The good news is, I left the States as a well-known makeup artist within my city's fashion scene and can look forward to an interesting and creative career once my spouse visa is granted. I may hold on to my US Citizenship, though, since a major selling point, to me, of becoming a British citizen was being able to work and travel freely within the EU. Paris and Milan might still be in my future, but the script faces re-writes.
On a final related note, the worst part, by far, is hearing all the stories of emboldened racists throughout the UK attacking Middle Eastern, Eastern European, and Asian people with cries of hateful triumph, none of which I've faced so far because, you know, I'm white (mostly--some Native American and Southeast Asian going on in this bloodstream) and speak near-flawless, if Americanised, English. If I make it to the Anti-Brexit rally in York this Saturday (not likely because Paul and I are going on holiday), I plan to hold signs that say "I'm an immigrant, too"/ "We're all foreigners someplace". And so help me, Wedge, if my xenophobic father-in-law, who once referred to Shadiq Kahn as a "Paki" like that was the only vote of no confidence necessary in his right to serve as London's mayor, ever refers to me as an "expat", I am going to make him take all the seats so fast his spine's going to look like an accordion. I am an IMMIGRANT, motherfucker. IMMI-to-the-GRANT. Say it, accept it, BELIEVE IT.