’s humour in it. An unfunny romantic comedy. I can laugh about it now because I’m actually leaving this time.
True to form, I’ve fixated on the sentimentality of the timing—starting the new year in a new city. It feels poetic, almost serendipitous. A new lease on our relationship.
We’ll be situated in Austin, Texas, a new place for both of us and one we’re excited to explore together. If you’re familiar with the city, do send me your recommendations, I’d love to hear them.
For now, I’m just exhaling (finally), and feeling all kinds of emotions about leaving my family and friends in England. It’s the close of one chapter and the start of another.
And this person couldn’t be more excited 💕