And then what?
How to deal with coming home after your free mover experience
Nicolò Branchi – CMO at wearefreemovers | April 23, 2025
Table of contents
Intro
You packed your bag months ago, full of expectations, fears, and snacks. You waved goodbye, got on that plane, and went to live your adventure.
You were nervous. Excited. Ready—or at least, pretending to be.
Then it happened: you adapted. You grew. You stumbled through awkward conversations, got lost in unfamiliar streets, and started calling a new city “home.” You met people who changed you. You discovered sides of yourself you didn’t know existed.
And now… you’re back.
Same streets. Same friends. Same room. But something’s off.
Because you’re not the same.
You sit at dinner with your old friends, trying to tell them about that café in Lisbon or the night you got stuck on a bus in Kraków. They nod and smile, but their eyes don’t light up like yours. You realize: they weren’t there. They can’t get it. Not really.
Your hometown feels smaller now. Your daily routine, flatter.
There’s a strange silence that no one prepared you for—the silence after the noise, after the movement, after the freedom. You thought coming back would be comforting. Instead, it feels confusing.
No one warned you that coming home could be harder than leaving.
Because the truth is: when you go live abroad, a part of you stays there. And another part comes back changed.
This article is for that moment.
The “now what?”
The quiet confusion. The bittersweet nostalgia. The restless itch that tells you: you’ve changed, and now it’s time to figure out how to live with it.
The return you didn’t expect
You thought it would feel good to be back.
Familiar streets. Your bed. The smell of home-cooked meals. No more confusing bureaucracy, no more mental gymnastics to translate your every thought into a second language. You imagined yourself walking through the door and thinking, “Finally.”
And for a moment—it works.
There’s comfort. Warmth. A sense of relief.
But then the weirdness kicks in.
You feel like a guest in your own life.
You sit in the same café, at the same table, but the conversations don’t spark the same way. You scroll through your phone, craving updates from people who live in another time zone. You go for a walk in your neighborhood and wonder why it all feels… smaller. Flatter.
You expected reverse culture shock to be a myth, or at least something mild. But here it is—real, silent, and harder to name.
People ask you, “How was it?” and you smile automatically. “Amazing,” you say.
But how do you explain the late-night talks with strangers who became family? The moment you understood a joke in another language and laughed like a local? The version of yourself that came alive out there?
You start to realize something uncomfortable:
The world around you hasn’t changed. But you have.
Your routine feels dull.
Your old problems feel distant.
And the person you were before you left? They don’t quite fit anymore.
That’s the real shock. Not what you find when you come back—but how unfamiliar your old life feels once you’ve returned.
And in the quiet moments, when no one’s asking about your trip anymore, you wonder:
Was it just a dream? Did I really live all that?
Let’s make one thing very clear: you’re not broken. You’re expanding.
This discomfort is not a step back—it’s your new self outgrowing the limits of what used to feel normal.
It’s a sign that you’ve lived fully. That something inside you has shifted, and now it’s asking you to listen.
This is not the end of your journey. It’s the beginning of something deeper.
You’ve changed (and that’s a good thing)
At first, it’s subtle.
You react differently in conversations. You notice things you never paid attention to before. You feel more comfortable with uncertainty, more patient with people, more open to differences. You catch yourself thinking in two languages at once. You crave newness, not out of boredom—but because now you know what it tastes like.
Then it hits you: You’re not the same person who left.
And that’s not a bad thing.
In fact, it might be the best part of the whole experience.
Studying abroad didn’t just give you academic credits or travel stories. It shifted something deeper—it cracked you open.
You’ve learned how to start from zero in a new city, how to find your way when Google Maps doesn’t load, how to laugh when everything goes wrong and still show up the next day.
You’ve handled loneliness, miscommunication, bureaucracy, train delays, and unexpected kindness from strangers who barely knew your name.
You’ve stretched.
And that stretch leaves marks—good ones. Invisible tattoos of growth.
But here’s the thing: growth is quiet.
It doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t come with a certificate.
You come home and, on the outside, nothing’s changed—same face, same clothes, same pizza place on the corner. But inside, it’s like the walls have shifted. You see differently. You feel deeper.
And when the people around you treat you like the same old you, you hesitate.
Do I speak up?
Do I shrink myself again to fit what they expect?
Don’t.
You don’t have to downplay what you’ve lived.
You don’t have to pretend that everything fits the way it used to.
Yes, it’s uncomfortable.
