The Grief I Didn’t Expect: Living as an Expat

I didn’t expect to grieve when I moved abroad.

I was chasing a dream—new adventures, new languages, new people. I packed my bags with excitement, with hope, with curiosity. And for a while, it was everything I imagined. Beautiful streets, different rhythms, a chance to reinvent myself. But underneath the novelty, something quieter began to take shape.

A kind of homesickness, but deeper. A longing for familiarity. A slow ache that I couldn’t quite name.

Eventually, I realized what I was feeling was grief.

The Grief of Leaving Everything Behind

Becoming an expat means saying goodbye—to people, places, and parts of yourself. I left behind my family, my friendships, my language, my routines. I left behind things I didn’t even know I’d miss: the way a cashier greets you in your hometown, the smell of a specific season, the shorthand you have with lifelong friends.

You don’t really understand how rooted you are until you try to grow somewhere else.

And as much as I tried to “lean in” and embrace the new life, part of me was always holding on to what I lost. The first holidays away from home hit hard. Time zone differences made quick calls feel like a chore. I watched life continue back home—birthdays, funerals, milestones—and I wasn’t there. That absence became its own kind of pain.

The Loneliness in the Middle

What makes this grief so complicated is that it often feels invisible. I chose this life. I’m the one who left. So how can I complain? How can I mourn when others think I’m living the dream?

But grief doesn’t care if you made the choice. It comes anyway.

There’s also the strange in-betweenness. I don’t fully belong “here,” but I’m no longer completely “there” either. I’ve become someone else in the process—shaped by a new culture, a new language, a new way of being. And sometimes, I wonder if anyone from my old life would even recognize this version of me.

 

Learning to Hold Both

Over time, I’ve learned to hold both love and loss at the same time. To celebrate what I’ve gained without denying what I’ve let go of.

Yes, I miss my old life.
Yes, I love my new one.
Both can be true.

Grief isn’t just about death—it’s about change. About what we leave behind. And for expats, that change is constant. We’re always balancing the pull of home with the push toward the unknown.

 

Finding Connection in the Unspoken

What’s helped me most is connecting with others who understand. Other expats who get it. Therapists who can hold space for complex grief. Friends—old and new—who don’t expect me to “just be grateful,” but who can sit with me in the messy middle.

And honestly? Giving myself permission to feel all of it—without guilt—has been the most healing part.

Grief isn’t a sign that I made the wrong choice.
It’s a sign that I’ve loved, that I’ve rooted, that I’ve lived deeply in more than one place.