Back story - have had wanderlust since my late teens, spent many years studying or interning abroad in my twenties. From Australia. Always insisted it was my dream to experience expat life, live abroad on a more permanent basis (previous experiences were short term). Felt a pang when hearing stories of those who had lived these adventures abroad (inspired by them, but feeling I desperately that for myself too). Strongly believed we have one life and experiencing as much of the world as possible was the best thing one could do with life.
Fast forward many failed attempts to get jobs abroad, pandemic hit and I was forced to rethink my life plan. Had always wanted to not have kids until moving abroad (fear I would get ‘stuck’ otherwise), but was now late 30s. Went deep / had some life changing challenges, had a baby (in Aus) really invested in my social network (made a huge group of quality mum friends) and the first year of my childs life was the best in my life. Felt whole, content, and just a deep sense of happiness and fulfilment.
And ironically - my husband then secures a job abroad in Europe. I can honestly say I didn’t want to go. But my husband had pushed hard to find an opportunity purely based on a decade of me pushing for this. We were afraid of regretting opportunities not taken, and I reluctantly went, leaving behind this wonderful life I had created for myself and family.
it’s coming up to a year abroad and it’s been a struggle. It’s a transient expat town, and I don’t vibe with the local culture. I physically ache thinking of all that I’ve missed at home, and truly fear that those friendships and connections won’t be the same when I return. It feels lose lose - everything here is temporary, and the sustainable life I left in Aus feels like it could be lost (even though I work hard to keep in contact). I just feel like, the time has passed.
My husband is not as worried about that, likes the job and his career move has been amazing. I feel guilt because he has done this for me, he was happy to stay put and now I want to leave. I’m also worried that I may have romanticised a short term part of life (first maternity leave) and it’s not a good basis for making life decisions. Or am I just over the wanderlust and accepting grass isn’t always greener.
Thats was long - question is, do I throw in the towel, we quit earlier and come home? Or do we stick it our the original term (3 years)? Has anyone done this and felt that their life / friendships at home were never the same?