You’ll catch yourself feeling disconnected, maybe even a little lonely—because your new way of seeing doesn’t always match what’s around you. And that’s okay.
That dissonance is not a problem. It’s proof.
Proof that you’ve grown. That you’ve seen more. Felt more. Lived more.
This isn’t the time to go back to who you were.
It’s the time to integrate who you’ve become into who you’re becoming.
Maybe that means starting conversations that matter more.
Maybe it’s pushing for change in your local environment, or mentoring someone who’s about to leave like you once did.
Or maybe it’s just walking through your city with new eyes, knowing you carry more world inside you now.
You haven’t lost your place. Maybe it just doesn’t fit the same anymore, and that’s okay.
And the beautiful part? You get to build the next one with intention.
This version of you is not the end result.
It’s the foundation.
What you can actually do
Knowing you’ve changed is powerful.
But knowing what to do with that change? That’s the hard part.
You wake up with that itch—the one that whispers “You’re meant for more.” But the world around you seems oblivious. Your friends talk about the same things, your family expects you to “settle back in,” and every now and then you catch yourself wondering if that whole adventure even really happened.
It did. And it matters.
But now it’s on you to carry it forward.
Because if you don’t protect what you’ve learned, it can slowly fade.
Not because you forget, but because the noise of daily life takes over.
So here’s what you can actually do.
Not to cling to the past, but to honor it—and to let it shape your future.
Write it out. For real.
Forget the pressure to be profound. Just start writing.
Write down the little things—the smell of that bakery near your apartment, the phrase that always made locals laugh, the moment you felt completely lost and didn’t panic. Write about what you miss, what annoyed you, what you wish you could go back and redo.
Why? Because memory fades. But when you write, you freeze time.
And more importantly—you understand yourself better.
You might think you’ve already “processed everything,” but growth often hides in the things we don’t say out loud. The act of writing isn’t just for nostalgia—it’s clarity.
It helps you connect the dots between who you were, who you became abroad, and who you want to be now.
And who knows? Maybe you’ll turn those thoughts into a blog, a post, or a message that inspires someone else to take the leap.
Stay connected—with people and with purpose
It’s easy to say “We’ll keep in touch.”
It’s harder to actually do it.
But make the effort.
Send that random “thinking of you” message.
Ask how their life is going—not just when you feel lonely, but when you feel grateful.
Your people abroad were not just friends for that chapter.
They can be your bridge to a global network, a wider vision of life, and a support system that gets it—without needing long explanations.
And purpose? Don’t underestimate it.
Maybe you volunteered abroad. Maybe you fell in love with a culture, a cause, a way of living. That part of you doesn’t have to go dormant now.
Find ways to continue that mission, even from afar. Support an international initiative, start a project, mentor someone who’s about to leave.
Global doesn’t mean distant. It means connected.
Find your tribe (again)
Maybe your old friends don’t get it. That’s not a betrayal.
You’ve just walked different roads.
Instead of getting bitter or trying to explain yourself to death, channel that energy into finding your next circle—people who’ve lived something similar.
Join international communities, expat groups, Erasmus alumni networks, or online forums.
You’ll be surprised by how many people out there feel exactly like you—but think they’re alone.
You might meet someone in your own city who’s been through the same emotional rollercoaster. Someone who gets the thrill of arrival and the ache of return.
And together, you can start writing the next chapter.
Translate the experience into fuel
Let’s get practical.
Your time abroad wasn’t a detour—it was training.
You’ve faced complex situations, made decisions under pressure, and adapted to unknown contexts. That’s gold.
Use it.
Bring it into your next job interview. Into the group project. Into that business idea you’ve been thinking about. Speak up. Offer perspective. Don’t undersell yourself.
And if you picked up a new language—keep practicing it.
If you fell in love with a new field of study, explore it further.
If you felt most alive while traveling, don’t wait years before you move again.
The version of you that thrived abroad? That’s still you.
Don’t compartmentalize that identity—expand it.
Apply it to real life. Even the boring parts. Especially the boring parts.
Because if you can bring your international self into your local context, you start becoming someone different. Someone who inspires.
And if all of this feels overwhelming—breathe.
You don’t have to do it all at once.
Start small. One message. One paragraph in your journal. One coffee with someone who gets it.
This isn’t about recreating the past.
It’s about building on it.
Because coming back doesn’t have to mean going backwards.
You’re not stuck—you’re transitioning.
And transitions? That’s where the real transformation happens.
