Redefining Home: How We Left Australia...

...and Found Ourselves in Mexico

It was the Spring of 2021. We had a 10-month-old baby, lived 8 hours north of our closest family, and were looking to find a new rental to move into.

Our family had grown from 2 to 3, was overflowing at the seams of our country home, and needed something bigger, more expansive. I felt like my wings had been clipped since I gave birth. And I wanted to fly.

However, many people in the cities around Australia had the same idea, and they’d rolled up in droves to our sleepy, small surf town to escape the crunch of the corporatocracy.

The preceding year or two had squashed the souls of many Australians. Our country’s “leaders” were vying head to head with Canada’s, to claim the title of “Most Tyrannical Government”. The yardstick was “How many souls can we crush, families can we devastate, or lives can we stifle?”

The answer? Millions. But not ours.

Our environment had us feeling meh. We spent nights—the ones we got together without a delightfully yabbering baby between us—chatting about our future. We did a life audit and asked each other uncomfortable questions that made us squirm. Like, “What do we want?” (Not “What would we settle for?”) And, “Did we feel any allegiance to a country that had thrown us under the bus so gleefully?” 🧎‍♂️‍➡️🚌 

Our life was ok. But we wanted it to be spectacular. We wanted to think bigger and feel alive. Not just exist.

After realising we’d outgrown where we were at, there were no other homes to rent in the region, we’d exhausted our options, and having already scaled the “best place to live in Australia” mountain, we had to look outside abroad. Gulp.

Where would we go? What would it be like? Who would even accept us?

We rolled the dice and Mexico was the answer. 🎲 🇲🇽 

More than a year earlier at the start of the Clown Show that was the plandemic, I’d heard someone say to me Australians “couldn’t leave the country”. And I thought to myself, that’s BS. I guarantee people are leaving this country. They have to be letting someone out. Who are they? I just need to find out who they are and how they’re doing it. That’s how my mind works.

Needless to say, when we started to think about leaving the island we’d lovingly dubbed Australiatraz, I’d already researched the loopholes and knew exactly how we’d do it.

This was a time when Australians had to ask the Government for “permission” to leave. Free travel had been deemed “unsafe”—due to the prospect of spreading coodies. And though the government had created the illusion of an impenetrable, un-exit-able bubble, we applied and were approved for a travel exemption.

It took a week or so to find an open-minded travel agent who would help us after we asked not to fly through the USA and they realised we hadn’t injected ourselves with experimental substances. We finally got a flight, thinking we’d have an empty plane to ourselves. But when we arrived at the airport—alongside, no joke, entire families in hazmat suits—for our final goodbyes, to our dismay, we were met with an airport buzzing with people also desperate to get TF out. As it turns out everyone wanted to leave and no one was arriving.

Well, I lie. We did meet a French lady in Sydney who was the only human on the plane going into Australia. She had her very own private flight into Oz. I wonder how her internal dialogue sounded?

After 4 flights and 74 hours total, 34 of which were in the air, we touched down in our new country. There was no Mariachi music or trophy on arrival. Having breastfed my little one the entire time, I felt like a sultana that’d been tossed on the hot pavers for a few days. I looked like a hobo and I’m sure I smelt even worse. But we made some friends on the flight, promised to meet up, and headed to our Airbnb to wonder what the heck we’d done.

It turned out we’d arrived in Mexico City on the night of a presidential parade. So our taxi driver found a public parking lot, borrowed a luggage trolley from a random dude, stacked our 7 suitcases onto it, and pushed them a kilometre through the city to our accommodation. 🧳 

10 days, an emotional detox, and one bout of Montezuma’s Revenge later, we finally put our feet on the ground in what was to be our home for almost the next 3 years. It was time to make the most of the life we started living again. We’d just have to adjust to a different version of beautiful.

