Reverse Culture Shock Is Real
Going home doesn’t always feel like coming home
Most people expect culture shock when they move abroad. New customs. New language. New food. It’s disorienting—but expected. What no one really warns you about is the shock that happens in reverse. When you come back.
Reverse culture shock is what happens when the familiar no longer feels familiar. You return to a place that shaped you—and realize you’ve changed. The place hasn’t. Or maybe it has, but not in the same ways. Suddenly, you’re out of sync with a world you once moved through effortlessly.
It can feel jarring. Disappointing. Even a little lonely.
Researchers define reverse culture shock as the emotional and psychological distress that arises when re-entering one’s home culture after extended time abroad. But it’s more than disorientation. It’s a subtle kind of grief—mourning the version of “home” you thought would always be there.
Part of it is identity friction. Living abroad changes how you see things—your habits, values, pace. You start questioning what you used to accept without thinking. You learn new ways of being, and they become part of you. Then you go back to your original environment and realize those changes don’t quite fit.
The conversations feel flatter. The expectations more rigid. The small talk, the work culture, the social codes—you notice them now. And you don’t always like what you see. But this discomfort isn’t just about others. It’s also about you.
You’ve outgrown parts of your past. But you haven’t yet figured out how to integrate the new.
This isn’t a niche experience. It’s common among international students, expats, third culture kids, development workers, even repatriated executives. The Journal of Intercultural Relations notes that returnees often report more psychological distress than they experienced when first leaving their home country. That’s because there’s no preparation. No orientation. No one tells you re-entry is hard. People just expect you to be happy to be “home.”
But that expectation can create a pressure to perform familiarity—to pretend you still fit. So instead of sharing your inner dissonance, you downplay it. You code-switch back into old norms. You smile. You nod. You feel increasingly unseen.
This can create a subtle rupture in your sense of belonging. You’re not fully part of your adopted culture. But you’re no longer fully part of your original one either. You exist in-between—fluent in both, fully at home in neither.
And yet, there’s something valuable in that liminal space.
It gives you perspective. Depth. The ability to compare and contrast without romanticizing either side. You learn to hold multiple truths: that home can feel grounding and alienating at the same time. That growth can create distance—but also clarity. That not fitting neatly anywhere can be disorienting, yes—but also freeing.
Over time, reverse culture shock fades. But the awareness it gives you doesn’t. You learn to carry your complexity with more confidence. You begin to build a version of home that’s internal, portable, self-defined.
And you start to understand that feeling out of place isn’t a failure. It’s a signal of expansion.
You’re not going back.
You’re moving forward—with more layers than before.