1. Coming Home After 5 Years Abroad: Reverse Culture Shock (The Honest Truth)
Why coming home after living abroad felt harder than leaving, and what nobody tells you about reverse culture shock.
Written during my first months back in Brazil. This is how I felt then, and a lot has changed since.
Three weeks after I came home to Brazil, I caught myself thinking something I was afraid to say out loud.
What if living in my bubble abroad was better?
And right after that thought came the guilt. Because this is my country. My family. My language. My culture. How come I am not happier here?
I’m not here to complain, and I’m not here to compare countries. I’m here to be honest about reverse culture shock, something nobody prepared me for.
Leaving was an adventure. Coming back is an identity crisis.
What is reverse culture shock?
Yale’s Office of International Students and Scholars describes what follows returning home after living overseas as “a period of adjustment, known as re-entry shock, or reverse culture shock.”Source: Yale Office of International Students and Scholars, “Returning Home.” Accessed October 28, 2026.
Why I came back after 5 years abroad?
After five years living abroad, I was tired. Tired of starting over. I could not handle packing my one big suitcase and moving again. After all, living abroad required that. My relationship had ended. He was my “family.” My visa was running out, and getting sponsored to live in a remote area for years was not an option for me. I always prioritize my independence. What if going home was the best choice, at the perfect time? For the first time, being far from my family really hurt. All my Brazilian friends struggle with being away from their family, so why was I fine with it? Maybe I was running away from something, and I felt it was time to go back.
Someone I love was very sick, and unfortunately, I didn’t make it in time to say goodbye and thank you for raising me and always doing the best for our family. I also realized I was getting older and feeling lonely. I had just lost my only “family.” I felt like I hadn’t achieved anything. I felt like I didn’t have a career, and I had nothing to lose.
So I accepted something I had avoided for years: I was vulnerable, and I wanted to be close to the people I love. I came back with excitement, longing, fear, and a lot of determination. I had everything planned and ready to be executed.
The honeymoon phase of coming home
The first weeks were beautiful. Comida de verdade, real food, like we say in Brazil. I could speak my own language without translating in my head, and I could fully express myself and be understood without any effort, with my cute regional accent.
People were warm and loving. They actually hug you, they touch you, they care. I could naturally be me and “stay in the hug,” with no fear of being judged or creating tension. I had forgotten how special it was, and maybe that was everything I needed at that moment. I took care of my health: the best gyms, good food. So many doctor’s appointments. I didn’t even know an underarm ultrasound existed. I was busy and living in a honeymoon mood.
With my dollars, I felt rich for a few days. I could get things that I had not been able to afford my entire life. I thought: this is it. I’m home. And I felt very welcome.
The Shift: when gratitude started to feel strange
Then, slowly, the gratitude started to feel strange.
I felt privileged, and I’m not rich. I am not allowed to be happy when there are people struggling to eat. I started to see the gap between rich and poor, and things I used to see as normal. Kids selling things and asking for money on the street. So many families living on the streets. And how we, as a society, got used to it. It was impossible to ignore, and it hurt my roots. It affected the real me that was always there. It hurt in a way I didn’t expect, and it reminded me why I left. I had a weird feeling, like “I don’t want to belong here, it’s too hard to handle.”
But it wasn’t only the country. It was me.
I struggled with the delays in everything, and with people not keeping their word on basic things. I didn’t feel safe. I kept hiding my phone, I was scared to take public transport, and I was scared of Uber too. Questions felt too personal from people I barely know. Why does my weight matter? Why do you wanna know why my relationship didn’t work? And why did I let it affect me? Things I used to ignore now bothered me.
And then, the family dinners. I love my family. But sitting at that table, I felt out of place. I heard this phrase somewhere: “I feel like a special guest in a reality show.” It sucks. “What are you going to do now?” “What’s next?” I felt pressured.
I even caught myself thinking: was it easier when we were far away? I didn’t have all those things before. I was not facing so many problems.
The guilt of feeling different
And then came the guilt. I felt like a traitor.
I always thought I was loyal to my culture. And now I was asking: who did I become?
I know I’m not better than anyone here. I’m not saying that. I am scared of being judged. If I am being honest, I just changed. My habits changed. I can’t like the same foods anymore. The way I see things has changed. This is what reverse culture shock looks like for me. My friendships don’t connect like before, and I don’t know where to put that. I avoided a longtime friend because I could not handle the shallow conversations anymore. I wanted the reality show to end, and I was not brave enough to say it, or I didn’t know how to say it. I don’t think there is a way to do it. So just ignoring it was the easiest thing I could do, even feeling very bad about it.
The hard questions I was afraid to ask
Here’s the part I’m most afraid to say.
I’m ashamed to admit that living in my bubble abroad felt better. Easier. Even comparing the negative parts, it was still way easier and better outside. And now I’m asking myself: is this real, or am I running away? Are my family dramas too much? I know I cannot change reality, so it’s okay to find an escape (it sounds so selfish and harsh to say). Is creating a new bubble just a way to avoid facing it? I complained abroad. Now I complain here. Maybe the problem is me? I’m afraid I’m only complaining because I’m unhappy with myself, not because of Brazil. Sometimes I feel like I will always find a reason to complain, and I feel guilty for not being more grateful for what I have.
And the fear under all of that is this: what if I never adapt here again? What if it gets harder every day? What if the feeling of wanting to leave is real, and it’s not just a phase?
I don’t have the answer. I adapted so fast to a new language, a new culture, a new climate, even driving on the other side of the road. I’m still trying to figure out how roundabouts work. And now coming home is harder than all of that. Maybe it’s because when I left, I expected it to be hard. When I came home, I expected it to be easy. I know deep down I wanted it to save me from my loneliness. Nobody warned me that I would come back as a different person to a place that kept going without me.
Where I am Now: somewhere in between
Right now I’m not on holiday, and I’m not at home. I’m somewhere in between, but I cannot rest or see a future here.
I thought I could afford an apartment here, but I forgot how expensive things are, even with dollars. I don’t want to waste my savings. Maybe with my fluency in three languages I could get a good job, one that pays more than 400 dollars a month. What if I invest here? I started an online course, and I hope it helps me.
Some days I want to leave. I am scared to renew my membership for one more month. I should stop searching for flights and visas.
Some days I’m grateful to be here. My nephew calling me “Auntie” makes me want to stay here forever.
Both are true, and I’m trying to stop forcing myself to choose. Let it be.
What’s helping me: keeping good habits, painting, going to the gym 6 times a week, and I also started Pilates. I didn’t know it was so hard, but I am obsessed already. I write in my journal, and I talk to my therapist twice a month. It’s hard to find someone who really understands this. I don’t think she really does. But the most important thing is writing about it and being open, like I’m doing right now.
I don’t have an answer yet. Maybe belonging isn’t a place you go back to. Maybe it’s something you build again, slowly, as a different person.
If you’re feeling this too
You’re not ungrateful. You’re not broken. You’re in between.
Have you ever felt like a stranger in a place you know by heart?
Write to me :)
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