Introduction: The Point of Dissappearance

“Home is not walls — it’s the grip of meaning. When you leave, the reality around you no longer knows anything about you.”

We can begin with an image: a person standing between two countries — not yet there, but no longer here. The question arises: what happens to the “I” when the background you once knew dissolves?

Between Home and Nothingness: How Not to Disappear in Migration Stress

Feelings of emptiness, disorientation, and heightened loneliness are common among those who find themselves in a new country. As early as the mid-20th century, American anthropologist Kalervo Oberg introduced the concept of “culture shock” to describe the experience of a person torn from their familiar context. Some feel useless. Others break against the language barrier. Some no longer recognize themselves in the new world. When resources are scarce and pressure becomes overwhelming, adaptation can easily turn into exhaustion — or even emotional collapse.

Migration Reality: It’s Not a Vacation and Not a Blank Slate

The American Psychological Association speaks of “migration trauma” — a complex experience that accompanies a person before, during, and after relocation. Does this sound familiar? The stage of euphoria, followed by a drop, doubt, rejection — and only then, a slow recovery? These phases closely resemble the stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Yes, migration is also a form of loss: of the old world, the old self, and a once-stable way of life.

Stage of Novelty. Everything feels bright and exciting. The city inspires, people seem kind, and even language mistakes evoke a smile rather than frustration. For some, this stage lasts a month; for others, a year. But it ends for everyone.

Stage of Collision. Practical issues arise: bureaucracy, misunderstandings, loneliness. A sense of helplessness creeps in. What used to take a day back home now takes weeks. The world feels slow, unwelcoming, unresponsive.

Stage of Inner Conflict. A moment comes when you must decide: are you here temporarily — or for real? An internal battle begins. Many decide to leave during this phase. Others, for the first time, stop seeing the country as a challenge and start to feel it as a space for life.

Stage of Adaptation. New connections begin to form. Habits settle in. A sense emerges that you are no longer a guest. A “new me” appears — someone who can manage in any condition.

Stage of Self-Agreement. The world becomes whole again. The feeling of alienation fades. Peace arises: you are here — and you are you. Maybe a little different, but whole.

These stages cannot be skipped. They must be lived through — accepted. Because migration is not just a move. It is an identity crisis — and a chance to grow.

Which Path Will You Choose?

Canadian psychologist John Berry identified four main adaptation strategies that people tend to follow when entering a new society:

Assimilation — you dissolve into the new culture. You communicate only with locals, adopt the language, behavior, and lifestyle. But over time, a sense of inner emptiness may arise — you seem to belong, but where are you?

Integration — you combine the old and the new. You maintain a connection with your homeland while actively participating in the life of the new society. Psychologically, this is the most balanced and sustainable position.

Separation — you remain in your cultural bubble. You interact only with “your own,” work remotely, and use your native language as a shield. At some point, this can become a trap.

Marginalization — you belong neither here nor there. Your original context is lost, and the new one is not accepted. This state intensifies anxiety, loneliness, and can lead to deep isolation.

Nostalgia and the Loss of Context

Many consider nostalgia to be the most painful part of migration. Not so much for the people left behind — but for the sensations, smells, phrases, and meanings. For the person you were in your former world.

It’s not just sadness — it’s the loss of your place in society. This is especially painful for those who once held status, influence, or recognition.

In migration, no one knows you. You are a blank slate. And that is both a pain and an opportunity. If, in the past, you entered a room and were recognized — now, there is silence. The familiar tools no longer work.

How can you support yourself?

• Bring anchors with you — a book, a blanket, a cup, your favorite tea. These aren’t small things — they are context.

• Stay in touch with loved ones, even if only online. Familiar connections help maintain a sense of stability.

• Ease yourself into the new life — not forcefully, but gradually. One new habit, one new connection at a time.

• Remind yourself: You don’t have to be who you were. You are someone who is changing — and that’s okay.

The Disappearance of Self: When Adaptation Becomes a Blurring of Identity

Relocation can open up new horizons — but it can also strike a blow to your inner core. It doesn’t always happen immediately. More often, it creeps in like a subtle fog, gradually eroding sensations, meaning, and inner grounding.

Here’s how this “dissolving” may show up:

• Constant tension and anxiety — as if the body is stuck in survival mode. Even simple tasks require effort. The world feels unsafe and unpredictable.

• Cultural dislocation — familiar reactions become “inappropriate,” while the surrounding norms feel alien. This leads to confusion, hesitation, and the urge to withdraw.

