What Nobody Prepares For: The Emotional Baggage of Life Abroad

If you live outside Brazil, you may have already felt this: the sensation of carrying a weight that you can't see. It could be the lump in your throat after a call with family. It could be the fatigue of trying to explain yourself in a language that isn't your own. It could be that silence that appears at the end of the day, when everything seems right on the outside, but inside it's difficult.

This text is for you who have left your country, but sometimes feel that you have also left yourself.

Life abroad brings many challenges. Some are practical: housing, work, cultural adaptation. Others are harder to explain, because they happen inside. A mixture of longing, insecurity, fear of not being able to cope, loneliness. And this isn't an exaggeration or weakness. It's part of a profound human experience and it's legitimate (Matsue, 2012; Onório & Silva, 2025).

Psychology has studied what happens to people who live far from home. And these studies show that migration not only affects routine, but also the way a person sees themselves, feels and relates to the world.

In Japan, for example, many Brazilians have lived for years without feeling integrated. Even after all this time, they still face language barriers, social invisibility and difficulty accessing basic services. Matsue (2012), who studied these communities, identified that the lack of belonging generates intense emotional suffering, such as loneliness, anxiety and sadness. She observes that, without being able to communicate fullyMany Brazilians avoid seeking medical and psychological help, even when they feel they need it.

In this context, what has made a difference is the emotional support between compatriots. Religious groups, for example, have served as a space for listening and welcoming, even if they sometimes involve strict moral standards. The important thing is that in these spaces, the person feels less alone and less on the margins.

Gustavo Dias (2010), when researching the lives of Brazilian immigrants in London, found another fundamental point: the house. Even if it's a rented and shared room, the house becomes a space for reconstruction. It's where rice and beans are eaten, where Portuguese is spoken, where small traditions are kept alive. According to Dias, this domestic environment (however precarious) helps to maintain a sense of identity, of continuity, of who you are. In other words, the house becomes a place where you can breathe.

But there is something that escapes notice and also weighs heavily: the way a person compares themselves to others. Moura (2024), when studying Brazilians living in Portugal, realised that the more immigrants compare themselves with the Portuguese or a socially more valued group, the greater the negative impact on their self-esteem. They feel inadequate, out of place and incapable. When they compare themselves with people in a similar situation, or with their own background, the effect is more welcoming. There is more realism and less pressure.

These experiences, isolation, feelings of inadequacy and constant self-criticism have something in common: the way they are interpreted internally. And this is where clinical psychology has a lot to contribute.

Aaron Beck, one of the leading figures in contemporary psychology, has shown that emotional suffering lies not just in the facts, but in the way we interpret them. When people think "I'm not trying hard enough" or "I'll never fit in", these thoughts start to shape how they feel and how they act. Often, these thoughts arise automatically, based on old beliefs such as "I need to be perfect to be accepted" or "I'm a failure if I don't do everything".

These ideas, called core beliefs by Beck, are usually activated in times of stress or change such as migration. They act as lenses through which reality is interpreted. And the more rigid these lenses are, the more difficult it becomes to see one's own story with compassion and perspective.

In addition to thoughts, we need to look at emotions. Leahy and colleagues observed that many people suffer not just from the emotion itself, but from trying to escape it. Those who live abroad can feel a mixture of anger, fear, shame and sadness, but without being able to name or express it. Instead, they keep quiet, overwhelm themselves or isolate themselves. And this only increases the feeling of being alone with one's suffering.

What Leahy proposes is the development of emotional resources, learning to deal with emotions, tolerating discomfort, recognising one's own limits. He shows that emotions such as anxiety or sadness are not signs of weakness, but human responses to difficult contexts. The problem lies in how we deal with these emotions when they become too intense, too frequent or prevent us from living.

This set of rigid thoughts, misunderstood emotions and avoidance behaviour is something that can be transformed with professional help. It's not about erasing the pain, but understanding it. It's about building new ways of interpreting what you're experiencing, recognising the complexity of life abroad without romanticising it, but also without abandoning yourself.

In clinical practice, it is possible to help someone identify when they are stuck in cycles of self-criticism, when they are reacting to old beliefs instead of facts, or when they are trying to be too strong on the outside while everything is falling apart on the inside. Working through these layers is a way of organising accumulated emotional baggage. And it can open up space to breathe, choose and rebuild.

Living abroad shouldn't mean living away from yourself. What you feel makes sense. And it deserves space to be cared for with respect, ethics and listening.

If this reading has touched you in any way, know that it is possible to get through this time with support. And you don't have to go it alone.