What we’ve learned over the past 3 years is…

Though many people have said to us, “Wow, I’d love to do what you did!”, few are committed (or crazy) enough to burn the boats and choose a life well-lived—even when the government shows their hand. 🃏

Here’s What To Expect When You Move Your Family Overseas

This article and its accompanying podcast episode serves as a “What to Expect” guidebook for those who may decide to pick up their family and move across the world like we did. Making a decision like this is a leap of faith. You don’t know if it’ll work out, especially when you’ve never been to the country before (as was in our situation). But, we didn’t let that stop us—and you shouldn’t either.

Finding the Strength to Choose Yourself

When we realised our life wasn’t going to work in Australia, it was a bitter pill to swallow—for everyone. We’d recently had a baby, the first grandchild for Brendan’s parents, and they were besotted with her. Jumping on Zoom for our regular chat and telling them we were seriously exploring options to live overseas ripped their hearts into pieces.

We’d previously invited that side of the family to embark on what we thought would be an epic plan to buy an acreage together and live communally (with abundant privacy). That idea went down like a lead balloon, so we felt compelled to keep dreaming.

Aside from the fear of losing their new granddaughter, his parents also feared for us. Was Mexico safe? What would happen if we didn’t like it? Was the world situation going to improve or get worse? What if we got stranded and they couldn’t visit us? Why did we choose somewhere so far away?

It all happened so fast for us, that we didn’t have much time to explain our choices to anyone (or give ourselves time to back out). It was a leap of faith that felt right, so we pressed purchase and booked our flights one month out from leaving.

We spent the next few weeks ferociously stuffing moments of our lives into suitcases and boxes. Or selling them. Worse still, tossing them in the bin. It was a rollercoaster of emotions—excitement, doubt, dread, and everything in between.

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

– Mark Twain

Adapting to A New Terrain

Moving countries involves adapting to an entirely different world. Given the timing of our move, we experienced a deep emotional recalibration. Though we hadn’t spent the years of the plandemic glued to the news and following orders, we felt a deep sense of relief when the underlying noise had dissipated.

We didn’t have to fight any more. The soup of despair and uncertainty had greatly affected our nervous systems. When we removed ourselves, we could finally exhale. At least, until it was time for the next terrain adaption.

Though our flight, which was actually 4 separate flights, spanned 74 hours, it felt like one endless day. We didn’t know up from down, day from night. All we wanted to do was arrive and sleep. But we couldn’t. Our jetlag was savage, having gone from Australia, to Dubai, to Spain, to Mexico. It took 10 days to stop waking in the middle of the night. Super fun to experience with a baby. Not.

And then came the food. Different microbes inhabit different terrains. Brendan’s body picked up some new friends who started fighting for the territory, cleaning out his body from both ends. 💩 

At this point, trapped in an apartment in Mexico City, with fluids exiting from all angles, a language barrier, and a cute, babbling child wondering what all the fuss was about, we both questioned our decision more than once. The familiarity of Australiatraz seemed very appealing at this point.

But once our helpful landlord sent Floratil, electrolytes, and a herbalist to make a healing brew, Brendan came back from the dead and it was time to press on. there was no going back now.

Emotional Disturbances

It may come as no surprise to learn that moving means giving up the life you made at home and not knowing what your new life involves. You create a gap. Naturally, this brings emotional events along with it. Friendships and networks suffer. We’ve had to work hard to keep home connections alive and allow others to fall away.

The good news is, all goodbyes end with a new hello. And what we’ve found is once you find them, those new friendships are often deeper and more robust because they’re built on intention, not circumstance.

When leaving, I didn’t feel an urgent need to tell my family. They were already scattered across the globe and we didn’t talk much any way. But when I did finally tell my mum, which was too late, she flew off the handle into an emotional wreck. Later, I realised I’d unconsciously left it as long as I could to tell her because I knew she wouldn’t be happy.

Though we didn’t live close and rarely saw one another, she wished she had more time to process the news before we left the country. Her reaction broke me, but I had to keep going. There was no time to stop.

I looked forward to telling my Nan and hoping she would teach me some Spanish, having lived in Majorca for a decade. But her reaction broke me even more. She hasn’t uttered a word to me since.

