After more than a decade of Danish hygge, cycling through sleet, and learning to pronounce words made up mainly of vowel sounds, my family and I have moved back to the UK. And it’s been … bewildering. My Scandi adventure began as a one-year experiment when my husband’s job at Lego took us to Jutland, and I worked as a Scandinavia correspondent. But we found we loved living Danishly. We had three children – all born into a health system that to this day leaves me in awe. And I dedicated 12 years to researching what makes the Nordic countries so special (as well as where they fall short). I enjoyed a more straightforward existence, where once you knew the (very clear) social rules and how to play by them, life was relatively easy. But in September we head back to the UK, driven by family and work commitments. We moved to the countryside, swapping Danish bakeries and design shops for tractors and a scarcity of street lights. My children miss their friends, their school, the only home they’ve ever known and the culture they have grown up in. We’ve had to start over. The question is: can we bring a slice of Denmark home with us, or have I ruined British life for ever by becoming too Danish? Here are 10 lessons I’m holding on to.
1 Janteloven: you’re not all that, and that’s fine
Denmark’s social rule of janteloven – the idea that “you’re no better than anyone else” – keeps everyone grounded. Its education system is rooted in equality, with children calling teachers by their first names and collaboration prioritised over competition. There’s a flat hierarchical structure and high taxes help redistribute wealth – not a terrible plan since more equal societies are happier and healthier. Living Danishly means no one cares what car you drive, for example, and if they do, they’re incredibly dull. Back in the UK, this mindset helps keep a sense of perspective in a place where hierarchy is alive and well. It means not being overly impressed by status, titles or wealth – and I’m teaching my children to follow suit (overheard during a playdate: “My dad drives a Porsche!” My child: “But is he happy?”).
2 Trust is the glue of society
Danes trust their neighbours, institutions and even strangers, with 74% believing “most people can be trusted”. So, babies are left to nap outside in their prams, children roam freely and people sell secondhand clothes from “trust stands” outside their homes. In the UK, trust can feel harder to come by, but it’s still there. While I probably wouldn’t have left my babies to sleep outside here (without risking being reported to social services), it’s not quite the dystopian hellscape the algorithms might have us believe. When a parent I’d never met found out that we’d just moved and didn’t have a bike for a school outing, they lent me their son’s (plus helmet). No questions asked. The trust that I so valued in Denmark has tiny shoots poking through in UK communities. I want to foster this in my family; trusting others can become a self-fulfilling prophecy – with our expectations for the behaviour of others proven to increase the likelihood of that behaviour, according to the founder of modern sociology, Robert K Merton.
3 Work-life balance isn’t a myth
The Danes are masters of the work-life balance, with a 37-hour work week as standard and OECD figures showing that the average Dane puts in only 33 hours a week. “It’s changed!” someone will always wail, with nostalgic Danes fearing this way of life is on its way out. But the balance is still better than elsewhere. I once visited Lego HQ at 5pm and the multistorey car park was empty. The result? Lower stress and higher productivity. Returning to the UK’s hustle culture means the familiar rock-in-stomach stress from my London years resurfaces occasionally, but I’m holding on to the Danish ethos. This means no work between school pick-up and the kids’ bedtime, because this is sacred family time (child-free Danes tend to prioritise leisure activities in this 4-7pm slot since Danish office hours are typically 8-4pm). On the days when my husband works from home, he tries to do the same. After the children are in bed, I may resume work if deadlines are looming. But studies show that we’re more productive when we’re well rested, so I know I’ll do a better job tomorrow if I sleep well tonight. Emails can wait, weekends are sacred. And burnout helps no one (believe me, I’ve tried that too).
4 Rain or shine, get outside (somehow)
Friluftsliv, or “open-air life”, is deeply ingrained in Nordic culture and spending time in nature has been shown to reduce stress. In Denmark, there’s “no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes” as the proverb goes, and we’ve gone on family walks in snow, hail and rain that would make Noah reconsider his life choices. I’m sticking with friluftsliv in the UK, even if passersby give me strange looks (“You do know it’s raining?” Me: “Yes?”). Danes famously cycle everywhere, but this is a riskier proposition here. Gone are Denmark’s generous bike lanes and instead cyclists confront cars at full pelt on hairpin bends. The new plan? I’ve borrowed a teenager’s mountain bike and joined an off-road bike group to make the most of misty mornings, frost-covered fields and spectacular sunrises.
5 Family meals without the fuss
One of the greatest gifts from our Danish years is the habit of eating together. This is non-negotiable – TV off, phones away and everyone at the table for a home-cooked meal, proven to improve mental and physical health as well as our relationships. Thanks to a short working week, a daily family dinner is entirely possible in Denmark and tends to be eaten early, something our metabolism and gut health apparently thank us for.
