We moved to Sweden for my husband's job 4 years ago. Now, we're struggling to keep the life we worked so hard to build.

• After my husband got a job in Sweden, our American family relocated and put down roots here.
• When my husband's game studio closed a few years later, we saw just how fragile those roots were.
• Now we're fighting to stay in the country we've made our home, while preparing to say goodbye.

I've never had a problem with commitment.

I got married at 18, and our relationship is still going strong 23 years later. Ten years ago, I started my own business and never looked back.

When something feels right, I don't waste time keeping my options open. I go all in. So when my husband, Jarrod, got a video-game development job in Sweden in 2022, we committed.

We bought a home, enrolled our son in school, registered my business, and started learning the language. We made friends, shopped local, and got Swedish driver's licenses.

Unfortunately, none of that matters much when your visa is tied to an employer.

At first, moving to Sweden felt like a smart plan — and we adapted well

To be clear, uprooting our lives to live in another country wasn't a willy-nilly decision.

Before agreeing to the job and the move, we visited Skövde in person and met with several founding members of Jarrod's prospective studio. It seemed as well-managed and stable as any game studio can be, and Jarrod was excited to jump into the role as art director.

Plus, there were several other video-game studios in town. Video games can be a fickle business, and this meant there could be other local employment opportunities if something went sideways.

We also checked out the schools and the housing market. We ended up buying a great home on Billingen Mountain.

It's big enough for two home offices, a playroom, and a guest room for our American family and friends — but with a small yard, so the maintenance isn't overwhelming.

The yard even has an apple tree with a swing that's the perfect size for our son, and he stops to play on it every day when he gets home from school.

As much as we missed our friends and family back in the US, we spent the next few years settling into a lovely life in Sweden.

We continued practicing the language and building community — and got very accustomed to the affordable childcare and accessible healthcare.

We adapted to the seasons and local quirks, too. I created a sunset coffee routine to survive the winter when the sun sets shortly after 3 p.m. And I bought blackout curtains for when the sun sets after 10 p.m. in the summer.

Sweden truly became our home; a place we could imagine living in for the long haul.

My husband's job loss reminded us that the life we had here was built on fragile ground

A few years later, when Jarrod's studio closed with little warning, we were reminded that our life here was contingent on that job.

As Americans here on a work visa, even homeownership doesn't grant us the right to stay in Sweden. And with his particular permit, Jarrod was given three months to find a comparable position or leave the country.

Unfortunately, the economy has shifted since we created our contingency plan. A large percentage of local game studios had closed, and none of the remaining ones had art-director positions available.

So, Jarrod's job search extended to surrounding cities, like Gothenburg and Stockholm.

Unfortunately, finding another position in an already struggling industry has proven harder than we'd anticipated. Plus, hiring a non-citizen feels like a big ask because of the bureaucratic red tape and costs that can come with it.

Thankfully, my business earns enough to cover our expenses. So even before Jarrod's job search began, I contacted the Swedish Migration Agency office to let them know we are self-sufficient.

Meanwhile, Jarrod began working with several former colleagues to launch a new game studio, creating their own employment opportunities in an industry where jobs were disappearing.

However, until the studio can pay him a salary, that work doesn't qualify as employment for immigration purposes. Ultimately, the agency has asked us to leave, and we have formally appealed that decision.

I began wondering if it was naive of me to think we could build a life in Sweden — maybe even entitled.

We'd come here legally, paid taxes, learned the language, and bought a property. It was frustrating to feel like all of the ways we've integrated into the country over the past years didn't seem to matter.

We're fighting to stay, but preparing to leave

For now, I'm continuing to run my business in Sweden; my husband is trying to build his; and we're working through the appeal process with the help of our local attorney to see if we can remain here.

Each time I check the mail, I hold my breath. Best-case scenario: I get notified that our visa has been renewed for two more years. Worst-case scenario: I find a notice of denial and a legal demand that we leave by a certain date. Most likely scenario: our Telia phone bill.

Despite everything, I don't think the lesson here is to live with reservations moving forward. Committing less wouldn't have made the last four years any better.

I don't know whether we'll get to stay in this country — but I do know that when our son gets home from school tomorrow, he's going to stop for a swing under our apple tree.

And even if our time here ends up being temporary, buying a home and assimilating to life in Sweden has been an unforgettable adventure for all of us.

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