As a Czechoslovakia-born migrant to Britain, I moved to the east coast town of Boston more than ten years ago.
I’ve felt more welcomed here as my English improved, however, the more English I knew, it meant I could also understand the nasty comments I heard.
At the time I didn’t really care much about the referendum, I was too busy being a mum, working and volunteering.
Then the results came and everybody was shocked. I didn’t want to believe it, and wasn’t sure what it would mean for me.
I was more upset when my partner Paul told me – I forced him to tell me – that he voted for to leave the European Union (EU). I couldn’t believe it.
My first thought was: does he realise that he goes out with a European woman who will be affected by his vote?
I felt betrayed and hurt.
We had been together a few months then, but I seriously considered leaving him after I found out.
He explained that he voted Leave because he wanted better security for both of us. He gave me an example of an incident, where a foreign woman was assaulted and the offender was a European national, and then released from prison in his country for the same offence. The incident had happened in an area I used to go running in. Paul said this kind of thing could happen to me, and that he hoped Brexit would bring back more secure borders. This explanation made sense to me as I could familiarise myself with the case.
Well, it made sense to me then.
The idea of free movement of people is integral to Europe, but it hasn’t always been the case. 20 years ago, there were people from Eastern Europe working in Britain, before their countries even became members of the EU. For many of those people, it was hard to get work permits for general jobs like factory labour, cleaning or working in a pub.
To be more explicit; it was near impossible.
You had to have a university degree for the farmer or pub owner to employ you instead of a British national. It was impossible for the farmers to apply for our work visa as they had to prove that we were more qualified than the Brits for the job.
At the time many migrants suffered mistreatment by the gangmaster and were unable to complain, because they feared being reported to immigration officials. Illegal workers from Poland, Latvia and Lithuania worked on farms, in pack houses and hotels. They wanted to be in Britain, but they couldn’t become legal workers. It seemed like a vicious cycle.
When the Czech Republic joined the EU in 2004 and we were allowed to work legally in the UK, like other countries in the Union, I was really pleased.
Issues concerning foreign workers are personal to me. They have a direct effect on my life and future.
Once I’d moved to Boston I freely worked and studied English, had my first child, started my own business, studied more, went into another job, studied even more, all while I looked after my son. The situation developed naturally and for 11 years I lived a rather happy life in Boston.
Everyday seemed like a challenge, but every new word I learned made me more proud of myself.
There were situations when I thought about returning to the Czech Republic, like when I fell pregnant or when my son was going to start primary school. Maternity leave in my country could be as long as four years and education is of a much higher standard than in the UK. The health system is also more efficient there. Ultimately though, I decided to stay.
But what happens when Britain leaves the EU?
People in my situation still have no concrete information about our future in the UK. I gradually got annoyed by people asking me: ‘What will Brexit mean for us? Will we be sent back to our countries? Shall I apply for a permanent residency?’ I turned from a confident and optimistic person into a worried and sceptical one.
My uncertainty manifested in panic attacks. These were worse and more frequent panic attacks I had six years ago – which were triggered after my son had a few seizures and stopped breathing, went all blue and collapsed in my arms. I recently spoke to a doctor from a local mental health unit and he confirmed that anxiety attacks and depression increased in European nationals since the referendum.
I tried to function as normal, but couldn’t help becoming more and more sad, aggressive and hateful, falling into depression and feeling like I wasn’t good enough.
In November last year, Paul proposed to me, which made me happy again and brought some hope and security into my life. This moment didn’t last long and I soon felt the same apathy I was feeling before.
Migrants in Boston were provided with free translations when accessing public services or applying for benefits, but we were not given the right to vote on our own future. We could try our best to blend in, but would often receive the same hostile look or comment after we spoke with an accent. Once I was verbally attacked in local park for speaking to my son in my language.
Filming with Dateline led to many of us talking about our feelings in the wake of Brexit. I suddenly realised there are thousands of us feeling the same way.
We lost our security, the future became blurred. I finally could name it: Britain didn’t feel like home anymore.
I really thought I was doing well. The better English I spoke, the easier my life was. I did my best to learn and respect the country and its people, but I am tired of trying to become equal. Now I know I will never be equal here.
I do not care much about the next elections, as I am not entitled to vote. All I know is I have a beautiful country, where I feel safe and where I feel like one of ‘us’, not ‘them’.
I am ready now to finally go back there should the conditions of my stay in this country change for the worst.
