Dream of moving to Europe? These women share what life is really like as an expat

Each year, thousands of Australians pack up their lives and head overseas, with Europe consistently ranking as one of the most popular destinations. According to government data, about one million Australians are living and working abroad.

The reasons for leaving are as varied as the journeys themselves: career, love, family or simply the allure of a fresh start.

But behind the charm of cobblestone streets, new cultures and life-changing experiences, there’s a more complex reality. Moving countries isn’t just about a change of scenery, it’s a shift that can unsettle even the most adventurous spirit.

Life as an expat isn’t just staring at postcard-like vistas, though there’s plenty of that, too.Credit: Duet Postscriptum / Stocksy Unit

Dr Zena Burgess, CEO of the Australian Psychological Society, says relocating overseas can be both exhilarating and challenging. “Relocating builds resilience and self-confidence. But it also means leaving behind anchors that make life feel safe and familiar. Homesickness, loneliness and isolation are common, and for children, the disruption can affect their sense of self and security.”

Burgess emphasises that successful transitions often hinge on preparation and honesty. Recognising what you’re leaving behind, establishing new routines, and maintaining social connections are all vital. “If the move is about escaping something, those issues will follow you,” she cautions. “But with clear goals, support and planning, a move abroad can be life-changing in the best way.”

Here, three women share their stories of moving to Europe – for work, for love, for family – and how they’ve navigated the promise and the challenges of starting over.

“Each day feels like stepping onto a stage”: Lisa Barmby, 62

“I first came to Paris in 1989 as a 26-year-old, suddenly single and ready for a change. I’d grown up with the idea that another life existed beyond the suburban rooftops of Melbourne, fed by my parents’ travels and my dad’s Super 8 films. One reel showed Parisian terraces buzzing with people, and I could imagine myself there – speaking French, reading Françoise Sagan, sipping coffee on cafe terraces. So, with a mix of sadness and impatience, I sold all my belongings and boarded a flight.

Lisa Barmby says her life in Paris feels “endlessly rich” but she misses lots about home.

Those early years were both exhilarating and eye-opening. I lived first in a dingy hotel, then in a magical Montmartre apartment, working as a chef, a film extra, in a bar, as a cinema usherette, even as a hat model. I learned French by immersion, studied theatre at Cours Florent – becoming their first Australian graduate – and was a genius at life on a shoestring. When my student visa ended, I returned home, determined to live as boldly in Melbourne as I had in Paris.

In 1996, I met Tom [Alberts, the artist]. We fell in love, and shared a dream of Europe. Over the years, we tested the waters – his Rome residency, my time painting in Venice – but it wasn’t until 2019 that everything aligned. We had just finished post-production on our film, The Big Kitty, when we found an apartment in Paris’ fifth arrondissement. It felt fated. Four months later, COVID shut down the city. Those months were hard, we were isolated from family, unable to return to Australia, but they also deepened our bond with Paris.

Now, life here feels endlessly rich. I love stepping onto our balcony to water the plants, mornings at museums, browsing the wares of the bouquinistes [booksellers] along the Seine, and apéritifs on hot evenings with friends. I love that my Parisian friends correct my French, that loyalty is fierce once you are accepted. There are magic moments, too, Pierre Cardin turning up at one of my exhibitions, our film being screened at Cannes, bumping into Charlotte Rampling at the Vélib stand.

Still, I miss home: our St Kilda studio, summer cocktails on the beach, my brother’s poolside gatherings, Christmas parties with friends. But Paris exceeds every expectation. Each day feels like stepping onto a stage; I am exactly where I’m meant to be.”

“Nothing prepared me for the winters”: Nicole Hedman, 52

“I never planned to move to Sweden. At the time, I was a principal dancer with The Australian Ballet and was invited to guest with the Royal Swedish Ballet in Stockholm.

