You’ll Never Really Belong—And That’s the Part No One Warns You About Living Abroad

Let’s just get this out of the way: moving abroad is exciting. New country, new language, new foods, new you. You post that airport selfie, your inbox fills with “so jealous!” messages, and for a while, yeah—it feels like you made it. You escaped. You figured out the secret.

But give it a few months. Maybe a year. The sparkle wears off. Suddenly, you’re just a foreigner with a residency card, trying to figure out how to ask for the good cheese without accidentally offending someone’s grandma.

Here’s the truth: no matter how long you live in a new country, you will always be an outsider. Always. It’s not personal, it’s structural. You weren’t born there, you didn’t grow up in the culture, and there’s an entire layer of shared references, social codes, and language nuance you may never fully access. And that feeling—that low-level, daily reminder that you’re not really from here—can mess with your head.

I’ve lived abroad long enough to know the signs. You laugh politely at jokes you don’t get. You double-check your tone in every conversation. You smile through awkward silences where you thought you answered the question correctly. Locals are friendly, but you’re rarely “in.” You’re invited, but not included. You’re around, but not inside.

Now let’s talk about the cultural disconnects.

This is where things start to sneak up on you. You might share the same values on paper—family, respect, honesty—but how those things look in daily life? Completely different. Maybe here, honesty sounds blunt. Maybe their idea of friendliness feels invasive. Maybe your casual sarcasm reads as rudeness. You start second-guessing everything. Should I hug? Do I take my shoes off? Did I just ruin this conversation by mentioning politics?

These aren’t just quirks—they’re tiny social landmines that make everyday life feel like a test you never studied for. And failing that test over and over again, even in small ways, wears you down.

And that’s where the emotional impact creeps in.
It’s not the big blowouts that break you—it’s the quiet erosion. Feeling misunderstood becomes your baseline. Your confidence takes subtle hits. You start shrinking a bit in conversations, defaulting to “smile and nod” mode because it’s easier than explaining yourself again. Some days, you miss speaking your native language not because of grammar or vocabulary, but because it feels like you can finally be fully you—funny, sharp, expressive, fast.

Then there’s the homesickness, which isn’t always about missing a place. It’s missing familiarity. Knowing how things work. Being able to walk into a room and just get the vibe. Knowing the lyrics to the songs playing in the background. Not having to mentally rehearse a sentence before asking where the damn bus stop is.

All of that builds up. And for many expats, this invisible emotional weight turns into depression, isolation, even resentment. You start asking questions like, “Did I make a mistake?” or “Why can’t I just feel at home here?” And because no one wants to admit they’re struggling—especially after making a big, bold move—you bottle it up. Smile for the selfies. Post the beach shots. Keep up the illusion.

But behind the curtain, the truth is this: many expats don’t stay forever because they get tired of feeling like a guest in their own life. They want a sense of home again. Not adventure. Not escape. Just home. And that’s okay.

So if you’re thinking of moving abroad, do it. Chase the adventure. Try the weird food. Learn the language. But also, go in knowing the trade-offs. Not everyone gets homesick. Not everyone feels like an outsider. But many, many do—and pretending it’s all just sunshine and tapas doesn’t help anyone.