From Blending In to Standing Out: Finding Your Place Abroad

My First Experience

When I first moved abroad, all I wanted was to belong. As a child, I thought that simply meant fitting in. I would eventually learn that the two aren’t always the same thing.

I was 11 years old when my family moved from the UK to Germany and it felt like the biggest adventure ever -equal parts exciting and terrifying. Everything was so utterly different from what I had been used to: the language, the food, the school. 

Looking back, I think part of my excitement came from leaving a few things behind.

Never again would I have to endure the plight of my Secondary school gym class or be terrorized by Mrs Norman, the crazy Scottish dinner lady, banging her spoon on the school canteen tables to silence hundreds of noisy children. (By the way, once, she banged the spoon so hard, she broke it).  

I was ready to assimilate to my new society. To become part of this new world as quickly as possible. To become German.
But anyone who has ever tried to build a life in another country will tell you — fitting in doesn’t happen overnight. It’s something that comes gradually. You have to learn how to do it, or at least, that’s how it feels in the beginning. 

In the end, it took me about a year to blend in completely. People could no longer tell that I wasn’t German, and I wore that achievement like a badge of honour. It felt like being an undercover spy. I had become so good at fitting in that, on the surface at least, no one knew I was an outsider.

At the time, I thought I’d cracked the code. If I could look, sound and behave like everyone else, surely I’d finally belong. It was a lesson I would carry with me into every country I lived in—including Italy.

Try, Try, Try Again

When I moved to Italy, I wanted to fit in just as much as I had in Germany. Italians are effortlessly stylish, poised and proud of their culture. Compared to them, I felt loud, awkward and unmistakably foreign. I hated standing out. I hated feeling different.

So, like many outsiders do, I began making small changes. I dyed my hair darker, chose more understated clothes and became more conscious of the way I spoke. I found myself weighing up my words before I said them and trying not to draw too much attention to myself. I thought that if I could just soften the parts of me that felt so obviously foreign, perhaps I’d finally feel that I belonged.

The funny thing is, trying so hard to blend in didn’t make me feel more at home—it simply made me more self-conscious. No matter how much I adapted, I was still the weird Englishwoman with a slightly odd sense of humour. I still made cultural mistakes, still missed the occasional joke and still hesitated over my Italian. Instead of feeling like I belonged, I just became a slightly quieter version of myself.

Learning My Lesson

It took years — and several moves — for me to realise that blending in isn’t the same as belonging. True belonging has nothing to do with what you look like, what accent you have, or how well you know the local slang. It’s about being seen — really seen — and that can only happen when you stop hiding and start being yourself.

I have learned that my difference is not a defect. It’s what makes me memorable. My accent tells a story. My curiosity connects me to people. My outsider’s eye lets me see beauty in things locals sometimes miss.

Of course, there are still moments when I feel out of place — when I say the wrong thing, or misread a situation, or sense that small-town curiosity that follows me like a shadow. But I no longer take it personally. It’s part of the landscape of living abroad. Sometimes you blend in, sometimes you stand out. And both are okay.

The truth is, I never really stopped being me. I just had to grow brave enough to be her again.

So now, when I walk through a French market or sit at a café with my kids, I don’t wonder whether I belong. I know I do. Not because I’ve adapted perfectly, but because I’ve stopped apologizing for who I am.

That’s the secret to belonging, I think. You don’t have to disappear to fit in.
You just have to show up as yourself — fully, imperfectly, and unapologetically — and let the rest fall into place.

 

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