We also experienced a number of online acquaintances—supporters during our “activist” days—lash out at us for “abandoning Australia” at its time of need, projecting their thoughts, fears, and beliefs on us. This was something we were unprepared for; but with hindsight is understandable. Not everyone is courageous enough to leap for their dream life, and they’ll try and hold back those that are. Ever heard the saying about crabs in a bucket? We experienced that firsthand.

Disappointing our family and friends was one of the hardest parts of it all. We learned that sometimes growth means choosing to disappoint others. And also that the alternative—trying to prevent others from being hurt—is not an option either. Choosing what we deemed best for our new family, even though it caused pain, suffering, grief, and disconnection, was a choice we had to make.

Cultural Differences

One of the most obvious shifts when moving countries is the cultural shift. For us, that meant learning a new language. Interestingly, years earlier, I’d started to learn Spanish on an app called Duolingo, just for fun. So I knew all of about 20 words when we decided to make the move.

We chose to move to an area with many expats, not because we didn’t want to learn Español, but because we wanted a longer time to learn it. These days, my ear is pretty good, I can understand a conversation pretty well. Brendan has more luck speaking, so together, we do ok. Our daughter, however, has left us in the dust. She loves to mock us and say, “Look how fast I can say Farmacia Guadalajara, Mummy,” while I hang my head in shame.

One of the biggest cultural changes for me has been the food. We were spoilt in the Northern Rivers of Australia, where we lived. We had grass-fed and finished beef, biodynamic chicken, vegetables, and tropical fruit, and bought all our groceries from our local market or organic store. I read all the labels, never bought anything with seed oils, preservatives, gluten, or all the usual nasties.

Here, I’ve lightened up a little. Partly because I’d starve if I didn’t, and also because many things just aren’t available here. Also, not driving makes a big difference to the ability to stock up.

And you know what? I’ve survived. But not thrived. I’ve really felt a dip in my health since being here. One of the reasons we’re about to make another life upgrade, as I shared last week.

When you move somewhere new, you need to spend time finding all the comforts of your old place - food, groceries, schools, friends, healers, nannies, cleaners, and of course, a house. Being the “foreigner” takes some getting used to, and it’ll probably feel strange until you integrate.

Bureaucracy

When we left Australia, we knew we’d have to organise Mexican residency. The embassy was closed due to the clown show, so we took a punt on sorting it out when we arrived, knowing we’d have 6 months on a Tourist Visa on arrival. 6 months sounds like a lot of time, but it’s not.

Thankfully, Mexican bureaucracy is easier to deal with in many ways than its Aussie counterpart. If you need something like a residency card or a drivers licence, the old adage, “It’s not what you know, but who you know” is truer than true. We’re now temporary residents, and in a couple of years time, we’ll have permanent Mexican residency.

Dealing with Australian banks and government departments from overseas is much harder. Time differences, downloading apps, jumping through hoops which seem to have been put in place just to piss people off is all part of the process.

Personal Growth

Due to our decision to move overseas, we’ve condensed decades of growth into a matter of years. And that’s evident when we speak with people back home, keen to learn how their lives are, but their response is that “nothing has changed”. It’s all “same same”. It totally blindsided me how tough it is to witness people staying in the same place while I grow. I don’t say that from a judgemental place. It’s tough to convey the amount of growth required to choose the path we have.

There is definitely a “reverse culture shock”. We will never be able to go back to how it was. We’ve changed so much. And that’s not easy to swallow. A lot falls away when you reach for your dreams. It results in a feeling of not knowing where we belong. Are we still Australian? Are we Mexican? Where will we end up? What is life in Australia even like now? Would we fit in there after living overseas?

There are no answers to these questions. And we need to be ok with that.

We’d likely expect Australia to be the same as it was when we left. Likewise, our friends will expect us to be the same as we were when we left. But we’d both be wrong.

