While she still speaks English with her mother's South London twang, Stanlick says she both feels and comes across as completely Swedish.
"After all of what's happened to me, a couple of my childhood friends turned round and said to me [she puts on an astounded tone of voice] 'are you English?'. I do speak Swedish fluently. People don't realise that I'm not Swedish."
Stanlick says she only discovered that she needed to apply for post-Brexit residency before the deadline on December 31st, 2021, because her son was trying to get British citizenship at the time and stumbled upon the text on the Migration Agency's website.
"He phoned me up and he said, "you do realise that as Brits in Sweden, we have to apply for a new residencies here?' and I said, 'no, because I've got permanent residency so I don't have to apply for anything. I've been here for 40 years. That doesn't apply to us and he went, 'no, I think you're wrong'. "So me and my mum went in and had a look, and my mum said, 'well, we have to apply'."
The three of them managed to get the paperwork in just before the deadline. But while her son and her mother both got awarded post-Brexit residency, Stanlick was refused.
The Migration Agency argued that because she had been unemployed for a few months in the preceding five years, and this unemployment was deemed 'voluntary', the she was not entitled to a permit under the EU right of residency rules used to decide on post-Brexit residency.
"I asked the Migration Agency, 'why am I getting punished for something the country that I was born in has decided?'," she says. "I wasn't even there to vote for it, and and I'm getting punished for it. I can't get my head around that."
She says she never remotely considered that handing in her notice would have such an impact.
"I was working as a traffic warden. I had enough abuse and I was getting quite depressed and I couldn't have known this would happen. I see myself as a Swede and have always seen myself as a Swede, so for me, I've got the same rights as the Swedes have. And if I don't enjoy my job, I've got the right to resign."
Now she is working two jobs – one at the IKEA in Kungens Kurva in Stockholm and the other at the Pressbyrån newsagent at the Stockholmsmässan conference centre. She was considering taking a third to make sure her salary reaches the requirement for renewing a work permit (currently 30,640 kronor a month), until her English mother pointed out that would mean so many hours it would be "unhealthy".
It is only when her permit comes up for renewal next August that she will find out if she gets to stay in the country where she has lived her whole life for another two-year stint.
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Cases of Brits facing deportation from Sweden due to Brexit are back in the news because the temporary residency permits many of those rejected for post-Brexit residency were encouraged to apply for, on the basis of work or family, are now coming up for renewal.
As well as Stanlick's case, which has been reported in the Dagens Nyheter newspaper, the Guardian newspaper has also reported on the case of the retired nurse Joyce Thomas, and Horace 'George' Mason, who is facing deportation despite receiving care in a home for elderly people with severe dementia.
"The reason why we're still seeing them now is because a lot of cans were kicked down the road," argues David Milstead, the Stockholm University physicist who advises and campaigns for the rights of British people in Sweden affected by Brexit.
"People were offered temporary residence permits under national law, but that runs out, and then people end up having residence difficulties. So to some extent, this is a kind of aftershock."
Stanlick initially tried to apply for residency based on her relationship with her daughter, now 16, who is a Swedish citizen and lives with her full-time. The Migration Agency refused her application, arguing that because her daughter's father lives in Sweden and has joint custody, the mother and daughter were not sufficiently dependent on one another.
"It makes me angry because she lives with permanently with me and I saw how it stressed her out, and how she got depressed over it, and and it just upsets me," Stanlick says. "It upsets me that the country where I've lived in all of my life is trying to find every excuse to get me out."
If she does end up having to move to the UK, she would be leaving everything behind – her family, her friends and her flat – and have very little to go to, with only her brother still left in Thamesmead, the area of southeast London where she spent the first few years of her life.
"I've got no one. My dad's died, so I haven't got my dad to turn to, and all my grandparents are gone," she says. "My whole world is here in Sweden. All my roots are here in Sweden. My childhood friends, my children, my grandchildren. I've got a son that's buried on Swedish ground. My mum's here. My stepdad's here. Everyone's here that that I care about, and they want to sent me back to a country just because I was born in it."