• Self-esteem issues — in the new environment, you may feel “not enough”: your language, manners, status, experience — everything resets, and it feels like you’re starting over without faith in yourself.

• Social isolation — your circle narrows. You either withdraw completely, or build a bubble of “your own,” shutting out the new. This can lead to depression and internal rejection of the world.

• Identity rupture — the old no longer offers support, and the new hasn’t been accepted yet. A void emerges where your story, meaning, and sense of belonging used to be.

• Sharp longing — not just for people, but for context: smells, intonations, familiar streets, the feeling of being at home. Nostalgia becomes not just sadness, but pain.

• Bursts of anger or rejection toward the new culture — everything feels wrong: people, language, humor. The world seems to actively push you away.

• Psychosomatic symptoms — the constant tension enters the body: headaches, insomnia, digestive issues, deep fatigue.

All of this is not weakness. It’s not something to simply “push through.” These are signals — sometimes of acute exhaustion, sometimes of the beginning of depression.

In such moments, the answer is not to force strength — but to recognize: migration is a crisis. And in a crisis, what’s needed is not heroism — but support.

Between Nothing and a New Home: What Can Be Done

After relocation, a person often finds themselves caught between two worlds: the old world no longer holds them, and the new one hasn’t yet accepted them.

A vacuum arises. And in that vacuum, it’s easy to lose yourself — to dissolve into the unfamiliar, to forget who you were, why you came, and what you once desired.

Don’t search for yourself — preserve yourself

Preserving means writing, speaking, drawing, collecting — even if it seems pointless at first. Not “trying to figure out who I am now,” but remaining someone who, in this very moment, can give shape to feelings: recording dreams, keeping a journal, sharing words, collecting phrases that resonate.

As long as a person continues to record themselves — they still exist. When they stop — they begin to disappear.

Return to yourself not through memory, but through meaning

Memories are an illusion of return. They hold you, but they don’t offer support. Real support is in the meanings that are alive here and now.

What still matters to you? What would you protect — even if you had nothing? What would you fight for — even if no one around you believed?

Returning to yourself is not a sentimental act — it’s an act of meaning. It’s when, even in a foreign language, you still know how to say something truly your own.

Not to Fit In — But to Integrate Reality into Your Own Coordinates

Migration often demands that we “fit in.” But fitting in means adjusting. And adjusting often means cutting parts of yourself off — for the comfort of others.

But there is another way: to integrate reality into your own system of coordinates. Not dissolving into the unfamiliar, but adjusting your lens so that the new place becomes part of you — without destroying your core. This is not a rejection of adaptation. It is a conscious choice: what am I willing to let in, and what do I leave outside my personal boundaries? Even if no one praises you for it. Even if you remain strange, different, misunderstood.

Migration is not just a change of location. It is a shift in meaning. And to preserve yourself through this journey means building a new home — not on foreign soil, but on your own inner ground.

The Exit Point: Who Returns From Migration

Migration is not just a road. It is a threshold — a passage through which one may lose more than just luggage. Migration is, in some way, always a kind of death. The death of what’s familiar, what’s dear, what’s understood. And at the same time — a rebirth.

But what’s essential is that it is not a shadow that is born. Not an adjusted shell. Not a “correct” version of the self. But you. As you are. Without falseness. Without losses at your core.

Not Everyone Returns as Who They Were

Migration changes people. And not always for the better. Some become invisible. Some become “convenient.” Some completely dissolve in the new environment — forgetting why they ever left.

Some never return from this inner emigration. They seem to live — but no longer breathe. They walk — but don’t move forward. They speak — but no longer hear themselves.

But the One Who Survived Within — Arrives as a Creator

There are others. Those who didn’t just survive — but preserved their inner fire, their memory, dignity, and strength. They step into the new space not as guests, but as creators. Not asking for acceptance, but knowing: I am not here to beg — I am here to build.

It’s not always loud. Often, it’s quiet. But it is a quiet victory over collapse. A return to oneself through rupture. A capacity to emerge from migration with new roots — and the same inner core.

The “I” as Anchor

Home is not walls. And it is not a country. Home is what doesn’t disappear — even when everything else does.

The one who knows how to preserve their core carries with them a still point — an anchor around which a new reality can take form.

If you haven’t lost yourself — even when everything around you has vanished — then you are already home. Not geographically — but existentially. Within. From where you can no longer be exiled.

How Fear and Systems Affect Inner Stability

What if stability is just an illusion? This article explores how fear and external systems influence inner resilience — and why true adaptation begins not with the outside world, but with the self.