Expats returning home (aka “repatriates”) are “shocked into the realization that they have in fact changed substantially. They usually find this when they encounter their home culture upon repatriating. Both they and their home culture have changed, and this is often the first time that expats have had the opportunity to experience any of these changes.

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Take for instance, a recent email I received from a real estate agent from the town we used to live in. It was sent in error, perhaps the universe pointing out to me how much Australia has changed. The email was asking permission to bring potential tenants for an inspection in a home we briefly lived in in 2020.

When we lived there, the rent was $525 a week. In the rental listing, it was $850 a week. A 61.9% increase in rent in less than three years. It’s no wonder people are worried about the rising cost of inflation.

In my work as an online business mentor, I speak with families all the time about creating an extra income. Many struggle to cover their living costs, despite working long hours and minimising expenses.

We’re living in a bubble here in Mexico, where people still complain about the rising costs of living, but they’re remarkably lower in comparison. Reducing our cost of living wasn’t the reason we moved, but it’s definitely a huge benefit.

For context, our rent (3 bedroom, 3.5 bathroom home) is currently about $249 per week. And we’re about to move to one of Mexico’s most expensive cities and increase that to about $700 per week. What we’ll get for that price here is dramatically more than we’d get in Australia.

But, as I say, moving across the world isn’t for the fainthearted. It results in massive growth that comes with the loss of all your usual support systems. There are no relatives and friends to help in difficult times (until you find them). You must take on the mindset that challenges = opportunities.

We’ve made a diverse network of beautiful friends since we moved. And as I mentioned earlier, they’re often richer, deeper friendships. They’re a delight I’ll treasure forever and I know one day we’ll look back and marvel at this time.

Unexpected Delights

Travelling involves some unforeseen events that delight us out of the blue. Like the feeling of receiving a parcel from home, in familiar “Australia Post” packaging.

Brendan’s mum sends us regular gifts for our little one and usually includes Aussie things that make me a little homesick. 🥺 

There’s Eric the Emu, a stuffed toy with lots of personality. A series of books by Eva-Marie Welsh, detailing the exploits of Aussie animal friends. And all the cards she sends have an Aussie touch I really appreciate.

Meeting Aussies while abroad is another delight. We’re few and far between here in Mexico, so it’s epic to hear another Aussie accent and lean into the lingo for a little while. I never thought I’d say this, but “Howz-it-goin’ mate?” has a charming ring to it when you haven’t heard it for a while. 🦘

As we’ve lived in a place where most expats are from the USA or Canada, we’ve found ourselves adjusting our vocab so people understand us. We’re relearning English as well as Español.

Nappies become diapers. Footpaths become sidewalks. Petrol becomes gas. Arvo’s become afternoons and avo’s become arvos. It’s all very confusing for everyone involved. 🥑 

But what about Español?

Nappies/diapers are pañales.

Footpaths/sidewalks are banquetas.

Petrol/gas is gasolina. ⛽️ 

Arvos/afternoons are tardes.

And avos/avocados are aguacates. 🥑 

Just ask our 3 year old. She’s got it down pat. 🙃 

Speaking of which, we’re so grateful she’s growing up with such a rich experience of culture and language. I’m curious as she grows where she feels she belongs. She’s already benefited greatly from the blend of Australia, Jalisco, and soon to be Guanajuato.

Making such a life-changing decision isn’t easy, but it’s definitely enriching. If you’re thinking about doing something similar, I’d say go for it. I wouldn’t change it for the world.

It’s crazy. It’s terrifying. Your life as you know it will change forever. You’ll be excited about your new life, but homesick for the one you left. And at times, it can be really, really hard to adjust.

But like it or not, your new country will become and will forever stay a part of who you are.

Alexis Cedargren

Aimee

x

P.S. If you’d like to watch an interview we did when we first arrived to Mexico during the plandemic, you can watch below. We share a little more about the intricacies of how we “escaped from Australiatraz”.

Freedom Talks | Life in Mexico

Susan Sweetin interviews Brendan Murphy and Aimee Devlin about what it was like to move their family to Mexico.