Countless times I've heard the refrain: 'You're so lucky!' or 'Why move to Denmark when London's bustling with possibilities?' Occasionally, it's followed by 'It's your choice,' laced with both envy and nonchalance. Perhaps only fellow expats truly understand—the shared journey, whether flying solo or with companions.
Indeed, my expat journey is a true-life journey of self-discovery, character-building, and survival skills 101 altogether. The stress and challenges an expat encounter—partner in hand or not—are frequently overlooked. Many simply soldier on without granting themselves a moment to fully absorb the gravity of their transition. It IS a seismic shift in life—from redefining normalcy in daily routines and habits to acclimating to new cultures, climates, and even navigation systems (oh, the UK vs. Europe conundrum!)—every single thing on top of changing jobs or graduating from school.
Over sixteen years abroad, carving my own path in two countries, I've often found myself in defence mode—justifying my choices to family, friends, and even passing acquaintances. People are captivated and enchanted by the seemingly vibrant life I have led overseas in the best of times. But when the going gets tough? 'It's your choice,' they say, brushing aside my struggles and dismissing my effort. I have quickly learnt to stop defending my life decisions just because they don’t fit into someone else’s perspective or life goals. I can't expect a creature of the tropics to comprehend the allure of the chill.
The expat struggle isn't all glitz and glamour—navigating systems, integrating, language barriers, job searches—it's a rollercoaster. And because our challenges don't often make the highlight reel, some imagine we're simply living the dream. That 'you're so lucky' compliment? It stings, infuriates, almost humiliates. Why 'lucky'? The lush lawn of expat life is tended with perseverance and dedication, not merely serendipity. Each expat narrative is its own odyssey, and still, we battle common adversaries. There's no universal playbook to smooth out the creases of expat life. When I left my high-flying fashion career to return to London, some called it madness; yet for me, it was a reconnection, an ode to an unfulfilled aspiration from graduation days. But let's not gloss over it—the struggle was palpable, from flat hunting to job searching to reweaving personal and professional alliances.
Life as an expat is more art than science, a tapestry of the bitter and the sweet—it's a journey distinctly my own, yet it mirrors the footsteps of countless others. Consider the less-romantic facets—the torturous wait for a GP, the hollowness in a silent flat when illness strikes, the homesickness scratching at the door. Some days, it sets the perfect backdrop for an existential crisis, turning your world upside down and inside out to question every decision you've made, especially the one that landed you here. It's in those moments, the silent, challenging parts of the expat life, where the gloss of 'luck' fades. Because the most vibrant scenes don't include braving storms alone or nights when your laptop is your only warmth against an unfamiliar city's hum.
And sometimes, the loneliness creeps in—not in the sense of being alone and unable to integrate, but lacking someone to share the same sentiment or connection for something you miss or yearn for. No matter the eloquence of your exposition, it's lost in translation. It's that in-between, a vacuum space, a limbo where you find yourself—a space neither here nor there, a heart with many homes yet uncertain of its anchor. Yet, it's not a tale of woe but one of resilience—the small, mighty steps to getting through one more day, of weaving a safety net from scratch across oceans and time zones. It's an invisible, all-encompassing badge we wear, not for show but for ourselves—a testament to our determination.
Thank you to this expat for sharing their experiences; they are much appreciated :-)
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