People spend their entire lives looking for somewhere or something to call home. I found mine in my spouse and my tiny family. Coming from different continents, we have bits and pieces of familiarity surrounding us, but neither of our childhood countries felt quite like somewhere to call home. We both came from past trauma, and leaving our home countries was the best for us, particularly as my spouse could not obtain a visa in my home country, despite having established connections.

It wasn't until we found ourselves on an entirely new continent that we could see the possibilities of building a foundation for a place we could stay. My spouse moved first to get us settled and has been here three years, while I and our child only moved here a year ago, but we have started to lay down the building blocks and we can see the home taking shape.

We ended up where we are as a doctoral program saw the potential and importance of my spouse's research, unlike so many other places they presented it to. The findings carry so much opportunity for change and can make a positive impact on trans health, and all they want to do is make the world a little better and safer than how we found it. But for half a year in 2025, they encountered a physical health problem that kept them incapacitated for six months, and finally acquiring surgery in September led to recovery, but it meant six months of being unable to stay on top of their studies. They were not allowed to take a break due to their visa, and now their timeline for completing their PhD has to be pushed past the initial visa. They received a barebones monthly scholarship that has entirely gone towards rent every month, which ends on March 31st 2026, and we scrape by with my part-time minimum wage salary, but we have nothing left over for the costs ahead of us.

We didn't expect how we would feel welcomed here, being told we are honorary citizens after having been here only one year. We've learned ways of giving back by helping the community through volunteering and peer support. We didn't expect for our pains from chronic health concerns to be alleviated by the mild climate, and our mental health to slowly begin to heal from nature. Nor did we expect our child to flourish, finding belonging in this culture, doing well in school with an acceptance he's never felt, with tools and mindsets he wasn't given before. As a neurodivergent kid, he's always been told he was too difficult and needed to be constantly medicated, and is now doing well in school and participating in sports and activities, loving the library and learning.

I found a sense of belonging and a job within my expertise of animals, and for the first time ever, my skills I have learnt on my own while dealing with trauma were considered valuable.

But our journey here, and our stay so far, hasn't come without obstacles. Like so many others there is a lurking ghost behind every corner, following our shadows. For every possibility, for every chance of stability, the shadow demands payment. As many others, we struggle to meet the needs of our family with the increase of living expenses, particularly being a single income household as my spouse continues to study. I am only contracted to part-time hours, but get up at 5am and come home at 6pm, and still can't make enough for life to go around. This is also considering how we try to push through hardship in the middle of chronic pain and mental health struggles, as well as trying to give our child the upbringing he deserves, without us worrying if we'll have a roof over our heads in a month.

Everything carries a cost, maintaining our health, continuing education, helping friends and family, existing with the bare minimum, the load is severe.

But this last year, the one we've finally spent as a family, is a gift. We are just barely scraping by, and we will likely continue to do so. But we have come to a point where we can't even do that.

We cannot afford to stay in the place we have finally found home, meaning and belonging. Nor can we afford to leave.

And if we are forced to leave anyway, we will be separated once again. Out of our 7 years together, 3 or more of those have been spent apart involuntarily. Forced to stay in our home continents, saving money when there's barely anything there, waiting waiting waiting.

This doesn't just affect us anymore, as it's also affecting those that this research can help. But after lifetimes of hardship even before we met, when is it enough? All we ever wanted was to help others. But we always forgot to ask for help ourselves.

My spouse will no longer have their scholarship, which covered tuition, and a monthly stipend (covering our rent), they have tried to get work and despite having significant experience, haven't gotten anywhere with the hundreds of job applications. Immigration here wants to see proof of funds for them to extend our visas so my spouse can complete their PhD, but we don't have that. The high cost of living here hasn't led to 'savings' by any means, as all our money goes towards the bare necessities, and we are missing plenty (I miss socks without holes). My spouse's mother even refinanced her home to help us a bit for some residual things we couldn't pay before, despite being sole-income herself, having no retirement savings, and we feel immense guilt for that. The visa applications here to extend our current visas and then the next ones will cost us nearly 5000$ alone in fees, outside of proof of funds.

The cost of tuition, immigration fees, and more is all we're trying to accumulate so we can at least stay together as a family. My spouse has endured financial hardship their entire life, I just want to be able to give my family a future where we stay together, and they can see their PhD finished, and can hopefully acquire further work to improve health outcomes for our community. I feel helpless to encapsulate how important their work is. We just need help. I'm not sure what else to say, I am endless grateful for those out there who can contribute, even a little bit, to make this possible. I can't handle us being apart again, and neither can our child. Thank you for your time.