I recently returned from a trip with my family to visit the country of my husband’s birth. His family was forced to leave decades ago, when he was just a toddler, leaving him with few tangible memories, unlike his older siblings and parents. It was a beautiful adventure; a break from routine at home, with friendly, welcoming people. It was also complicated, and tinged with some sadness in ways, as he tried to piece together fragments of stories he had from his parents and siblings, plus extended family, passed down through the generations. We could imagine what his ancestors experienced, as we wandered the streets, like the ones his grandparents and great grandparents once walked, and saw buildings that held the echoes of lives interrupted.
As we reflected together, we recalled themes we’ve discussed before in the family: the deep financial instability that followed the relocation, the shame of being othered, the loss of language and culture, the erosion of identity. There was grief—quiet, unspoken, generational—and there was anger.
Watching my husband move through this emotional landscape reminded me of my own ancestors’ difficult experiences with forced relocation — and stories that were not passed down or shared — as if erased from memory – but still held in the body with anger, fear and anxiety. My own current story is different — more voluntary — but also shaped by movement —across provinces, countries, and cultures. While I wanted to grow my past career, it required moving, and I recall always wanting to return “home” to my city of birth. I also remember while excited to start new jobs, and learn new languages, after the sheen wore off, I was exhausted from having to try so hard. And in my later work as a psychotherapist, I have found myself sitting with clients who carry the psychological impact of migration or displacement, whether voluntary or forced, or somewhere in between — always struggling with some longing for “home” and belonging.
Immigration and relocation aren’t just logistical events—they’re profound psychological experiences. They come with a layered mix of hope and grief, opportunity and disorientation, safety and stress, and longing. And in today’s global climate, more people than ever are being uprooted—by choice, by conflict, by climate, or by economic necessity. Whether someone is moving to find better opportunities, for a partner, or fleeing danger, the emotional toll is real.
The Emotional Landscape of Relocation
Immigration often comes with a tremendous sense of loss:
• Loss of family, community and support systems
• Loss of language and ease of expression
• Loss of cultural rituals and daily rhythms
• Loss of identity or social status in the new environment
And for those who come from conflict zones or experience discrimination in their new setting, there can also be trauma, and survivor guilt, layered on top of grief.
Even when the move is planned and wanted, it’s common to experience:
• Depression and sadness
• Anxiety and overwhelm
• Feelings of isolation
• Confusion about identity, especially in children and adolescents
• Intergenerational tension in parenting or cultural values
The stress of starting over—finding housing, learning new systems and languages, adapting to cultural norms, and often doing so while supporting loved ones back home—can lead to chronic stress and burnout. And sometimes, these emotional burdens go unspoken because people feel they “should” be grateful or resilient.
How Therapy Can Help
Therapy offers a space to tell the whole truth—not just the polished version of the immigration story, but the parts that still ache. It can support individuals and families in making sense of their experiences, rebuilding a sense of self, and finding strategies for resilience and healing.
Here are just some of the ways therapy can help people navigate immigration and relocation:
1. Naming and Validating the Grief
Sometimes people don’t even realize they’re grieving—until someone helps them name it. Therapy gives space to acknowledge and process the very real losses that come with moving.
2. Exploring Identity and Belonging
For many, questions like Who am I now? Where do I belong? become central. Therapy can help individuals explore shifting identities and build a more integrated sense of self.
3. Working with Intergenerational Differences
In families, different generations adapt at different paces. Therapy can help bridge cultural and communication gaps between parents and children and support more empathetic relationships.
4. Processing Trauma and Discrimination
Immigrants and refugees may carry trauma from their journey, or experience racism and marginalization in their new home. Therapy can be a space to work through those layers safely.
5. Rebuilding Meaning and Connection
Through storytelling, ritual, creativity, and reflection, therapy can help people reconnect with parts of themselves and their culture they thought were lost.
Final Reflections
Our recent trip reminded me that leaving a place behind doesn’t mean it leaves you. The memories, the unresolved stories, the dreams and heartbreaks—they travel with you, often across generations.
As a therapist, I feel honoured to bear witness to the quiet courage of those who build new lives while holding pieces of the old one close. If you or someone you love is struggling with the emotional impact of relocation or immigration, therapy can offer a compassionate space to unpack it all—to grieve, to heal, and to grow.
You don’t have to do it alone.
If you’re looking for support as you navigate the challenges of relocation or immigration, reach out to book a consultation.
Healing begins with being seen and heard. And every story—especially the ones marked by change and resilience—deserves that care.