The best part: It’s not over
Here’s the thing no one really says out loud: when your free mover experience ends, it doesn’t really end.
The suitcase is back in the closet. The SIM card is switched. Your favorite coffee shop is now just a memory on Google Maps.
But inside you—it’s all still there.
That version of you who got on a plane, full of doubts and dreams?
They’re still alive.
That version of you who learned how to navigate a foreign city, deal with setbacks, laugh in new languages? Still there.
Maybe quieter now, but stronger than ever.
Because what you lived wasn’t just “a period abroad.”
It was a transformation. A crash course in real life.
And even if no one around you fully understands it—you do.
And that’s enough.
Now the question becomes: what do you do with all this?
Maybe you’re not ready to take off again. That’s fine.
No one said you have to book a flight every time you want to feel alive.
Sometimes the real challenge is staying still—and not forgetting who you’ve become.
The best part of all this is that now, you have a new lens.
You’ve seen how big the world can be. How small problems can feel when you’ve handled bigger ones.
You’ve felt that surge of independence, of “I can actually do this.”
And even if right now you feel a bit lost, that spark is still burning.
It doesn’t go out—it waits.
You get to choose how this experience shapes your next step.
Maybe it pushes you to apply for that internship abroad you thought you weren’t good enough for.
Maybe it gives you the courage to speak up in class, or to propose something different at work.
Maybe it inspires you to help others take the leap you took, because you remember how scary and exciting it was.
Or maybe it just changes how you walk through the world, with a little more awareness, a little more kindness, and a lot more curiosity.
That alone is powerful.
And if you’re afraid of losing it—don’t be.
Yes, routines will try to flatten you.
People will expect you to “go back to normal.”
But there is no “normal” anymore.
There’s only what you choose to carry forward.
So write that story. Reach out to those friends. Keep speaking that language.
Start a new project. Change direction. Take risks.
Even if they don’t make sense to others—if they make sense to the you that came back, that’s all that matters.
This isn’t the end of your journey—it’s the beginning of a new one.
You’re not the person who left.
You’re not even the person who came back.
You’re something else now—something more complex, more aware, more alive.
And that version of you?
That version can do incredible things.
Not because you lived abroad, but because you let that experience shape you—and now, you’re brave enough to keep evolving.
So go ahead.
Take the next step.
It doesn’t have to be dramatic. It just has to be yours.
The world is still out there.
And no matter where you go—you’re bringing all of it with you.
The return is just another beginning
Coming back home after an experience abroad can feel like landing on a different planet—one that used to be yours, but now doesn’t quite fit.
And you try.
You try to reconnect, to find your rhythm again, to explain everything you’ve lived to the people around you.
But something has shifted. Something fundamental.
And here’s the truth most people won’t say out loud:
You’re not supposed to go back to being who you were.
Because you’ve expanded. You’ve seen more. You’ve felt more.
And even if no one around you truly understands the way your heart beats differently now—we do.
At wearefreemovers, we don’t just believe in the beauty of going abroad.
We believe in what happens after.
In that fragile, powerful phase where everything you’ve learned starts to settle into your bones.
In that quiet moment when the journey stops being a memory and becomes part of your identity.
We know the feeling of looking at your hometown with new eyes.
The ache of missing a place that became home.
The longing to keep growing, even when the world tells you to shrink.
And we’re here for that version of you. The one in transition. The one becoming.
So if anything in this article resonated—if you nodded, smiled, felt a lump in your throat—we want you to know this:
You’re not alone.
Not in discomfort. Not in the doubts. Not in the desire to do something more with what you’ve lived.
This isn’t just about studying abroad.
It’s about becoming the kind of person who sees the world—and themselves—with wider, wilder eyes.
So write.
Share.
Tell your story, even if you think it’s messy or unfinished.
Especially if it is.
Because your voice matters.
Your experience could be the one that sparks someone else’s courage.
That one sentence you’re scared to say out loud might be exactly what someone else needs to hear.
Reach out to us. Tell us about your return.
What felt off. What felt right. What you’re still figuring out.
This isn’t just a blog—it’s a space for free movers who are still moving, still searching, still growing.
And remember:
Just because you’ve come home doesn’t mean your journey is over.
It means you’re ready for the next one—stronger, wiser, and more alive than ever.
And if you’re still making sense of what this whole experience meant to you, this guide might help you gain perspective.
It talks about the early challenges of studying abroad—but reading it now might remind you of how far you’ve come since those first uncertain steps.
Welcome home.
Now, let’s keep moving.
