MY EU settled status email arrived on a Saturday morning, four years to the day after I had been granted pre-settled status.

It was one of those lovely, crisp autumn mornings in Scotland when the light cuts perfectly through the chill. We were getting ready for our son’s football practice, the sunlight brightening the day’s sense of promise.

I wasn’t expecting an answer quite so soon. But there it was, sitting in my inbox: the email titled “Your EU Settlement Application.”

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My heart skipped a beat as I clicked on the attachment. The words were official, almost bureaucratic, but they hit me like a wave of relief: “I am pleased to inform you that your application under the EU Settlement Scheme has been successful and that you have been granted Indefinite Leave in the United Kingdom under paragraph EU2 of Appendix EU to the Immigration Rules. This is also referred to as settled status.”

“I got it!” I shouted across the football pitch, waving towards my husband, who was holding our son’s hand as he shyly observed the other kids. My husband’s face lit up, and our eyes met in a moment of shared relief and happiness.

For an instant, our gaze shifted to our son, and we both thought the same thing: Our child is British now. Born in Scotland, raised here, and now, thanks to my settled status, officially and automatically part of this place in a way that felt, suddenly, permanent.

What struck me most about the whole process was just how seamless it had been. After I re-entered my details from scratch, the system took over, verifying my residency through tax records, confirming that I had been living in the UK for the required five years.

No extra documentation, no tedious requests for proof of residence. Just a straightforward, almost casual, acknowledgement that I met the criteria. It was done, just like that.

It felt surreal how easily this life-changing moment had arrived. One click, one email, and suddenly, my place in this country was secure.

Reflecting on it now, the process was remarkably smooth for me, but I’m all too aware that this isn’t the case for everyone. I know people who have been stuck in a bureaucratic nightmare, gathering document after document, spending money they didn’t have on translators and legal help, and still being left in limbo.

My swift confirmation felt like a strange stroke of luck – a reminder of how arbitrary immigration systems can be.

That morning, as we watched our son run around the field, the weight of what had just happened began to sink in. Settled status – it sounds like such a technical term, a piece of legal jargon. But in reality, it meant something far deeper – the right to stay, to belong. It marked the culmination of years spent building a life here in Scotland.

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When I first arrived in Scotland more than six years ago, Brexit was already looming large. I’d come in the aftermath of the vote, when the country was grappling with the deep divisions and consequences of the referendum. The rhetoric at the time was toxic, especially for EU citizens.

We were framed as “queue jumpers,” supposedly exploiting the system – an accusation that Theresa May, the prime minister at the time, made. That phrase stuck with me, lingering in my mind as I navigated the uncertainty of life in a post-Brexit UK.

I never felt hostility from the people of Scotland – quite the opposite. Scotland’s warmth and openness stood in stark contrast to the messages coming from Westminster.

But that period marked me. I was angry at the result of the vote, furious that the UK had turned its back on the values of openness and cooperation that I hold dear. Back then, the idea of ever applying for British citizenship was unthinkable.

Why would I want to align myself with a country that had made it so clear that people like me weren’t welcome?

But six years later, here I am. Settled status in hand, contemplating something I never thought I would: applying for British citizenship. If someone had suggested this to me in 2018, I would have laughed them off. But now, it feels like a logical step.

My life, our life, is here. We’ve built something meaningful in Scotland – friendships, a community, a home. Our son is growing up in Edinburgh, and I think I can hear a distinctively Leith accent in his voice.

Still, I know this won’t last forever. As much as Scotland feels like home, I’m acutely aware that the future is unpredictable. Our parents are ageing, and I can foresee a time when we might need to return to France.

Settled status gives me the right to leave the UK for up to five years without losing my ability to return, but beyond that, my status would lapse. In some ways, it’s a ticking clock – a quiet reminder that nothing is truly permanent.

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This is why the question of citizenship looms large. Would it provide the security I need? Would it allow me to move between the UK and the EU without fear of losing my place here?

The answer, pragmatically, is yes. Citizenship would give me the right to vote in general elections – something I’ve longed to do for years – and would mean I could come and go without worrying about residency rules.

But citizenship is a loaded subject. People have strong opinions about who should get it, how long they should wait, and whether their reasons are pure enough.

In France, we’ve had this debate for years. Xenophobes love to claim some people are “French on paper only,” as if your loyalty to a country can be quantified or questioned. I can almost hear someone saying, “Assa, you’re not applying for the right reasons. You should be doing this out of a love for Britain.”

To me, that’s absurd. Life isn’t that straightforward. Sometimes, you apply for citizenship not because of some deep emotional attachment but because it’s the practical, sensible thing to do. I don’t need to feel a sweeping, all-encompassing love for the UK to justify my decision.

I respect the values and laws of this country, and that’s enough.

After all, becoming a British citizen doesn’t even require you to swear allegiance to the monarch. You simply pledge to respect the laws and uphold democratic values, which feels perfectly reasonable to me.

As I watched my son playing that Saturday, laughing and kicking the ball around, I couldn’t help but think about how natural his connection to this country is. He was born here, he’ll grow up here, attend school here, and make his earliest memories in Scotland.

For him, this is home in the truest sense. His connection to this place is seamless, effortless, in a way mine may never be. But that’s okay. I love that he’s part of this country in a way that feels more permanent than I ever imagined.

In a year’s time, I’ll be eligible to apply for British citizenship. I don’t know if I’ll feel the same about it then as I do now, but I do know one thing: I’m no longer conflicted.

Life changes, and I want to be prepared for whatever the future holds. Scotland has given me and my family more than I ever expected when we first arrived. And now, this country is a part of me too. Whether I apply for citizenship or not, this place has become home in ways that go beyond paperwork or status.

In the end, belonging isn’t about why you apply for citizenship or whether your reasons are good enough. It’s about the life you build and the connections you make.

For me, that’s more than enough.