I am very lucky to have an amazing family. Not just my husband — the love of my life and my rock — but also my brilliant, creative kids, who bring joy to my every waking moment. We are a true family unit. We do almost everything together, and we get each other.
This little unit has always been my bubble — a soft, safe retreat from the sometimes not-so-great realities of life abroad. We’ve always belonged to each other, even when we didn’t quite belong anywhere else. Together, we’ve created our own space — a kind of portable home that moves with us, wherever we go.
But that doesn’t mean we’ve always been accepted for what we are: different.
When we first moved to France, we settled in a tiny village where everybody knew everybody else — and gossip moved faster than the mistral wind. It was the kind of place where a new family is noticed before they’ve even unpacked their boxes. Being outsiders wasn’t easy, and trying to fit in sometimes felt like trying to join a club without knowing the password.
I still remember one of my first encounters at the local café. A friendly-looking old man I vaguely knew smiled and asked me in French, “Comment ça se passe ?” — “How’s it going so far?”
Trying to be polite, I attempted my best French reply. I meant to say, “Fine, thanks! People around here are so nice!” Unfortunately, the word I thought meant “people” — personnes — actually means nobody. So what I actually said was, “Fine, thanks. Nobody around here is nice.”
The poor man looked at me as if I’d just insulted his ancestors. He snorted, turned on his heel, and that was that. My first attempt at friendly small talk had officially backfired.
So yes, fitting in was a challenge. But through it all, we had our bubble.
Over time, though, things began to change. We started making acquaintances, then friends — people who liked us for who we were, language mishaps and all. And that’s when “belonging” started to mean something different. It stopped being about where we came from or whether we blended in. It became about connection — about the small, human ties that make a place feel like home.
For me, belonging isn’t about being accepted by everyone around you. It’s about finding the few who see you, who laugh with you, who welcome you as you are. It’s about those tiny, everyday interactions — a wave from a neighbour, a smile at the market, a friend who helps you decode a baffling bit of French paperwork.
And it’s about holding onto that family bubble — the one that keeps you grounded when the outside world feels foreign — while still letting a few more people in.
Because in the end, belonging isn’t a place. It’s the people who make you feel that you can be entirely yourself — accent, mistakes, quirks, and all.
✨ Closing Reflection
The longer I live abroad, the more I realise that belonging and being an outsider aren’t opposites — they often live side by side. You can belong deeply to your family, your small circle of friends, even to your morning routine, while still feeling like a stranger in other ways. And maybe that’s the beauty of it. Because when you stop trying so hard to fit in, you start to notice the places — and the people — where you already do.