Living Abroad, Grief, and the Space In Between

Over the weekend, I marked twenty years of living abroad and shared a short reflection about what that experience has taught me. I expected comments about growth, perspective, and identity. What I did not expect, but deeply appreciated, was how many people named grief.

Not the dramatic kind, and not necessarily the kind that comes with regret, but a quieter grief that accompanies living a life far from where you started. The grief of distance, of change, of becoming someone new while parts of your old life continue without you.

Living abroad is often framed as an achievement, a sign of independence, courage, or success. And while all of that can be true, it rarely captures the full picture. What tends to get left out of the conversation is the emotional complexity that builds over time, especially when you stay long enough for the move to stop being a chapter and start being your life.

Many of the comments mentioned the feeling of being in between. No longer fully belonging to the country you are from, because it has changed and so have you, and not fully belonging to the country you live in either, because some things will always remain unfamiliar or inherited rather than lived. That in between space is not something you arrive at immediately. It appears slowly, often years after the move, once the logistics are solved and the surface level adjustments are done.

Grief plays a quiet role in that space.

It can be grief for versions of yourself that only exist in memory, shaped by a language, a humor, or a set of references you no longer fully share with the people around you. It can be grief for traditions that feel slightly off when you try to recreate them, or for family milestones you experience from a distance. It can even be grief for paths you did not take, lives you did not live, simply because you chose a different country and stayed.

What struck me most in the responses was how many people described this grief not as something to fix, but as something that, when acknowledged, becomes transformative. Naming it seems to lighten it. Allowing it to exist alongside gratitude and contentment makes the experience more honest and more sustainable.

Living abroad requires adaptation, but it also requires emotional honesty. You can love the life you have built and still grieve what you left behind. Those two things are not in conflict, even if we often talk as if they are.

The in between space, the one that feels unsettled at first, is also where many people described finding deep connection. It is where you meet others who carry similar stories, who understand what it means to belong in a way that is chosen rather than inherited. Together, you build new reference points, new traditions, and new forms of belonging that do not rely on a single place.

Over time, that space stops feeling like a lack and starts feeling like a perspective. Not being fully from one place allows you to see more clearly, to question assumptions, and to hold multiple ways of being at once. It does not erase the grief, but it gives it context.

Living abroad is not just about where you live. It is about who you become, what you carry with you, and what you learn to release. It is about growth, yes, but also about loss, and about learning to let both exist without trying to simplify the story.

If you have lived abroad, or if life has taken you far from where you started, you are likely carrying some version of this too, whether you have named it or not. And maybe that is worth talking about more openly, not to dwell on it, but to make space for the full experience of lives lived across borders.