Danish food is unapologetically practical, designed to fuel rather than dazzle. Lunches might consist of hearty smørrebrød, and dinners are simple yet satisfying. Danes do indulgence well, too, with cakes, pastries, and an endless supply of salted liquorice. I’ve embraced this functional food philosophy back in the UK, bulk-buying rye bread and sticking with basic, balanced meals (though Denmark can keep its salted liquorice). Everyone’s starving by 5.30pm, so instead of filling up on snacks, we’ll eat dinner early, then have something else later if we’re peckish. On days when the schedule’s particularly hectic, one or more of us will eat on the hoof. Tupperware boxes are laden with hard-boiled eggs, chopped veg, cheese and great wedges of Lurpak on rye (Danes spread generously and even have a word, tandsmør or “tooth butter”, for when you slather so much butter on bread that teeth leave bitemarks. Bliss…). It’s not perfect, but it works. Just. Life here is busier, but between inevitable sibling rows and broccoli protests, there are moments of connection around the table that make it all worthwhile.
6 Volunteering is vital
Nearly half of Danes volunteer, contributing to their communities through clubs, events and schools. In Denmark, if you want something – whether it’s a football team or a book club – you roll up your sleeves and make it happen. So here in the UK I’m leaning in to community events and volunteering at my local library. Ideally, there wouldn’t have been a decline in council-run libraries across the UK, but because there is I’m doing what I can. If Denmark taught me anything, it’s that small acts of service build stronger communities.
7 Embracing hygge beyond the hype
Before hygge was hijacked by Instagram, the Danish art of cosiness meant slowing down, switching off and sharing quality time in relaxed surroundings (accepting that the best evenings don’t involve wifi). Danes prioritise daily moments of joy, so when the world feels like it’s on fire, they can cope and keep fighting the good fight. And it works, with Danes voted among the happiest people on Earth. British life is more frenetic, but I’m determined to pause and savour the small things like a well-brewed coffee or candles while I work (a surprisingly effective productivity hack that keeps me from wandering off to the fridge or to put on laundry, thanks to my fear of leaving a naked flame unattended).
8 Independence is a gift
Vikings are allowed to take risks, learn from mistakes and develop independence early on. From two-year-olds dressing themselves to eight-year-olds cycling to school alone, there’s a collective confidence in giving children freedom in Denmark, which helps them flourish. A phrase beloved by my children’s teachers was that adults should “sit on their hands” – ie do nothing and let children work things out for themselves. In the UK, there’s more of a tendency to swoop in to help, and my natural impulse was to cocoon my children in bubble wrap. But during my research into Nordic childrearing, I’ve learned the value of sitting on my hands. Letting them take age-appropriate risks, exercise autonomy and climb some seriously high trees has been hard, but watching them thrive has been worth it. There is a certain confidence and sense of mastery that comes from knowing how to make a bivouac, build a campfire, or just from running a little wild. Especially for girls, who typically play outside in nature less than boys from preschool onwards, according to research from the University of Exeter. My daughter knows that she’s the best climber in our house and can regularly be found two and half metres up a tree, to the alarm of passing dog walkers. But she is happy, so I am, too. And if you ever see me talking to a tree, it’s probably because one of my children is up it.
9 Less really is more
Danish minimalism goes beyond design; it’s a way of life. From clothes to home decor, the approach taught me the beauty of having fewer things, of higher quality. Danes are a thrifty bunch (see high taxes) so these are often preloved, but even more modest homes have a few design touches. I’ve taken this to heart, keeping our UK home intentionally sparse – half of our belongings are still in boxes. I’m resisting the urge to clutter and fill every space. Instead, I’m focusing on creating a home that’s functional, cosy, and uniquely ours while observing the golden rules of Danish interiors (no big light; plenty of lamps; natural materials and tactile fabrics).
10 But being friendly never hurt anyone
The kindness I experienced in Denmark didn’t always come quickly. There’s a general consensus that although people will help if you ask, they won’t offer. It was explained to me that this is because Vikings are independent, with autonomy so valued in Danish society. In pockets of England, however, people love getting in your business. Everyone knows what’s going on. At all times. Often, before I do. But you know what? As a new arrival, I’m all for it. I had neighbours in Denmark who didn’t speak to me for eight years. Here, I’ve moved straight into an episode of The Archers (my youngest has even picked up the accent). One new neighbour sent me the most insanely useful list of everything I might need to know in my new home (library, doctors, dentists). Another dropped off a lemon drizzle cake. The proactive help we have received has been totally unexpected and hugely appreciated.
Leaving Denmark was one of the hardest decisions of my life. It’s counterintuitive to walk away from a life that’s been so good – and it’s easier to be happy in the Nordic countries where the reasons for unhappiness are removed or at least lessened. The true task is implementing all I’ve learned about living Danishly and raising Vikings – outside the Nordic bubble. In Denmark, life was neat, efficient and orderly. In the UK, nothing is. Instead, it’s cobbled together. There’s a patchwork of old varnish on every available surface in cafes and public spaces, with scuffed walls and worn carpets (as my youngest put it: “Everything in England is just … stickier”). But what the UK lacks in non-tacky surfaces, it makes up for in culture, diversity, humour and biscuits. It’s a balancing act, integrating what I loved about Denmark with the life we’re creating here, but I’m hopeful. As I settle back in the UK, I’m holding these 10 lessons close to help me stay grounded. After all, home isn’t just where you live – it’s how you live.
• How to Raise a Viking: The Secrets of Parenting the World’s Happiest Children, by Helen Russell, is out now in paperback (4th Estate). To support the Guardian and Observer, order your copy from guardianbookshop.com .
