I have been, understandably, hesitant to share the story of why I left Paris here on TAIP.  As the owner of a website with a title that suggests I am indeed an American living in Paris, it felt like a major bomb to drop on what has been not only a creative outlet for me, but a place to help other Americans interested in following their dreams of moving abroad. It felt scary, dangerous even. What if no one wanted to read anymore once they found out I wasn’t actually living in France?

I’ve also been dealing with feelings of shame ever since the decision to leave was made. While I love the expat community in Paris, most of that shame was deeply tied to an interesting phenomenon amongst that particular group. Expats who have lived in the city for 10, 15, 20, or even 30 years wear their time spent like a badge of honor. I’ve been here forever and I’m never going back, the badge says. I write this as someone who was proud of her own, 9.5-year-long badge. I thought I was going to be someone who “never left,” who felt so comfortable in her new life in France that thoughts of going back to the States would never even dream of entering her ether. I was the girl who moved to Paris. And stayed.

Then the pandemic happened. And then I got married. And then I realized how quickly my parents were aging and even if I committed to going “home” once a year for the rest of my life, it would mean only seeing them 10 or 15 more times for the rest of my life. They wouldn’t be able to get to know my yet-to-be-born children or my very-much-alive new husband.

The idea of leaving floated into my mind slowly and quietly. It decided to camp out every time I felt different or like the étrangère that I was. It set up house with a foundation when I found out my dad was sick. And it battened down the hatches every time I felt lonely, misunderstood, and when I came to the realization that while I no longer felt American, I knew I wasn’t fully French either.

Then, my husband (who is French) started dreaming of his own life abroad. As his wife, I could give him that gift, if he really wanted it. We started daydreaming about what it would be like to move to idyllic southern Rhode Island, where I was born and raised and where my family still lives. Wouldn’t it be nice to go to the beach whenever we wanted, we wondered. To breathe fresh air, to watch my nieces grow up, see my childhood friends become mothers, and finally, finally be able to live in a spacious home without having to provide the dreaded dossier to do so.

I can’t remember now a specific conversation in which we said, “we’re doing this,” but I do remember getting connected with an immigration lawyer in the US through a friend of mine. At this point, I was so well-versed in how to move to France, but I had no clue how to move to the US as a foreigner. I remember having that first initial call with the lawyer, getting excited about our options, and booking a one-way flight almost immediately after. I guess that was the defining moment. “Yes, we’re actually doing this.”

We also ultimately knew that after Covid, we wanted everyone in our little family to have the same passport. I still didn’t have French nationality, but we knew that would be relatively painless, thanks to all of the years I had lived in France, having a master’s degree from a French uni, and the real golden ticket: being married to a French person. We also knew that getting Pierre a green card and then American nationality would likely be a bit painful. Might as well do the more difficult step first, right?

And so we packed up our apartment in Montmartre and moved in with my in-laws (again) for the last month we were to spend in France. We traveled around the country to say goodbye to Pierre’s family and then came back to Paris for a few weeks to celebrate with friends. We ended up having two farewell parties because one wasn’t enough. As our departure date grew closer, the more real it began to feel. Was I actually doing this? Was I actually leaving this dream life of mine that I built completely on my own, brick by brick?

Panicking, I told everyone the move back WASN’T PERMANENT, NO, DON’T WORRY, I’LL BE BACK BEFORE YOU KNOW IT! Those feelings of shame inadvertently caused me to downplay the move, act as if it were just a duty I was called to do. The mixture of emotions I experienced was incredible. One minute, I was so excited to be able to call my mom whenever I wanted to; the next, I wanted to scream that I felt like everything I had worked for was being taken from me.

I also knew that in order for Pierre and I to pursue this life we had been talking about pretty much since we met, we had to live in the US for at least a few years. We wanted to split our time between the two countries, as evenly as possible. To do that we both needed double nationality. And that required moving back for some time, dream life in Paris or not.

Now that there are three years between me and that decision, three years between a girl full of shame for hiding a part inside her that was aching to go home, three years between feeling like the world I had built was crashing down all around me, three years between feeling like a failure because I didn’t “have the guts” to stay, I’m finally talking about what it felt like to leave said dream life.

I’m happy to say that things feel so much less final than they did back then. As we get closer and closer to being able to apply for Pierre’s nationality — and strangely, being able to apply for my French nationality from the US — I’m realizing that we’re getting closer and closer to the original dream: spending half the year in France and the other half in the States. We can almost taste it, and it’s made the pain I felt leaving France in 2022 not seem as painful.

I’ll never be the girl who decided to leave everything behind for a brand new life, no matter the cost, again because that girl doesn’t exist anymore. But, she wouldn’t have existed even if I had decided to stay in France and never come back to the US again. That girl was my 23-year-old self, and I have now become me, my almost-34-year-old self. And that’s okay. Change is okay. Letting go of that brave, fearless girl is okay. Because who I am now is brave in ways that 23-year-old Molli would never believe. And I have that 11-years-in-the-past me to thank for a lot of that bravery.

So, dear readers, as I embark on this new chapter, I’d love to take you along with me. TAIP will always be a part of my life because France will always be a part of my life. I can’t wait to share all about getting my French nationality (from the US… crazy), deciding where to live when we do go back to France, and how to navigate a life truly split between two countries. We will of course continue to publish articles on visas and all of that good stuff, as something else that will always be a part of my life? A desire to help others pursue their hopes and dreams.

Thank you for following along until this point, and I’m so excited for what’s in store.

If you prefer video, I’m releasing a four-part series on why I left Paris over on our YouTube channel, taip on tape. Be sure to subscribe so you don’t miss a thing 🙂

Photo by Joe deSousa on Unsplash

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