These essays originally appeared in 2012-13 as part of a Third Culture Kids guest post series, Painting Pictures, at Djibouti Jones. To read more essays like the ones in this book, more of Rachel Pieh Jones’s published works, and to connect with other Third Culture Kids, ATCKs, and expatriates, join the reading community at www.djiboutijones.com Copyright 2018

for Magdalene, Henry, Lucy you are my home Table of Contents

Discovering Third Culture Kids

Who Are Third Culture Kids Ruth Van Reken

An Open Letter to My TCK Identity Mary Bassey

Tribute to a Pioneer Ruth Hersey

Embracing the Uniqueness of Third Culture Kids Richelle Wright

What I Learned from My TCK Husband MaDonna Maurer

Reflections from a Father and His TCK Daughter Trey Morrison

Parenting Third Culture Kids A TCK Talks about Raising TCKs Marilyn Gardner

15 Things I Want to Tell My TCKs Rachel Pieh Jones

The Adopted Third Culture Kid Galia Rautenberg

When a TCK Chooses a Life Abroad Laura Campbell

When a TCK Does Not Choose a Life Abroad Clara Wiggins

Struggling Third Culture Kids A Whole Self Dr. Susannah-Joy Schuilenberg

Saudade Ute Limacher

Trauma and the Third Culture Kid Sezin Koehler

An Orchid or a Dandelion Joy L. Salmon

Transitioning Third Culture Kids

Six Stages of Re-Entry Grief Cecily Paterson

Re-Entry Questions Rachel Pieh Jones

Transitioning Globally to University Janneka Jellema

The Third Culture Kid’s Struggle to Fit In Paige Porter-Livesay

When Third Culture Kids Reunite Jenni Legate

Thriving as Third Culture Kids Glimpses of a Third Way Idelette McVicker

Living with the Empty Spaces Heather Caliri

The Strength of the Melting Pot Pari Ali

Embrace Race Angie Washington

Passport to the World Bonnie Rose

A Transitional, Formational Life Kelley Nikondeha

Author Bios

Who are Third Culture Kids? by Ruth Van Reken In the late 1950s, Ruth Hill Useem, originator of the third culture kid term, simply called them “children who accompany parents into another culture.” While she did not specifically say so, all those she originally studied were in another culture due to a parent’s career choice, not as immigrants or refugees. Dave Pollock later defined TCKs as those who have “spent a significant part of his or her developmental years outside the parents’ culture(s).” He then went on to describe them by adding “Although elements from each culture are assimilated into the TCK’s life experience, the sense of belonging is in relationship to others of similar background.” This descriptive phrase seems to be part of where some confusion rests. It is absolutely true that any given TCK or by now adult TCK (ATCK) often personally incorporates various aspects of his or her life experiences into a personal world view, food preferences, or cultural expectations. That’s why many TCKs and ATCKs relate to the metaphor of “being green” that Whitni Thomas describes in her lovely poem “Colors.” There she writes how she feels both yellow and blue in her different worlds but wishes there was a place to “just be green.” Ironically, many TCKs do feel “green” when with others of like experience, as Pollock describes. This is where they don’t have to explain this desire to be both/and rather than being forced to choose an either/or identity. Other TCKs easily understand because many feel the same way, no matter which country their passport says is “home” or which countries they have lived in. But putting various pieces of different cultures together is not the third culture itself, although it is a very common (and wrong) way many describe it. What is the “third culture”? If the third culture isn’t a mixing and matching of various cultural pieces, what is it? Another common misconception is that somehow it means something related to the “third world.” Or that it measures the number of countries or cultures someone has lived in. Many have said to me, “Well, I must be a third, fourth, or even fifth culture kid because I’ve lived in…” and they list the extraordinary number of places they have lived or the cultural complexities within their family structure. Perhaps having a simple definition of the original concept of the third culture itself would be helpful. A starting point is remembering that culture is something shared, not an individualistic experience. So how does that relate? Easily! In the late 1950s, two social scientists from Michigan State University, Drs. John and Ruth Hill Useem, originally defined the third culture as a way of life shared by those who were internationally mobile because of their career such as international business, military, foreign service, or missionary work. The Useems noted those we now call “expatriates” had left the country their passport declared as “home” (the first