Shifting from being a professional or social being to a homemaker or isolated migrant
I remember my internship days – mornings at the hospital, evenings at a local clinic. Later, during post-graduation, I’d study for exams with my baby sleeping on my lap – not because no one else could help, but because he simply didn’t want to leave me.
Back then, I didn’t have to cook or clean or carry the weight of an entire household. My mom, cousins, and helpers made sure life flowed with ease. I was a proud doctor – serving patients, learning, laughing with nurses, coming home to the smell of fresh food. Doesn’t it now seem like a dream-come-true princess treatment?
But what looks like a dream from the other side of the visa line can quietly become an undoing.
Once I moved abroad, the world around me shifted overnight. Suddenly, I became the cook, the cleaner, the nanny – all rolled into one. When someone asked who I was, I’d automatically say, “I’m his wife,” or “I’m their mom.” And while I love those roles deeply, a quiet voice inside whispered, “But what happened to me?”
When people already have their own self-made circles – where newcomers must be working professionals or have to be extremely outgoing to belong (at least that’s what how I felt) – a stay-at-home mom suddenly feels invisible. Not because someone sees us that way, but because life here simply doesn’t allow you to step out the way you once did.
The days blurred between chores and loneliness. Old friends faded with time zones, and making new ones felt like walking on eggshells.
I still remember one mom who invited me home in my early days here. Eager for connection, I went. We chatted a while until she suddenly asked me to take her measurements. I did, and I was said “Bye” .There are no calls or messages after – only the quiet sting of realising how fragile belonging can feel.
It took me a while – honestly, a childbirth and one relocation – to realise that when you’re rushing to find someone else to make you feel seen, maybe the first person you need to meet again is yourself.
The real loss isn’t of titles or professions – it’s of the woman who once laughed without reason, who believed she could.
So before the last sip of chai in your cup, pause and ask –
“Who was I before the world started naming me?”
The answer won’t come from outside. It lives inside the little girl between ages seven and thirteen – the one who still remembers what made her eyes light up.
Find what she loved – maybe drawing, origami, singing, or dancing. It could be anything that once made time disappear. Bring that piece of her back into your day – even if it’s just for ten minutes.
Write. Paint. Hum a song. Move your body. Create something that’s yours, not for anyone else’s approval or appreciation.
Because healing doesn’t always begin in therapy or huge change – mostly it begins in the quiet joy of doing what once made you YOU.
She’s still there, waiting – for you to remember.
– Dr Tejashwini Harti
