Seven countries, sixteen years and thousands of words on the page about expat life, and in a single moment a woman living in my home country with a sole six month expat experience summed it all up in a sentence.
It had been less than enjoyable for her. Paris is a dream location for many; fantasies of long walks through historic back streets punctuated with food, wine and cheese. Her partner was fluent in French and enjoying the new office with the Eiffel Tower as its back drop. Her existence looked somewhat different, an incredibly small apartment with a very busy toddler. She hadn’t realised what some of the effects of the language barrier would be. They had no money, she couldn’t see how she could get back to work, they had visa problems. She could feel herself slipping into a depression. The smallest of things became the biggest of issues.
It wasn’t just the language. There were so many times that she didn’t only not understand what they were saying but also why they were saying it. “Their customs, their rules, their ways – I just didn’t feel like I belonged there”.
I nodded, with the recording equipment on I didn’t want to interrupt her train of thought. She was saying something I knew so many people would identify with, we’d all been that person. She took a breath.
“I don’t know what it’s like to be autistic, but to me I felt like expat life gave me a window into what it might be like. I was living in a world where I looked the same, and while I was walking amongst it I could almost blend in, almost. But when I opened my mouth it was obvious I wasn’t the same. I couldn’t communicate. I saw the world differently. I just couldn’t fit it.”
I don’t want to diminish how hard it is to live with autism, there’s obviously no comparison. Expats can often walk away from their expat lives, those with autism can’t. Where the similarities lay is with our senses being out of sync, our language becoming literal, and our social interactions more intense.
We dream of going to far flung lands, of visiting exotic locations. What we sometimes forget in our rush for the unknown is how much we’re going to want to fit in and be understood when we get there.
So far away from everything familiar and yet we’re all still trying to belong.
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This is almost a little bit eerie! I was coming home from Tesco just now, thinking that I needed to write a blog post about exactly this topic – blending in until I open my mouth -, including how being an expat in the UK is harder in some ways than being an expat in Korea ever was. I think being visibly different in Korea was actually helpful in some ways – people make allowances for you when you’re obviously a foreigner – and I think it’s sometimes even more difficult here because there’s an underlying expectation that, because you *are* fluent in the language, you’ll also be fluent in the culture – and we aren’t. Another wife that I know who moved from the US to the UK around the time I moved here from Korea left to go back to the States about 3 months after she arrived here. She just ‘couldn’t take it anymore.’ People found that so hard to understand – after all, doesn’t just about every single American dream of moving to England? (apparently, they do, or at least all the Americans I know, do. It’s bizarre.) But I got it. I totally got it. Nothing was particularly horrible for her – but it was just a constant low-level state of being uncomfortable and not belonging – and that wears on you.
“a constant low-level state of being uncomfortable and not belonging – and that wears on you” – yep!
Boy do I understand. And it happens to me EVERY single time. For at least a few months it feels like an out-of-body experience. I wrote about my struggles with this extensively – most recently, last week: http://www.vitalmommy.com/bloom-where-you-are-transplanted/ Wanting other people to feel less lost, is exactly why I started the small community I”m building on my blog. No-one should have to go it alone.
Too true. Do you think that sometimes the location just isn’t a good fit? That maybe even if you found the friends, the network etc that the location just wasn’t right for that person?
Kirsty, I’m sure that happens. I loved Egypt and am just dying to get back to the ME, but I have loved Peru less to be polite about it. For us, it is less of a choice. My husband is a diplomat and we move every three years. That’s the gig. While we have some say in where we go (we give a list of 5-10 places we’d be okay going, they decide) once we get there, we are there. There is always a choice , right? But for us the choice is that I (1)make it work, (2) go home without my husband, or (3) he quits he job. Not much choice after all.
Oh, what a familiar feeling. The experience of feeling isolated and alone in a room full of people can be really crushing. Before packing my bags and leaving Australia behind, I knew that living in a non-English speaking country was going to be tricky, but I had nooooo idea of the magnitude of the language barrier. You don’t really get it until you live it. Not being able to express your thoughts, ideas, bad jokes, or show your personality is frustrating, not to mention trying to negotiate the simple everyday things that, at the time, seem ridiculously daunting. A couple years down the track and I can see the difference between my interactions then and now…and wow, what a difference. Communication is so critical in everything we do, in our personal and professional worlds, regardless of whether it’s in English or another language. Learning the local language opens doors, helps you understand the local ways, and really broadens the experience, I highly recommend it.
This is the perfect post for my first comment! I get the analogy. I’m actually an adult on the spectrum, and much of my life has involved trying to pass and give the appearance of fitting in. It occurred to me, as I was the only visible minority walking around a (very non-touristy) market in Vietnam, that I am *never* going to pass in the country that I was currently making my home in. I could stop expending energy on it, relax, and be more comfortable being myself. I never expected that living in a culture foreign to my own would be freeing in this way.
