I no longer recognized the woman in my mirror

This is Kelly's story. An American mom of two daughters who left everything behind to follow her husband to the Netherlands. She thought she was heading toward an adventure. She didn't know she would first lose herself along the way. Behind the beautiful photos and the dream of living abroad, she went through something that so many experience in silence. Today, she has the courage to talk about it — with raw, deeply human honesty.

I’m an American mom of two daughters, currently living in a small village in the Netherlands.

The past almost 3 years of my life have honestly felt like a movie.

Sometimes I still look around and can’t believe this is actually my life.

We had already moved around eight times over the years, including across the country for work. At the time, it just felt like something we were doing — pack up, go again, start over.

But looking back now, I can see how much of life we spent in between places. Always adjusting. Always trying to make somewhere temporary feel like home.

We met in college in South Florida when my husband came over for a study abroad program. He stayed, and together we built a life — getting married and starting a family over many years in between moves.

Somewhere through all those years of constantly starting over, I wanted to put roots down.

Our move abroad may be relatable to some expats, and completely different for others. But for a long time, I felt completely alone in my experience. Like everyone else was thriving, adjusting, building this beautiful new life — while I was quietly unraveling behind the scenes.

So I shut down.

I went from being the loud, happy, outgoing American who talked to everyone, to barely recognizing myself in the mirror. I didn’t just lose my spark — I lost my identity, my confidence, my independence, and my sense of stability. And that’s a very scary place to find yourself in.

What makes this story even harder to explain is how quickly everything happened.

Just two months before moving to the Netherlands, we were strongly considering relocating to North Carolina. My husband had accepted a job opportunity there that would have relocated us, and it wasn’t the first time — it was the second time he had taken a role there with the intention of us moving. So while I was excited about that possibility, I was also confused when everything suddenly shifted toward moving abroad instead.

At the same time, he was also exploring opportunities in the Netherlands. Moving back home one day was always something he talked about and hoped for.

When the opportunity came, everything moved incredibly fast.

On paper, it sounded like an incredible opportunity: a fresh start, a new culture, more family connection, and a new experience for our girls. We spoke about it as a journey — something we would try and reevaluate together as life unfolded.

That’s something I deeply held onto. 

But once we arrived, both family and work situations began to drastically shift.

Because while I wanted to support his dream of returning home after so many years away, I also had real concerns — about the language, healthcare, schools, cultural differences, and raising children in a place where I knew I would always feel somewhat outside of the culture.

But when you’re trying to hold your family together, you push through fear and trust that love and partnership will carry you through the unknown.

In the final week before we moved, everything came together very quickly, and I was carrying a lot of uncertainty and emotion into that final step.

Within weeks, we sold almost everything we owned and moved across the world.

At the same time, my dad was very sick in the hospital, and emotionally everything already felt heavy before we even left.

Then reality hit.

And while there have absolutely been beautiful moments here — traveling Europe, building friendships, watching our daughters adapt and grow — there were also parts that deeply impacted us in ways I never could have prepared for.

Especially as a mother.

Our youngest struggled immensely in the beginning. Going from learning to read in English to suddenly being immersed in a completely different language and school system was overwhelming for her. There were nights filled with tears, mornings begging not to go to school, and moments that completely broke my heart while I tried to stay strong for both of my girls.

I think people often underestimate how emotional and disorienting these transitions can be for children — and for parents watching it happen in real time.

At the same time, I was also struggling deeply myself.

The isolation. The language barrier. Losing my independence. Trying to navigate unfamiliar systems. Feeling disconnected from who I used to be. Slowly feeling like I no longer had a voice in my own life.

And one of the loneliest parts was feeling like there wasn’t much space to talk honestly about the harder realities of moving abroad.

People love hearing the exciting parts — the adventure, the photos, the idea of starting over somewhere new.

But not enough people talk about the grief that can come with it too.

The identity loss.The loneliness.The culture shock.The pressure.The strain it can place on relationships and mental health.The reality of trying to rebuild yourself while also taking care of everyone else around you.

There was a point where I hit a deep burnout — emotionally, mentally, and physically. It had a significant impact on my health, and I eventually had to seek support and therapy for the first time in my life.

And yet, despite everything, I can also say this experience has changed me in ways I never expected. It forced me to grow, to wake up, to stop shrinking myself, and to start fighting for my own wellbeing again.

Therapy helped me begin recognizing how much of myself I had slowly abandoned over the years — trying to keep peace, keep everyone happy, and hold everything together.

I started realizing how disconnected I had become from my own needs, my own intuition, and even my own voice.

And slowly, I began rebuilding.

Setting boundaries.Speaking up more.Trusting myself again.Learning that protecting my peace is not selfish.

For about two years, I volunteered at my daughters’ school teaching English. I wanted to help, to feel useful, and to feel connected in a place that still felt unfamiliar.

But over time, I also realized I needed something of my own again — including financial independence and a sense of identity outside of everything else.

Finding work wasn’t easy. No language, no car, and living outside of the international circles meant starting from scratch in every sense.

But slowly, I built something here anyway.

I now clean homes for about 8–9 families in my village. It’s physical, simple work, but it’s something I created from nothing — step by step. I cycle everywhere, even in the pouring rain, and somewhere in that rhythm, I slowly started to feel like myself again.

That process has not been easy. Some parts have been incredibly painful and isolating. And there is still so much uncertainty about the future that honestly scares me sometimes.

I still miss home deeply — my family, my language, the familiarity of simply existing somewhere that feels natural.

And I also think it’s important to bring more awareness to this, because so often you only see the romanticized, polished side of moving abroad. And when you’re in the middle of making a life-changing decision, it can feel like you’re being shown an incomplete picture of what the reality can actually be.

I’ve also learned there are legal and practical realities to moving internationally with children that many people — especially trailing spouses — may not fully understand beforehand. The Hague Convention is one of those realities, and it’s something I personally wish I had understood more clearly before making such a life-changing decision.

But despite everything, I can also say this experience has changed me in ways I never expected. It forced me to grow, to wake up, to stop shrinking myself, and to start fighting for my own wellbeing again.

I may not know exactly what the future holds, but for the first time in a long time, I’m starting to believe in myself again. I still don’t have all the answers, but I’m learning to trust myself again while I figure it out.

Slowly.

I’m slowly rebuilding my independence, working again, learning Dutch, and finding my way back to the parts of myself I didn’t realize I had lost.

There are moments where it’s hard when you find yourself having to accept a reality you didn’t choose.And I’m still learning how to navigate that — while choosing myself and my peace along the way.

I’m sharing this not to create negativity around moving abroad, because there have been beautiful moments too.

I’m sharing it because I think there needs to be more honesty around the emotional realities that can come with it.

Not every expat story is glamorous.Not every story is failure either.

Sometimes it’s both grief and growth existing at the same time.

And if you’re quietly struggling too, I hope this reminds you that you are not alone.

And through all of this, I’ve discovered a strength in myself I didn’t even know existed.

I’m now getting ready for my very first solo trip — something that once would have felt impossible — and I feel proud, excited, and I’m learning to trust myself again in a way I never have before.

Thank you, Kelly, for trusting us with your story — and thank you to each of you for reading it. Words like these remind us why this community exists. You can follow Kelly's journey on Instagram at @kellys.little.corner. And if you have your own story to tell — about expat life, career, or finding yourself again — reach out. This space is yours too. 👉 Read more stories like this one right here