If you’ve followed my story for a while, you’ll know that belonging has always been a complicated subject for me.
It’s probably one of the biggest wounds adoption leaves behind. You spend your entire life trying to answer a question that most people never have to ask themselves.
Where do I belong?
I was born in Sri Lanka in 1984. I was adopted and moved to France in 1993. Growing up, I spoke French, went to French schools, and held a French passport. Yet somehow, I never felt French.
People would ask me where I was from. When I replied “France”, I was often met with confused faces. To many people, I looked foreign.
Then, when I returned to Sri Lanka for the first time after my adoption at the age of twelve, I realised something else. I didn’t fully belong there either.
I did speak Sinhala, but apparently, I had developed a French accent. My culture had changed. There were things I didn’t always understand anymore. I was Sri Lankan by birth, but I felt like a foreigner in my own country.
For many years, it felt like I was standing with one foot in several worlds and never fully belonging to any of them.
In 2005, I moved to England to study at university. If I’m completely honest, I think I was also seeking something much deeper than a degree. I was seeking independence. Freedom. A place where I could simply be me.
England became home in ways I never expected.
I built my life here. I met my husband here. I became a mother here. I built my business here. I healed here. I found my voice here. I found myself here.
And yet, despite living here for twenty years, there was always a small part of me that wondered whether I was allowed to feel English. Whether I was allowed to say this country felt like home.
It sounds silly when I write it now, but something as simple as the football World Cup always brought up that question.
Who am I supposed to support?
France? I am French.
Sri Lanka? They don’t play in the World Cup.
England? Can I even claim that?
Every four years, I would quietly wonder where my loyalty should be.
This year was different.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t confused. I wasn’t questioning myself. I wasn’t trying to work out which part of my identity I should honour.
I simply knew.
I found myself cheering loudly, feeling nervous before the matches, celebrating every win, and feeling completely emotionally invested in the England team.
And somewhere in the middle of all that excitement, I realised something beautiful.
This wasn’t really about football.
It was about belonging.
My heart already knew what my mind had been questioning for years.
Home isn’t always where you’re born. Sometimes it’s where you heal. Sometimes it’s where you grow into the person you were always meant to become.
England is where I became me.
It’s where I learnt to be independent. It’s where I found love. It’s where I became a mother. It’s where I found my purpose and built a life that I am incredibly proud of.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t choosing between countries or identities. I was simply acknowledging what my heart has known for a very long time.
I belong here.
There is something incredibly healing about finally allowing yourself to stop searching and simply accept where your soul feels at home.
For so much of my life, I thought belonging was something other people gave you. That it was determined by your birthplace, your passport, your accent, or the colour of your skin.
Now I know differently.
Belonging isn’t something you have to earn.
It is something you feel.
And sometimes, after decades of searching, it arrives quietly while you’re sitting on the sofa watching football and shouting at the television.
Life has a beautiful sense of humour sometimes.
So, if you’ve spent your life feeling like you don’t quite belong anywhere, I hope this reminds you that home isn’t always where your story begins.
Sometimes, it’s where you finally become yourself.
And for me, after forty-one years of searching, I think I’ve finally found it.
Thank you so much for reading.
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