Great post, Kirsty, and a sentiment I can totally agree with. Culture shock can be a bitch. It certainly was for me. I hid from the world. I ate. I cried. But, for me, culture shock passed. I don’t think just how hard adjusting can be is discussed nearly enough in expat circles.
The pressure with being an expat in some locations is from others – I’ve had several friends who have really struggled, to the point of not enjoying their time in Paris; yet friends expect them to be absolutely loving it – after all, it’s PARIS.
It’s not just language barriers – we had an horrible time fitting in (or not) in the UK, maybe cos we’re Aussies LOL, but seriously, it showed me a side to expat life I never anticipated, nor want to experience again. The only good to come out of it was that I can relate, and hopefully help those new to the lifestyle whether they are in a good place or not.
Think someone said something on another of your posts about ‘finding your tribe’ and it’s so true
x
Very well said, that’s exactly what it’s like. Lonely but not alone.
Hi, I think it’s the first time I comment, to my shame, although I’ve been following the blog for some months. I don’t exactly qualify as an expat: Swiss, been living in Sydney for 15 years, will probably never go back for good. I would like to add a touch of lightness to this post, and please take it as light as can be : in the real world, nobody likes Paris, except tourists ! Seriously, even people from the French country side don’t like it. It’s poluted, so many people are rude, impatient, stressed out. French is my mothertongue and I would never live in Paris. One needs to be born in Paris to stand it !
This was the light touch… I totally understand the feelings of inadequacy and strangeness when nothing is like at home. It took me some years to be, say, 95% comfortable here, and now I love it. The 5 % of inadequacy will never disappear, and if it’s the price to pay, that’s fine, there are so many positive sides to it. Wish you strengh and courage.
i can totally relate. I hate houston but even more precisely, I hate myself being in houston. doesnt matter how hard I try, i just dont fit in this culture, in this habits, in this type of world. I feel like sometimes a day is quite ok and i didnt cry and I didnt feel desperate, but then I enter home and I see again this thick stupid carpet everywhere while is 90f and i break down like if it would be really something outrageous and important. I hate myself for crying about carpets, but I cant get out of it. I would pack for the northest village of scotland or the eastern village of turkey tomorrow, just to be back in Europe
Valentina I so wish I could have interviewed you for the podcast. Would you mind if I read out this comment – it’s exactly what we’re talking about. xx
sure ( besides, i want to be confident there are plenty of women with carpet issues out there :-D)
Episode 19 is out today, thanks for letting me read your comment. xx
Someone had given me a t-shirt once, that read “In my country I’m normal.” When my brother saw me wearing it, he commented “No you’re not!”
“But it’s a good excuse!” I retorted — which pretty much sums up why I became an expat when I was 18, and now, at 40, I’m still an expat:
I will never fit in anywhere (perhaps because I’m a third culture kid myself, or perhaps because I’ just quirky). But at least as an expat I have an excuse — people don’t know if my quirkiness is cultural or individual, so they usually just let me be.
Plus, this perpetual not fitting in, this trying to see things inside out and upside down? It’s really transformative. It stretches your mind, it challenges your assumptions, it helps you grow. It’s uncomfortable, yes. But I don’t know if any growth can ever be accomplished in comfort. Or, to paraphrase a famous ancient Greek quote “there’s no royal path to wisdom.”
That t-shirt has just become my most favourite thing in the world. I’m making a meme NOW!
I think most people don’t realise how isolating it is to be in a country where you can’t ask for anything, don’t understand what is being said around you and are reduced to having others communicate for you – I have been travelling more for work recently and had forgotten that feeling of anxiety that I’m on my own and cannot even ask for help if something goes wrong
How do you know if persevering and trying to “fit in” is ever going to work? And can you truly be happy and content if all you are doing is “fitting in’? I am all for experiences that challenge you and make you question who you are and how you view the world but life is surely too short and too precious to stubbornly put up with true unhappiness, and uncomfortableness in the name of personal growth, because hopefully, maybe one day it will be ok? Is it braver to cut your losses and move on when you know intuitively that you are never going to feel like this particular place is home? Perhaps if you know it’s only for 2-3 years and then you will move on it is bearable… but is”bearable” ok? I know life isn’t always amazing, with all it’s natural highs and lows wherever you live and however close or far from ‘home’ you are… but ‘bearable’? I totally get Valentinavk’s comment about ‘hating herself in Houston’. Hating the person you have become, trying to fit in, doubting yourself all the time. It’s miserable. Especially if the locals are less than welcoming.
Agree, I spoke about Valentina in Episode 19 of Two Fat Expats as I loved her comment, I think we can really end up disliking the person we’ve become in the location we’re in. Thanks for your comment.