The stages of homesickness—and how to find your way through them

You can ship your belongings, book a window seat, and memorise polite phrases, but nothing quite prepares you for the quiet ache of dislocation. It’s not always cinematic—often, it’s a lump in your throat when a word escapes you in a new language, or a sudden nostalgia sparked by a laugh that sounds just like your mother’s. Homesickness doesn’t arrive with your suitcase—it creeps in softly, between time zones and tectonic shifts of self.

But culture shock, disorienting as it is, tends to follow a predictable arc. And with the right rituals, it can become less of a storm—and more of a map.

Relish the honeymoon phase, but root yourself early

At first, everything feels like a scene from a film. The buildings are charming, the coffee tastes richer, even public transport feels romantic. You’re Instagramming every cappuccino swirl, every cobbled street. But euphoria, like jet lag, wears off.

That’s when the little things begin to matter more than ever—the rituals, reminders, and roots that quietly hold you together as the novelty fades.

“Capture the ‘firsts’—your first grocery run, your first stumble through the language. Write them down. Share them. They matter,” says life and business coach Ankoor Naik. Simultaneously, build in pieces of home. “Call someone you love or read your hometown paper. These small habits create emotional continuity. They help you belong to both worlds,” he adds. You can also choose to play familiar music that connects you back to comforting memories or occasionally cook a simple meal from your hometown—it anchors you gently to your roots.

Normalise the dip

Sometimes, all it takes is a curt reply from a cashier or a form you can’t decipher, to make you feel lost or frustrated. And if you are the overthinker kinds, everyday tasks begin to feel like moral evaluations. But pause and reassure yurself, it's not all that grim, and it's not all crumbling down. 

“Instead of resisting discomfort, treat it like a signpost. Go on a nostalgic trip. Read something familiar. Meditate. Validate what you’re feeling,” says relationship and life coach Varinderr Manchanda.

Sociologist Kalervo Oberg, who coined the term “culture shock” in 1954, noted that while anticipating the dip doesn’t soften the blow, it does make it feel less personal. This, too, is part of the process.

Reach out—to colleagues at work, professors at school, or even fellow expats in your city. There are support networks and communities of NRIs (Non-Resident Indians) that offer comfort in solidarity. Don’t hesitate to lean on them when the ache gets heavy. Keep tabs on your mental health, and seek professional support if you need it.

Build slowly, live deliberately

Eventually, the edges begin to soften. You know the coffee aisle and you have found your comfort food. It's a sign. The adjustment phase has begun. According to Manchanda, this is the moment to be intentional. Don’t just drift—design your days around what fuels you.

Join a local fitness class. Find a neighbourhood market. Seek out experiences that foster rhythm. “Rituals anchor us. Frequent the same café. Journal in a nearby park. Walk the same route each evening. These repetitions become threads of belonging,” says psychologist Rasshi Gurnani.

Making friends as an adult—especially across cultures—can feel like a dead end. It’s okay for it to take time. “You don’t have to pour in too much too soon. Start with small connections. Celebrate shared festivals. Look for moments of commonality. Community builds slowly—and then all at once,” Gurnani adds.

Let your exploration stay playful. Visit the small towns tucked away in your new country. Find the bookstore no one talks about, or the cheapest produce stand in the neighbourhood. Speak the local language while buying groceries, then reward yourself—with a pastry, a good book, a long walk. Keep the thrill alive.

 

Live the in-between

Acceptance isn’t a grand epiphany. It’s subtle. One day, you stop converting prices into your old currency. The accents blur into familiarity. You start complaining about the train delays like a local. Something inside you has shifted.

But even here, homesickness can return—uninvited and quiet. And that’s okay.

Naik says, “Living between cultures doesn’t mean leaving one behind. It means expanding to hold both. If anything, it’s proof that you’ve grown roots in more than one soil. You may still miss the sound of your name in your native accent or crave a snack no one here has heard of. But now you also know the rhythm of a new place, the shortcut through a local park, the shopkeeper who remembers your name.”

In the end, you don’t need to choose. You just need to stay—curious, kind and open enough to be shaped by it all.

Lead image: Getty

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