I'm an American living in southern Spain with my family. Raising kids far away from home is harder than I expected.

17.09.2023 - 15:27 / insider.com

Moving abroad was freeing at first, as if I'd finally gotten out of a relationship that just wasn't working.

I dove head-first into Andalucía , and it was love at first sight. From flamenco shows in Granada's historic Albaicín to grilled sardines on the Costa del Sol, southern Spain became the sanctuary that I was so desperately seeking.

But just like with romantic partners, the honeymoon stage eventually faded, and I learned firsthand that it doesn't matter whether you're on the Mediterranean or in Metro Detroit. Every place has its issues.

While I'd love to say my life is nothing but sangria , sun, and siestas, the truth is there are many challenges that come with living outside of one's language and culture.

One of the biggest adjustments to moving abroad was living in another language. I used to dread paperwork back home, but having to deal with federal offices and legal paperwork in a foreign tongue involves a different kind of frustration and fear. From visas to rental agreements, everything I need for being, living, and working is in Spanish. Even at an advanced level, reading official documents can sometimes feel like deciphering "Don Quijote."

Driving isn't as simple as it sounds, either. Although I'd had my Michigan driver's license for almost two decades, Spain only recognized it for a few months. For years, I rode my bike and public transportation to avoid my fear of stick shifts and narrow European streets, but eventually, I had to enroll in driver's ed — a process that took months, cost 500 Euros, and bruised my ego after failing the first practical exam.

Then, a year after getting my license, a car accident started an avalanche of new second language experiences: police and insurance paperwork, car repair, doctors' appointments, and even back surgery.

Although some countries have treaties with the US government that prevent citizens from being dually taxed, the only way to avoid dealing with the IRS is to give up your US citizenship, and with no plans to expatriate, I still have to file taxes in both countries.

Many Spaniards cannot see beyond my foreignness, recognizing me as a "güiri," a term used to refer to white foreigners that strongly denotes naiveté. I used to tolerate it, even calling myself one because I was new and I didn't fully understand, but it's not so endearing after a decade. Regularly referred to as a güiri by strangers, students, and even in-laws, it's a constant reminder that I don't fit in here.

In addition to being a foreigner here, many of my US friends and family members also see me as some sort of outsider, sending me into a serious identity crisis.

By far, the most challenging aspect of living abroad has been living far from friends and