Back in 2014 and early 2015, I found myself at a real crossroads. After nearly two decades living in our nation’s capital, I was faced with a question that kept swirling around my head: was it time to leave Dublin behind? Or did I have more miles left to go in the Big Smoke?

For years, Dublin had been the place where I carved out my independence. It was where I figured out who I was, tested myself, failed, got back up, and learned how to laugh at it all. The first couple of years there were anything but easy. Navigating college halls, figuring out my way around an often-inaccessible city, and trying to land my first jobs felt like climbing a mountain with no map. I’ll be honest: I didn’t love Dublin at first. It felt cold, both in weather and in spirit, and I wondered more than once if I’d made a mistake.

But everything changed when I moved into the heart of the city. Suddenly, Dublin wasn’t just a sprawling, chaotic place I endured, it became a home I could truly live in. I didn’t have to dread public transport or spend hours planning every trip. My power chair gave me the freedom to glide across the inner city, and I grabbed that freedom with both hands. The latter years in Dublin were some of the best. I had real craic with friends who became family. I could roll into gigs, catch a play, or hit a comedy night without a second thought. Life felt exciting, alive, and wide open.

Still, by 2015, the cracks were starting to show. Every time I came home to Mayo for a weekend, the Sunday blues would kick in harder and harder. I’d find myself dreading the journey back to Dublin. The thought of returning to house shares with randomers lost its appeal but let’s face it, that’s a young person’s game and I was done playing it.

When my best friend packed up and headed West a little before me, I knew deep down that my time in Dublin was drawing to a close. I craved my own space. I wanted roots. I wanted mornings that started slow and evenings that didn’t end with the noise of traffic outside my window. But despite all that, making the call was tough. It felt like saying goodbye to a version of myself.

This weekend just gone by, exactly ten years ago, I took the plunge and catapulted myself back into the Wild Wild West. And let me tell you, it was a shock to the system. One minute I was in a city where you could grab a craft beer on a Tuesday night, try a new pop-up restaurant every weekend, or decide last minute to catch a late gig. The next minute, I was in a place where the most exciting option on a weeknight might be a stroll down the road.

I remember sitting there thinking, What have I done? The culture shock was real. There were no more spontaneous theatre trips, late-night cinema showings, or rolling home in the early hours. Bottomless brunch? Forget about it. I felt lost. The sense of confusion and uncertainty was overwhelming at times. I missed the rush of the city and worried I’d given up everything I’d built.

Starting over was the only option. I had to find my niche. I needed to meet people who felt like home. That didn’t happen overnight. I went through weeks where I wondered if I’d ever feel settled again. But slowly, I found my people and discovered a new rhythm.

Today, I wouldn’t swap where I am for anything. I’m less than ten minutes from the beach, where I can watch the waves roll in on quiet weekend mornings. I’m two minutes from an accessible forest that feels like my own slice of peace. But more than the scenery, it’s the community that makes this place special. The friends I’ve made are people who show up, who laugh with me, and who make every day a bit brighter. Nothing beats that, apart from my little dog Oscar, of course.

And then there’s one more thing I thought would never happen: I became a proud homeowner. Having my own place was a dream I’d quietly tucked away as impossible. However here I am, living that reality. That alone is something I’ll never stop being grateful for.

I’ve gone the distance, weathered the confusion, and come out stronger for it. This journey wasn’t always smooth, but it’s mine and I’m proud of where I’m standing (sitting) today. I look back on the girl who wondered if she should stay or go, and I want to tell her: you’re going to be just fine. Actually, you’re going to thrive.

Happy anniversary to me.