Migrating is, perhaps, one of the most profound acts of courage a human being can undertake. It is a journey measured not only in miles, but in the radical transformation of who we are. However, little is said about what happens within us when that suitcase carries not only clothes, but also a burden of uncertainty and, at times, a struggle for survival.
It’s not just nostalgia; it’s Migration
Grief. In psychology, we often say that migrants experience partial and multiple grief. Unlike other losses, what you leave behind (your family, your familiar scents, your social status, your language) continues to exist, but it no longer belongs to you in your day-to-day life.
As experts like Leon Grinberg rightly point out, this grief is recurring. But there is a crucial nuance: when you migrate by choice, there is grief; but when you migrate for survival (economic, physical, or professional), trauma is added to the grief.
"My mind knows I’m safe, but my body doesn’t"
It’s common to feel inexplicable fatigue upon arriving in a new country. You might ask yourself, “Why am I so tired if I only went to the supermarket today?”
The answer lies in your neuroscience. When you live in an uncertain environment, your body releases high levels of cortisol and adrenaline. You’re in constant “alert mode.” As Bessel van der Kolk explains in his book The Body Keeps the Score, the nervous system doesn’t understand immigration procedures; it’s just trying to protect you from the unknown.
Things that used to be automatic now require 100% of your concentration. Your mental battery runs out halfway through the day because your brain is processing a new map, a different culture, and the constant question of whether you’ll be able to stay. It’s not weakness; it’s your nervous system trying to adapt.
When we migrate, we start from scratch in defining ourselves. In our home country, we were “the son of…,” “the engineer,” “the funny friend.” Here, we’re a file number or just another stranger.
Everything that defined you is on hold. It’s hard to build a new identity when you don’t even know if you have solid ground to stand on. It’s normal to feel anxiety, insomnia, or deep sadness. Don’t judge yourself: it’s the logical response of someone putting together a puzzle whose pieces have changed shape.
The goal: Learning to live with “Two Maps”
Sometimes guilt creeps in: for those who stayed behind, for what we didn’t do, or for feeling like we aren’t moving forward fast enough. But healing begins when you stop trying to “erase” your past life to fit into the new one.
True integration isn’t starting from scratch; it’s about adding. It’s learning to live with two maps inside you:
the map of your roots, your memories, and your essence.
The map of your new paths, your current support networks, and your resilience.
A message for you
If you feel exhausted or lost today, remember: you are accomplishing a psychological feat. Stability will come with routine and with that new network of people who, little by little, will bring you relief.
You may feel today that you have no identity, but the reality is that you are creating a broader and braver version of yourself. Be patient. It will take your body some time to let go of fear, but the hope that “good things will happen” is the fuel that brought you this far.
Do you feel like you’re living in survival mode or that you’re struggling to integrate these “two maps”? It’s normal to need support during this process. You don’t have to carry the baggage alone.