“When are you coming home?” The expat struggles.

Any time you go ‘home’ (and that in itself is an interesting question for any expat), the inevitable, ‘When are you coming home?’ question gets raised.  It is usually an innocuous and well meaning query.  In fact, the intent behind it is quite lovely.  Essentially, what’s really being asked is, ‘When are you coming back to us?  We miss you and want you back in my life.’  However, depending on my mood, my interpretation can sometimes be, ‘Your life isn’t that great over there; you should probably come home already.’  Even at its most genuine, the implication behind ‘coming home’ does mean that your ex-pat life is somehow a concept that can be easily ended or changed, when in fact, that is probably the furthest thing from the truth.

Look, I’m not yelling at my friends when this question comes up, but it’s because I remind myself that they haven’t moved countries.  They don’t realize the sheer effort it takes to sell off your life and then put the remainder in a box and see it (hopefully) in 3-4 weeks.  They don’t know all the stress that goes into a visa process, setting up a household, moving pets, switching banks and finding new friends – all in a place where you are the minority, where the language might be different, where cultural differences can add to the frustration of it all.  Furthermore, the idea that I could end professional commitments and other responsibilities to pick up and move to a place that doesn’t exist anymore becomes a bit irritating.  The choice to not be ‘home’ is one I live with every day.  Thus far, the pros far outweigh the cons, but I know there will be a day where this is no longer the case (see, Doha).

Yes, I sound like an ungrateful person – I’m aware of this.

And of course, upon further reflection, I think I might have put myself in this position by stating a timeline of ‘1-2 years’ at the beginning of my expat tenure.

I’m in year eight and there is no compelling reason to return.

I think the better question would be, ‘what are your next steps?’ ‘How is your current job going?  Would you move somewhere else for better opportunities?’ ‘What do you like best about where you live?’ ‘What are the challenges about living there?’ and of course, the very best question you can ask an expat, ‘Can I come visit?’  (I really do LOVE sharing my adopted country with friends and family).

While I know Hubs and I have a few more moves left in us (and spoiler alert, the next place will not be the States), I wish there was a better way to bridge this misunderstanding.

Any excuse for a Newsies gif.


What about you, fellow expat?  How do you deal with this question?

5 thoughts on ““When are you coming home?” The expat struggles.

  1. People are same and questions are same all over the world 🙂 I don’t have to struggle with the question of ‘coming home’ so much, because everyone who knows me knows that I left for good and the only question can be ‘where to next?’ But I personally struggle a little with the need of my friends to show my ‘real results’ in another country. You know, such as promotion, or some sort of social recognition.. It is hard to explain to them all of the little troubles you have to go through as an expat, and the difficulty of changing jobs, and the difficulty of making friends right away. It’s hard to explain how much the scale of values changes when you move to the ‘land of unknown’ and that your little achievements abroad can be so-so cherished 🙂

  2. @Liza – very well said! There should be a medal for ‘it only took me 3 tries to do this one very complicated thing that you take for granted.’ I had a big win yesterday when I managed to sort out someone else taking care of my car registration. All I had to do was hand over my keys!!!

  3. Hey Helen, so so sorry for the last minute notice but I’ve only just discovered your post. We’re doing an episode on this exact subject tomorrow on Two Fat Expats. Would you be available for interview at all? You can reach me via email contact@shamozal.com or via Skype @shamozal Would love to chat. Kirsty

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