That month turned out to be life-changing. Stockholm was beautiful in September and I had time to explore. I met Joel, who would become my husband. I had other guest appearances in Oslo and Copenhagen, but I chose to return to Stockholm, spend more time with him, and see what unfolded. Twenty years later, we have three children: Maya, 19, Ella, 17, and Flynn, 14.

Nicole Hedman, a dancer with the Australian Ballet, went as a guest to Sweden and never moved back.

The move was never deliberate. I thought I’d take six months off dancing, but the Swedish Ballet asked me to keep performing. Stockholm quickly became part of my life.

Looking back, I realise my family history may have influenced how natural it felt to stay. My mother and grandmother are Hungarian, and I grew up with a strong sense of our European heritage. When I first arrived in Stockholm, I remember stepping off the plane and thinking, ‘This feels familiar. I could live here.’

Stockholm is an extraordinary city to raise children; it’s safe, clean, and well-organised. The architecture and history give it genuine character. And being in Europe means opportunities for travel; my daughters think nothing of taking the train to Copenhagen for the weekend.

But the challenges are real. Nothing prepared me for the winters. I was naïve about the darkness and cold, minus 18 degrees felt surreal after a life in the sun. In those early years, I battled seasonal depression and often returned home to Australia once or twice a year to recover.

The culture, too, needed some adjusting to. Swedes are warm once you know them, but more reserved than Australians. Learning Swedish was essential to feeling part of the community, and I’m proud I mastered the language in my 30s.

What I miss most is the beach and the open-heartedness of Australians. At home, strangers smile and say good morning. And I miss my family. Still, I feel lucky. Europe has given me an extraordinary life and career. But every time I return to Australia, the sun, the sea, and the easy warmth of home remind me where my heart truly belongs.”

“Life carries the magic that pulled us in”: Susannah Cameron, 43

“When we left Melbourne for a tiny village of 500 people near Vaison-la-Romaine in Provence, in 2015, we launched an online boutique selling French antiques worldwide. We named it Chez Pluie after my father, Rain – pluie means rain in French.

My husband, Hugh, puppy Frankie, and I moved to Europe to shake up our daily lives, chasing a dream of lavender fields and relaxed lunches under plane trees. Ten years later, we have not only a successful business and an enriching life, but a wonderful family.

Susannah Cameron moved to a tiny village in Provence with her husband to “shake up our lives”.

We arrived as strangers. Our French was clumsy, our corporate careers had been left on pause, and our families were oceans away. But our neighbours didn’t hesitate. They folded us into their lives with the warmth of kin.

Over the years, this mix of French, Dutch, Belgian, Scottish and German friends became more than acquaintances – they became our lifeline. We now rely on each other the way families do: babysitting pets, cooking meals when someone is unwell, and raising glasses to celebrate birthdays. Traditions are shared, and our support for each other comes naturally. These bonds have made Provence feel not just like a place to live, but like home.

There are still lows, of course. We miss the coffee and the Glad Wrap cutter – seriously! Homesickness hits the hardest when we can’t be there for weddings, funerals, or the births of friends’ children.

But our ‘found family’ reminds us we’re not alone, even if our blood relatives are far away. And then there is our wider ‘Eurofamily’, a mix of extended family and friends from Australia who now live in Vienna, Amsterdam, London and Spain. Christmas in the Austrian Alps or New Year on Lake Como shows that family doesn’t always come from the place you were born.

Life here still carries the magic that first pulled us in. We buy bread from a boulanger [baker] who follows medieval recipes. Our daily bike ride to work winds through Côtes-du-Rhône vineyards. Even in the village square, stopping for croissants can take half an hour because of the people we bump into; you’ll end up organising a dinner, a weekend hike or a drive up Mont Ventoux for a sunset apéritif. We find ourselves hosting friends for dinner who could be winemakers, doctors, cleaners, Michelin-starred chefs, market vendors, artists or film set decorators – we always seem to have the least interesting stories at the table!

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