Expat Life: The Hard Truths No One Talks About
When you move abroad, you expect the first year or two to be the hardest—navigating the language, paperwork, finding your footing. What you don’t expect is for year five to sneak up and hit you like a ton of bricks.
That’s where I am now. Living in Malmö, Sweden, has been one of the best decisions of my life. I love it here. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. But this year? This year has been hard.
The Emotional Rollercoaster of Year Five
Part of it is personal: losing Rhaegar, our steady and calm German Shepherd who grounded me; the chaos of bringing home a new puppy (who fully lives up to her name! IYKYK); and the ups and downs of running my own business. Add in the expat challenges of trying to carve out a place for myself in a new culture, and it’s no wonder I’ve hit a wall.
There are days I wonder: is this expat life? Is it menopause? Middle age? Just the messy reality of life? Probably all of the above. What I do know is that I feel stuck between two worlds.
The U.S. no longer feels like home, but I don’t feel like I fully belong in Sweden either. And from what I hear, that’s a very familiar refrain for expats—existing in this strange in-between, where you’re always a little bit “other.”
Starting Over Isn’t Quick—or Easy
When you move abroad, you’re essentially rebuilding your life from scratch. Friendships, routines, career—all of it. It takes much longer than you think to create what you left behind.
When I look back, I realize how rooted I once felt. I had a close-knit group of friends I could call any time. A job I loved, with colleagues I loved just as much. I was building my illustration business on the side and connecting with incredible people through that. Life was really, really good. Even during Covid, we had our pod, our people. We were steady. And that’s usually when life decides to throw a curveball.
Here in Sweden, it’s taken years to rebuild even a fraction of that. And just when I feel like I’ve found my footing, another challenge comes along, we start the process of applying for permanent residency. This is where the doubts creep in. I feel like I’m failing. I don’t meet the income requirements. Ramesh will be approved, but I likely won’t. Not for lack of effort, but I know I haven’t pushed as hard as I could have. I’ve been stuck—unsure what direction to take my business, afraid to take risks, dreading the networking and self-promotion that seem to come so naturally to him.
What Makes Expat Life Extra Hard
Here’s the truth: expat life demands skills that don’t always come naturally. You have to network, join groups, put yourself out there, try and fail and try again.
That’s not me. I’m not extroverted. I like routine. I like a small circle of close friends. I’m a homebody. I’m not a natural risk-taker or a fearless self-promoter. And yet, those are exactly the things you need to thrive as an expat.
Meanwhile, my husband Ramesh thrives in this area—he connects easily, tries new things, and bounces back from setbacks. Watching him has made me realize just how different our approaches are, and why this life feels harder for me.
Finding Ways Forward
So how do I cope? Slowly, carefully, and by asking for help.
Outsourcing what I can. I’ve started enlisting others for the things I struggle with—bookkeeping, finances, strategy, marketing. Letting go of the pressure to “do it all myself” has been a relief and helped me in so many ways.
Leaning on friends. Instead of isolating when I feel low, I’m learning to reach out. My instinct is to retreat, not wanting to bring anyone else down with me. But the truth is, leaning on friends—even just for a coffee or a walk—always lifts me more than wallowing in my own head.
Balancing honesty with hope. Sharing how I feel without unloading everything is tricky, but it’s teaching me that vulnerability builds stronger connections. One small step, one honest conversation, one little piece of help at a time.
The Lesson of Year Five
If year five has taught me anything, it’s that expat life isn’t a straight line. Belonging doesn’t always come from a place—it comes from the people you choose to let in, the help you allow yourself to accept, and the small ways you keep moving forward, even when it feels hard.
