I stepped off a plane into the summer heat of Casablanca, Morocco with my two boys (3 and 5 years old). It was August of 1997. My boss and his welcome committee all ended up on vacation the week we arrived. 

“That’s ok, we can do this!”

We were excited for the adventure before us and easily sloughed off getting lost in a taxi with no cell phone. We didn’t get outwardly frustrated trying to find food in a store where we couldn’t read the labels. Even trying to find our own housing with no native English speaker to help was ok . . . for about a month. 

We started off with the honeymoon (link to culture shock graphic) excitement and joy that you may remember. But over time, the stress of cross-cultural living settled in, and we began to carry around the weight of it. Now, after all these years, we not only can look back and identify the stress we faced, but we can more easily see it in the new people that arrive each year. 

So what are the common stressors we see? 

We all sat in a circle, silent. No one from our team wanted to start. No one wanted to go first. No one wanted to be the first to tell their story.

The assignment was to go around the room, everyone sharing how they were feeling about the new team structure. It was personal, and no one felt comfortable opening their mouth and baringbearing all. No one was ready to open their heart and be vulnerable about their feelings.

Were safety and trust present? 

The team leader rarely showed transparency or vulnerability, rarely admitted his own faults or personal struggles. He seemed to have his life together. His marriage and his family appeared to be perfect. 

All of us on the team feared being judged by the others. We wondered if

Although every expatriate who returns to their “home culture” after living abroad will experience some type of “reverse culture shock,” each person has a unique experience.
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​​We watched our son during the next few months as he wrestled with feelings of anger, frustration, and disorientation. He became very critical and judgmental of our home culture, comparing everything to North Africa and Europe.

​​He began to withdraw and escape—only keeping in contact with his friends abroad—in the place he called “home.” When invited out by new friends, our son declined. He strongly resisted adapting to our home culture and became quite isolated and lonely.

​​This place certainly didn’t feel like "home" to him.

Imagine it's five years from now—2024.

What's happening with See Beyond? Dream with us . . .

In many ways, we are still the same. We’re still made up of staff who do or have lived in the region. We speak the language; we’ve lived the life. You don’t have to explain the details of living where you do, because we’ve also lived it.  

We are still trained, certified, or licensed in areas we’ll help you with and we still offer lots of free services, like trauma debriefing, and regular online and onsite seminars.  

Our ‘raison d’etre’ is still the same. We love working in predominantly Muslim countries, helping expatriates do better and stay longer. Why? Because we love the things most expats do while they live in these lands—helping love and develop the people of these countries, building bridges of peace between cultures and mindsets, making a difference in people's lives.

We all have stories to tell! Sometimes, we have fun adventures that take place in our daily life. Other times, we have tough stories that unfold over the course of our work and school days—even over our years.

Some stories are easier to tell than others. Some people tell their stories naturally, and others need to be encouraged to share.

Some need to be invited to share.

One of our favorite family dinner questions leads to great table conversations with our children. We begin with two simple questions, “What was the best part of your day? What was the hardest part of your day?” Then, we move around the table, each telling the tales of our day. As a result of these two simple questions, we have heard some really funny stories . . . and some really gut-wrenching ones.

What can we do to invite someone to share their story?

International living is replete with losses. Not only do we feel the loss of friends, family, belongings, and situations back home, but also the loss of competency, familiarity, and functionality in our new location. On top of all that, those we find it easiest to relate to are very transient and we are always saying goodbye.

So what’s the problem? Ungrieved losses have a way of festering below the surface. The can make us flat, or sometimes come out in irritation, anger and frustration.  At an even more basic level, we are often unaware that our losses merit any attention at all.

In this article, we'll share the 9 types of losses, so you can identify them in your own life and begin to heal. 

But first we start with my own story....

My mom died. Three months later, my stepfather died. He died in a fire that destroyed my childhood home.

verywhere I look, people are together—together with their families, together with their friends, together with their neighbors. Mothers and daughters shop together at the market. Parents with their children play together on the beach. Friends hang out together in cafés, and neighbors sit together in front of their door talking, laughing, and sipping mint tea.

I sit alone.

My family lives on the other side of the world. I have some expat friends who work with me, but they are busy with their own families and their own lives. I keep trying to build relationships with my national friends, but it’s so hard to build trust and deep connection in a foreign language.

I feel alone.

For those of us who feel isolated and alone, how can we find friends to connect with—especially when living in a foreign land with multiple layers of language and cultural barriers?

An angry gray sky greeted me. Standing at the top of the flight of stairs which opened to the roof, the breeze mussed my hair and reminded me I was near the ocean. It also whispered that rain was coming.

It was a risk to hang my heaping basket of wet laundry, but I had no choice. I grabbed the heavy towels. Clip. Clip. Shirts attached next, then socks. Clip. Clip. In the midst of the up-and-down, picking-and-clipping repetition, I had lots of time to think.

I was sad. I'd been sad for a while. I rarely smiled or laughed. All of my actions felt laborious.

Continue reading . . .