Expat Grief and Emigration: The Hidden Cost of Moving and Living Abroad

As this month marks twenty years of my life in England, I invite you into a quieter, often unspoken side of the emigration journey – the emotional weight of expat grief that can come with moving and living abroad. This isn’t a checklist of what to pack or how to get visa. Rather, it’s a personal reflection on homesickness, identity loss, and the slow, brave work of planting new roots far from where you began.

The real story of emigration: Expat grief when moving and living abroad

Twenty years ago this month, I stepped off a plane and into a life I couldn’t yet imagine.

One suitcase.
One word of English.
One plan: to stay for just one year.

I didn’t know how to open a bank account, how to find a doctor or how to ask for help. I didn’t even know what I didn’t know.

But I did know one thing: I had no choice but to try.

Maybe you know this feeling too – standing on an unfamiliar street with nothing but determination, trying to build a life from scratch. Speaking, dreaming, surviving – in a language that doesn’t yet feel like yours.

That kind of courage isn’t heard out loud. But it’s real.

Read also ‘Birthday Blues Are Real: How to Cope With Birthday Depression‘

The quiet expat grief that comes with emigration and starting over

Here’s the part people rarely say out loud about emigration and living abroad:

It can break your heart – quietly, slowly, invisibly.

The world may view your life abroad as adventurous, romantic, and enviably free. Social media often paints it as a dream.

But behind the photos is a different story – one made of disconnection, fatigue, and grief.

• It’s paperwork.
• It’s isolation.
• It’s losing your words halfway through a sentence.
• It’s culture shock that hits even months later, when you least expect it.

Emigration, expat grief, living, and moving abroad – these aren’t just logistics. They’re emotional earthquakes. They shake your sense of home, of self, of safety.

And the grief that comes? It isn’t always dramatic or loud. Sometimes, it’s the quiet kind that follows you like a shadow.

• Feeling like a stranger in your own story.
• Forgetting words in your mother tongue.
• Not knowing where ‘home’ is anymore.
• Missing birthdays, Sunday dinners, and spontaneous chats.
• The subtle, silly in-jokes that now don’t land because you’ve been gone too long.

You grieve not just people and places, but versions of yourself that no longer fit.

The slow accumulation of loss

The grief of living abroad accumulates like dust.

• The awkward silence when you don’t get a cultural reference.
• The longing for spontaneous coffee with a friend who just knows.
• The exhausting hum of continuous disconnection.
• The tiny misunderstandings that leave you feeling alone, again and again.
• Missing the humour, the shorthand, the invisible ease of being from somewhere.

All of it adds up to homesickness not just for a place, but for life that just felt so known.

This kind of grief is slippery. And you question it.

“Why am I sad? I chose this.”
“I should be grateful.”
“Other people have it worse.”

So you push it down. You smile for the camera. You post photos that say, “Living the dream.”

But inside, there’s a quiet ache. A soft sense of disconnection that you don’t know how to explain.

Your expat grief is real.
Your emigration sadness is valid.

You don’t have to take just my word for it.

Studies in expatriate psychology confirm that the emotional cost of emigration and expat life is significant. Losing your career, your cultural competence, your sense of identity – all of it can lead to isolation, disconnection, and even depression.

Dr. Pauline Boss, a pioneer in grief psychology, calls this ‘ambiguous loss.’ In her books Loss, Trauma and Resilience and Ambiguous Loss, she explains that when our grief isn’t recognized – when we lose things that society doesn’t count as losses – it becomes harder to process. And harder to heal.

The routines you had. The support systems. The version of you who felt grounded – those losses are real. Even if the world doesn’t see them.

Read also ‘Grieving Lost Time and How to Deal With It‘

What helped me (and what might help you, too)

The first step is this: permission.

You are allowed to grieve. Even if your life looks beautiful and you love where you live. Even if it was your choice.

Gratitude and grief can live side by side.

What helped me?

• Rituals – Keep small traditions alive. Make your morning coffee the way you did back home. Light a candle on your country’s holidays.
• Routine – Anchor yourself. Join a class, a church, the gym. Find a rhythm, a new hobby.
• Community – Talk to people who understand. Seek out expat communities or locals with open hearts.
• Maintain connections – Text or phone your family and friends, utilise technology.
• Gentleness – Journal. Rest. Walk. Go to therapy if you can. Let yourself feel.
• Visits – When you can, go back. Reconnect. Remember who you were and still are.

And sometimes it’s as simple as whispering: “This is hard. And I’m doing it anyway.”

Strength doesn’t always look loud

A few years ago, after an accident that left me physically and mentally weakened, I began to question my strength.

I thought of my mother – everything she survived. I felt I didn’t measure up.

But my husband said something I’ll never forget:

“I actually don’t think your mum was stronger than you. Yes, she was a very strong woman, but you left home and moved to another country when you were young. Neither your mum or I ever did this.”

And then he added, “That takes courage. I believe that’s strength.” And that stayed with me.

You can read more of my story in the Rising Above book.

Strength doesn’t always roar. Sometimes, it looks like showing up when no one sees you. Filling out one more form. Sitting with one more ache – and staying anyway from what you still call home.

The hidden cost of emigration: Expat grief and the life you left behind

There’s beauty here. Yes. But let’s not pretend there’s no cost.

• Missed milestones.
• Parents aging while you’re away.
• Late-night doubts. Silent wondering.
• The guilt that lingers.
• The pain of not being there when it matters most.

I didn’t make it in time to say my last goodbye to my mum.

I wanted to. Yes, I tried. I did my best.

But still — the guilt sat inside me for years.

If you’re carrying that kind of guilt, you are not alone. And you are not failing. You are simply human, doing your best across boarders and time zones.

Read also ‘How to Heal Yourself: ‘7 Keys To Self-Healing’ A Trauma Survivor’s Guide‘

If you’ve made it this far…

I honour you.

You already know how to do the hard things, how to rebuild, and how to begin again.

• You can pitch the idea.
• Write the book.
• Take the risk.
• Change your mind.

If you’ve navigated life in a language that once felt impossible – don’t forget: You earned this life. You didn’t arrive here by accident. You kept going – scared, and hopeful, and brave all at once.

Let this be your reminder: I’m proud of you.

And I’m proud of the younger me – the girl who whispered goodbye, stepped onto a plane, and chose to begin again without a map.

So here we are. Still choosing love, creating a home. Still carrying so many places in one heart.

And if you’re unhappy?

Don’t stay stuck.

Returning isn’t failure. Leaving again isn’t selfish. Trying was the bravery.

You are allowed to shift direction. You’re allowed to make a new choice. You’re allowed to begin again – not just once, but as many times as you need.

You don’t have to stay where you’re not happy.
You don’t owe anyone an explanation.

Read also ‘Navigating Grief: What It Is and How It Shapes Our Emotions‘

Rooted in the resilience of emigration, growing through the expat grief of moving and living abroad

If you’re walking through the quiet ache of emigration, expat grief, living and moving abroad, know this: You’re not alone. You’re not doing it wrong. You’re simply living a deeply human story – one of courage, loss, resilience, and reinvention.

The expat grief that comes with moving and living abroad is real, even if it often goes unnamed. It hides in the everyday – in the longing, in the loneliness, in the missing pieces of who we once were.

Grief doesn’t mean failure.
It means you loved something deeply enough to miss it.
It means you were brave enough to start again.

And slowly, gently, you will find your way. Not by erasing the past, but by carrying it with you – into the life you’re building now.

Let yourself grieve.
Let yourself celebrate.
And let yourself belong to more than one place.

And never forget: You are stronger than you know.

Thank you, and till the next blog post,

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