I moved my family from Australia to New York City 12 years ago. It's led to some very expensive regrets.

It was my lifelong dream to live in New York City.

Wild, given that I was born in a small rural town in Australia, where I grew up riding dirt bikes, not reading fashion magazines.

The Land Down Under was a big, beautiful place offering an idyllic, laid-back beach life, but I always felt a pull toward The Big Apple.

That lust further ignited in the ’90s as I watched the city depicted in shows like “Friends” and “Sex and the City.” So in 2014, on the cusp of turning 40, I dragged my husband, our Bengal cat, and our two sons — then 2 and 9 — to New York.

We told ourselves we’d come for a year, for an adventure.

Twelve years later, I’m still here.

It’s certainly been one hell of a (ridiculously expensive) ride.

In New York City, rental costs are no joke.

We traded our beautiful 1890s cottage — three-bedroom, two-bath, front porch, huge yard, tree-lined street, 10 minutes from Bondi Beach — for a two-bedroom loft apartment in Tribeca that cost us $8,000 a month. (This is not unusual for a two-bed in this neighborhood.) By comparison, the monthly mortgage on our cottage in Sydney was, after conversion, less than half of that price.

Still, we knew we were choosing to live in a more expensive neighborhood in Lower Manhattan, and we did so because it felt like a great place to raise our kids.

We loved the community, the quiet cobblestone streets, and the access to Hudson River Park.

Our loft was essentially a large box, with windows only at the front.

It was also a fifth-floor walk-up, and between the angry downstairs neighbors who complained constantly about the sound of kids moving around and the fact that I had to carry a toddler and a stroller up five brutal flights of stairs, we left in under a year.

We moved around the corner to another loft, this one even more expensive, and lasted a little over a year until the building was condemned and we had to move — again.

At one point, my husband and I had considered buying a property in NYC with our nest egg, but we didn’t have a clue how to navigate the competitive real-estate market, and it seemed clear we’d only get a teeny apartment for our budget.

The math didn’t add up, and the risk of owning freaked us out.

So we kept rolling the dice on renting.

Between my husband and me separating, the kids outgrowing smaller apartments, and landlords unexpectedly hiking up the rent, I’ve moved about 10 times since coming to the US.

A financial reprieve in NYC is that public education is free, though school admissions can be complicated, with factors like zoning and lottery systems shaping where kids end up.

Thankfully, both of my boys got into a highly regarded public school in Manhattan, and I was impressed with their education.

I was also glad we (mostly) dodged expensive private schools — except when my youngest attended a language-immersion school for about $30,000 a year.

He came out knowing basic Mandarin, which would have been worth the investment — only he’s since forgotten all of it.

After graduating from high school, my oldest was accepted into a prestigious university in the Midwest to study engineering.

Sure, he could’ve attended a more affordable or in-state school, but a lot of “New York rats” (that’s what my boys proudly call themselves) want to leave the city they grew up in — and their parents — to go to college somewhere else.

Getting into a respected college also felt like a major flex, and we all felt the pressure for him to attend, no matter the cost.

So, his dad and I haggled over merit and financial aid and took out student loans to cover his first year.

Add kitting out his dorm room, him blowing up our Seamless account (despite having a paid meal plan), and the costs of us flying out to visit and flying him home … year one probably cost around $70,000.

He didn’t end up staying after his first year, which meant our student loans were due far sooner than we planned.

The silver lining of not completing his degree is that, unlike many college graduates in the US, he’s not saddled with four years’ worth of debt.

Our rent, as established, doesn’t leave much in the budget for vacations — or for airfare back to Australia to see family and friends.

As Aussies, our ideal time to go home is around Christmas, when it’s summer there, and many people are off work and school.

However, that privilege can set us back upward of $4,000 in round-trip airfare alone for the four of us.

On top of that, each way, we’d have to take two flights, totaling over 22 hours in the air.

In my opinion, we need three weeks for a proper trip Down Under, especially as I have to visit my loved ones in two cities.

Considering our sons’ public schools only granted about a week off around that time of year, it rarely seemed worth the money or jet lag.

This also explains why we typically only make it home every other year.

Some costs are even harder to reconcile with when living on a separate continent and in a different time zone from so many loved ones.

From afar, I’m watching my mum age from 10,000 miles away (she just turned 80), and how my sister must carry the load of caring for our father as he faces health issues.

There are so many milestone birthdays, weddings, funerals, and family events I’ve missed and can never get back.

To be clear, a lot of these costs were tied to choices we made as we sought to give our family a certain kind of life in NYC.

Despite the emotional and financial pain, do I regret moving?

This city has an incredible, lively vibe.

We’ve forged deep friendships, created new traditions, and lapped up the electrifying culture on tap.

I also feel connected to the world in a way I never did in Australia; I can be in the Caribbean in about four hours, Europe in seven — and I’ve met people from all walks of life.

There’s an energy and diversity here you won’t find anywhere else in the world, along with a feeling that you can do anything.

Regardless of any financial regrets and mistakes from the past 12 years, New York City is home.