Belonging, Immigration, and the Unseen Grief We Carry
When you hear the word grief, what comes to mind?
Likely, it’s the death of a loved one. That makes sense. This kind of grief has culturally assigned rituals—funerals, wakes, memorials—that help us process loss. It’s a grief that is visible and affirmed by the community, often met with support and recognition.
But we don’t often talk about the expanded shapes that grief can take. The kinds that are more complex, nuanced, and often invisible. Grief that doesn’t come with rituals. Grief that doesn’t gather casseroles or condolences. This is what Pauline Boss called ambiguous loss—“loss that remains unclear and thus has no resolution.”
Ambiguous grief doesn’t always stem from the death of a person. It can come from experiences that shift our lives irreversibly, but leave no physical absence behind. Things like:
being disowned or kicked out for being queer
going no-contact with a family member
moving across borders or immigrating
receiving a life-changing diagnosis
the ending of a relationship
These losses matter. They change us. And yet, they rarely get named or honored as grief.
As an expat or immigrant, this experience can feel especially stark. There is the loss of familiarity, of language, of cultural shorthand. The loss of being known without needing to explain. Of having a place that belongs to you, and where you belong.
And when we return “home,” it often feels unfamiliar too. Maybe the place has changed. Maybe we have. Maybe we no longer fit in the same way. The sense of belonging we once had becomes something we have to renegotiate—if not grieve altogether.
What does it feel like to experience ambiguous grief?
This kind of grief can come with much of the same experiences we know. Depression, numbness, guilt, nostalgia, longing, restlessness. The difference in ambiguous grief is the added disorientation that comes from having to grieve something that isn't recognized as loss. It can make you question your own experience, and have to consider whether or not it is a valid grief.
When I first left South Africa, I was young enough that I didn’t consider what I’d miss. I came up against the ache of not being known. Of having to explain my humor, my references, my silences. I figured, once I returned home, that these things might fall into place. Only to be met with more alienation. I still don’t belong. It forced me to wonder if I ever did.
Being an immigrant, especially for extended periods of time can breed unresolved loss. There is identity loss in being an immigrant that may not be resolved by a return to homeland.
This is real grief.
This grief deserves deep care and recognition too. We are sometimes given the grace to slow down, to take time off, to be with ourselves when a recognized loss happens. Honor this grief as well. It might require you to tend to your own emotional garden without recognition from others, but don’t let it go unrecognized by you.
It may feel harder to stay present with these feelings because life doesn’t slow down for them. Honor your own journey by slowing down anyway. Honor this part of your life journey by inviting it to your space. Get to know this grief so that it doesn’t overwhelm you later.
Some tips for slowing down:
Lean into discomfort – we easily distract our natural emotional pathways by picking up a phone or suppressing tearfulness. Honor this grief by allowing it to find you when it does.
Take time to write about how you’re feeling – journaling is not everyone’s cup of tea, but if you struggle to be still, taking a moment to check-in emotionally through writing can be a helpful way to slow down.
Be in nature – take a quiet walk outside without distraction. Remember what it is like to be in your body at the same time as this grief is present. This builds resilience.
Be in community – this doesn’t have to mean someone experiencing something similar (though that can be helpful if you can find it). This means just finding someone who will sit with you in it. Someone who can also honor this loss whatever that looks like.
Create a new ritual — take moments to consider what sparks joy in you. Joy that may be unique, or a combination of the lives you’ve lived. Create a ritual around this. Nobody has to understand it but you.
Living With What Cannot Be Resolved
Grief has a way of showing up unannounced. It doesn’t wait until we feel ready, and it often arrives at the most inconvenient moments. If you’re navigating questions of belonging—especially after an uprooting you didn’t choose—you might find that this grief never fully resolves, even with new rituals or community.
Instead of trying to banish it, consider inviting it in. Sit with it. Offer it tea. Let it tell you what it needs you to hear. This grief is not your enemy—it is a witness to your journey, asking to be honored.
Grief reminds us that we are alive. That we are capable of deep joy, of profound belonging, of genuine presence. It only feels this heavy because something mattered that much.
As you grow around this grief—and you will—you may find yourself expecting its visits, making space for it, and greeting it with familiarity rather than fear. In time, it will no longer consume you; it will simply sit beside you, another part of your story.
Some offers for journaling around grief:
When have you felt most at home in your body, space, or relationships?
What grief have you not named because you thought it was “too small” or “not real enough”?
What do you want to keep from the place you left? What do you need to let go of?
Where are you starting to build a new sense of belonging?