When you move countries, something strange happens.
You’re still alive, breathing, building, navigating a whole new life but to some people, it’s as if you’ve died.
No really, hear me out.
Suddenly, you’re not part of the coffee catch-ups, the spontaneous phone calls, or the birthday brunches. Your name doesn’t come up in conversation. Messages go unanswered, calls are missed (and not returned), and updates never arrive. It’s not personal, (or so they’ll say), but it feels pretty damn personal.
Because from your side, the expat side, everything has changed.
Your entire world has shifted.
You’re rebuilding from scratch: new routines, new culture, new systems, a new identity in many ways.
And through it all, you’re holding on tightly to your old life.
To your people.
To the ones who knew you before all the change.
But they?
They’ve gone on.
Life, unchanged.
The only difference is you’re not in it anymore.
And if you’re not in it physically, it’s like you no longer exist.
You feel like telling them that you just moved to a new COUNTRY -
not to your GRAVE.
And with todays technology, it really isn't that hard to keep in touch... or is it?
THIS.
This is the the part no one prepares you for.
The emotional whiplash of realising that friendships you thought were solid… just end.
Not with a fight.
Not with closure.
They just fizzle.
Quietly.
Silently.
Like a candle burning out in a room you didn’t even know had grown dark.
It’s not anger. It’s grief.
And in that grief, you start to question:
Did they mourn my absence at all?
Did they even notice when I left?
Was I a burden they were relieved to let go of?
It’s harsh.
And it feels dramatic.
And it actually is dramatic.
But it’s real.
Because from your side, the one who left, you’re still remembering birthdays,
wondering how they are,
hoping they’re doing well,
checking their stories,
sending love into the void.
You’re still trying to stay connected.
But connection needs two people.
And not everyone has the capacity to reach across oceans and slight time zones.
Because you're navigating the ew in every aspect, there are a lot of challenges and when things feel shaky, your natural instinct is to reach back, back to the friends who once felt like home.
And that’s the truth I’ve had to face over the last year and a half, more intensely in the last few months.
Some friendships won’t make it.
Some just end.
Quietly.
And that’s a pain you learn to carry.
And then there’s the new friendships...
Making friends as a 30-something-year-old, work-from-home, expat mom is… well, a little complicated.
People already have their circles.
They’re full.
They’re protective of their time.
You walk into spaces where everyone already belongs somewhere, except you.
Where do you even find new friends at this age?
How do you begin again?
How do you create deep friendships when life is already full of responsibilities?
In the early months of moving, it doesn’t hit you as much, you’re just trying to survive. Figure out where the bakery is, how to register your little one for school, how to ask for milk in another language. You’re in survival mode. But once things stabilise… the ache creeps in.
Because as women, as humans, we need connection.
We crave those easy chats, the coffee dates, the knowing glances, the soft landings.
We want someone who’ll say, “Hey, I see you. Let’s talk. Let’s laugh. Let’s just be.”
And when that’s missing, both from your old world and your new one, the silence can feel incredibly loud.
So if you’ve moved countries and you’re feeling forgotten, I see you.
If you’re grieving friendships that slowly slipped away, I get it.
If you’re trying to find your place, your people, your rhythm, I’m with you.
This is the bittersweet reality of starting over.
The cost of building a beautiful new life is often the quiet heartbreak of letting go of parts of the old one.
But maybe, just maybe, there’s space ahead, new souls waiting to meet you, new connections that grow from slow coffees and honest chats.
Until then, you’re not alone in this in-between.
And you’re not forgotten, not by me.
Liza
xoxo