Mum Abroad

Raising a family far from home, with purpose, love, and quiet courage.

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It’s 2 a.m. Couldn’t sleep. So here I am, writing what’s on my mind and heart tonight.

When you’re a mum raising your children far from home, people often see the highlights.

The photos in front of landmarks. The bilingual kids. The “wow, what a life you’re giving them.”

And yes, all of that is real.

But so is everything else.

Being a mum abroad means carrying a daily mental load most people never see.

There’s no village built in, you have to construct it from the ground up.

No grandparents dropping by on Sunday.

No one popping in with soup when your whole house is sick.

No family member who can pick up one child while you tend to the other.

There’s no cousin sleepovers. No family barbecues. No quick catch-ups with childhood friends where you laugh about old stories while your kids play together.

Your children grow up not knowing what it’s like to be surrounded by relatives every weekend and that hurts sometimes.

You’re not at the weddings. Or the birthdays. Or the graduations.

You watch your people back home grow older, and your kids grow up, and they don’t get to witness each other’s lives in real time.

But here’s what else is true:

You chose this life because you believed, with every part of you, that it was the best place for you and now your family.

You moved not for ease, but for purpose.

You left familiarity for the promise of something better: safety, education, opportunities, peace.

You gave up the known so your children could thrive in the unknown.

That’s not a small thing. That’s not something just anyone can do.

Being a mum abroad means you become everything, often at once:

The mother. The auntie. The family photographer. The translator. The cultural bridge. The planner. The comforter. The link between two worlds.

You learn to reinvent traditions.

You start Christmas with a video call and end it with your own version of home.

You bake the birthday cakes yourself, decorate the house, and bring the party to life with just your nuclear family and still make it magical.

You send voice notes instead of hugs, packages instead of presence.

You get creative. You adapt.

You learn to hold two realities at once:

Missing home and loving where you are.

Grieving what your kids won’t have and being deeply proud of what they do have.

Feeling isolated sometimes and still grounded in your purpose.

There is power in that.

You teach your children what it looks like to be resilient. To make hard choices. To start from scratch. To build a life.

They may not see it all now but they will grow up with the deep understanding that their mum was strong.

Not because she never cried, or never missed her family but because she kept showing up anyway.

And one day, they’ll see your bravery for what it really is: love in action.

You are the reason your children speak two languages.

You are the reason they can navigate airports without blinking.

You are the reason they know how to celebrate diversity, how to adjust, how to belong in more than one place.

Yes, sometimes it feels like you live in between.

Not quite here, not quite there.

Not fully part of your home country anymore, but not entirely rooted in your new one either.

It’s a strange in-between place to mother from.

But it’s also a place of rich, deep perspective.

You’ve learned how to make home wherever your people are.

You’ve learned that motherhood isn’t about having everything, it’s about making something beautiful with what you have.

And what you have, even in the distance, even in the absence, is enough.

So no, this essay isn’t a complaint. It’s not a sad reflection. It’s a recognition.

An honouring of the invisible work that so many of us are doing, and doing well.

To every mum abroad reading this:

You are doing something incredibly brave.

You are not failing your children.

You are leading them with courage, intention, and love.

That matters.

And on the days you feel like no one sees it I want you to know: I do.

We’re in this together.

Scattered across countries, raising kids with passports full of stamps and hearts full of heritage.

Teaching them that love crosses oceans. That home can have more than one language. And that the strongest roots can grow even in unfamiliar soil.

This is not a small life.

This is not a temporary season.

This is legacy-building work.

And we’re doing it. Quietly, bravely, and beautifully.

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💬 Are you a mum living abroad too? I’d love to hear your story in the comments. What’s been the hardest part for you and what’s brought you the most pride? Let’s make this space a place of connection for all of us raising our families far from home.

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PS: If you’d like to support my work with a one-time gesture, thank you so much! Buy Me a Coffee.

PPS: once a month, paid subscribers will receive a special letter, a little deeper and more personal than my public posts.

They’ll be reflections I don’t want to publish widely, because they’re too personal, too sacred, or still taking shape.

This will be in addition to all the paid content I already share: the essays, reflections, and creative pieces that you’ve been receiving as part of your subscription.

My free posts will always remain (and I’m so grateful you read them).

But this new layer is for those who wish to walk a little closer, to share the moments I usually keep in my notebook.I hope you’ll join me in this next part of the journey ♥️

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Photo by Taryn Elliott