When Home Keeps Moving
Expat grief, belonging, and how art helped me feel at home again
I have moved every two years for most of my adult life.
New countries. New languages. New cultures. New versions of myself.
I’ve lived and worked in 13 different countries, often on my own. No familiar faces waiting at the airport. No long history with neighbours. No shared memories built over decades. Just me, a suitcase, and the quiet hope that this place might finally feel like home.
For a long time, I told myself I was lucky. And I am. But there’s a side of this life that doesn’t get spoken about enough. The grief.
The grief of leaving — again and again
Each move came with excitement, but also loss. Loss of routine. Loss of familiarity. Loss of community. Loss of the version of myself that existed in that place.
At first, the grief was loud. Missing people. Missing places. Missing a language I had finally started to think in.
Over time, it became quieter — but heavier. A background feeling of never quite landing.
I began to notice something unsettling: I don’t feel like I fully belonged anywhere anymore. Not back “home.” Not where I am living. Not even inside myself some days.
And that kind of grief is hard to name — because there’s no single event, no clear ending, no permission to mourn.
This is expat grief.
Always adapting, never arriving
When you move often, you become very good at adapting.
You learn how to read a room quickly. How to soften or sharpen parts of yourself depending on the culture. How to start over.
But adapting constantly comes at a cost.
I am always becoming — but rarely being.
Routines never fully stick. Just as something starts to feel grounding, it is time to pack again.
And somewhere along the way, I started to feel like I was the problem. Like maybe I was the common denominator.
Why can’t I just settle? Why don’t I feel at home anywhere?
When words weren’t enough
I tried to talk my way through it. To explain the loneliness, the restlessness, the ache.
But expat grief doesn’t sit neatly in sentences. It lives in the body. In the nervous system. In the quiet moments when you realise you don’t know where you belong anymore.
That’s where art came in.
Not as something to fix me — but as a place to land.
How art became a place to come home to
Art gave me something that places never quite could:
A space that moved with me.
No matter where I was living, my sketchbook stayed the same. My process stayed the same. My inner world had somewhere to go.
Through colour, shape, texture, and mess — I could express what felt too layered for words.
Art became a way to say: This is where I am today.
And slowly, something shifted.
I stopped trying to belong out there. I started creating a sense of home inside myself. And it can do the same for you.
Art practices for expat women: feeling at home again
These are the same gentle art practices I’ll be sharing in February — and you can try them right now, wherever you are in the world.
You don’t need to be an artist. You just need a willingness to listen.
🎨 1. Draw a map of your heart
On a blank page, draw a loose shape that represents your heart.
Inside it, create sections or layers for the places you’ve lived. Use colours, symbols, or words to show what each place gave you — and what it took.
There is no right or wrong. This is about honouring all the homes that shaped you.
Reflection questions:
Which place still lives strongly inside me?
What parts of myself were born there?
🎨 2. Create “Your Inner Home”
Create an image of a place where you feel safe, grounded, and welcome.
This can be real or imagined.
Start with a soft centre using a colour that feels calming. Build outward with shapes, textures, or collage elements.
If belonging feels complicated — let that show too.
This is not about perfection. It’s about honesty.
🎨 3. What I carry with me
Using symbols, words, or images, create a piece showing what you carry from place to place.
Not the physical things — the emotional ones. Strengths. Memories. Losses. Wisdom.
This practice often brings tenderness. Go slowly.
You are not broken for feeling this way
If you are an expat woman who feels rootless, tired of starting over, or unsure where you belong — please hear this:
There is nothing wrong with you.
Your nervous system has adapted again and again. Your heart has learned to love and let go repeatedly.
That deserves care. Not criticism.
A gentle invitation
If you’d like to explore these practices in community — with space to share or stay quiet — you’re warmly invited to our Monthly Healing Art Group
This group is shared privately with my mailing list, where I send the gathering details, creative prompts, and Zoom link each month.
You can join the mailing list here .
It’s a gentle, no-pressure space for women who have lived between places and are learning how to come home to themselves.
Sometimes, home isn’t a country.
Sometimes, it’s a practice.
And sometimes, it starts with a single page and a bit of colour.
With warmth,
Janaline