culture) and moved to host country (the second culture). They noted that this community formed a way of life that was common to them but was unlike either the way they would have lived in their home cultures or how the locals were living in this host land. They called this an ‘interstitial” or third culture. Those who lived in this community may not have shared nationalities or ultimately, the same host cultures but there is much they share. Then, as now, all who live this globally mobile lifestyle for reasons related to career choices live in a world of truly cross-cultural interactions. Entire worlds and cultural mores and expectations can change overnight with one airplane ride. High mobility – personal and within the community – is the name of the game. There is some level of expected repatriation as compared to a true immigrant who plans to stay. Often there is a strong sense of identity with the sponsoring organization. In time, Dr. Ruth Hill Useem because particularly fascinated with studying the children who grew up in this particular cultural milieu and named them third culture kids or TCKs. So why do these distinctions make a difference to anyone but a high-powered academician? Because it helps us normalize the results of a globally mobile experience for all. In particular, if we understand the difference between the TCK and the third culture itself, we can see more clearly how and why the typical characteristics of the TCK profile emerge. They do not form in a vacuum. For example, if TCKs are chronically negotiating various cultural worlds in their formative years, no wonder they often become cultural bridges in later life and careers. Interacting with others from various cultures and world views hopefully develops an understanding that there are reasons and values behind how others live and hopefully helps TCKs and ATCKs clarify the reasons they hold the values and practices they do. On the other hand, if the normal process of identity development occurs in conjunction with how our community sees and defines us as well as our inner perceptions, we can understand why frequent changes of our cultural mirrors can complicate the process of defining “who am I, anyway?” If relationships and the normal attachments that come with them are chronically disrupted by high mobility, no wonder there are often issues of loss and grief to attend to. We can also understand the isolation some TCKs ultimately feel as it seems pointless to start one more relationship if it will only end in another separation. Better yet, once we have understood the “why” of our common characteristics, we can figure out the “what” we need to do to help deal effectively with the challenges so the many gifts of this experience are being maximized. And then we have to see how we will do those things. That’s the stage we are at now. I call it TCK Phase 2. All over the place, new books are coming out telling us how to do better school transition programs, how therapists can work more effectively with this population, how parents and educators can work well with adolescents TCKs. Personally, however, the reason I feel so passionately about keeping our terms clear is so that as we understand the “why” of the TCK story, we can begin to apply some of these insights and lessons learned to others in our globalizing world who are also living and growing up cross-culturally and with high mobility for countless reasons now other than simply a parent’s career choice.

Make it yours Write a definition of Third Culture Kids in your own words Does it bother you when people misunderstand or misuse the term Third Culture Kid? Why do you think this is upsetting? Or not? How can you respond with wisdom? Do you think understanding the Third Culture Kid identity is important? Why or why not? Do you identify as a Third Culture Kid? Or do you reject the label? Why or why not? Some TCKs have told me they feel the term is over-emphasized, that they want to be recognized as much more than being a TCK, or as someone apart from that defining characteristic. What do you think about this idea? Write an essay, or a paragraph, or a whole book(!) about your Third Culture Kid experience. Write the good and beautiful and the hard and dark parts. If you aren’t a TCK, how does this term help you understand the TCKs in your life?

An Open Letter to my Third Culture Kid Identity by Mary Bassey Dear Third Culture Kid Identity, It’s almost like you have been stalking me for the past 20 years of my life. And I just realized that you existed 7 months ago. Way to go on concealing your identity for two decades! That’s actually very impressive…and makes me feel a bit confused. And frustrated. And weird, especially since you’ve been stalking me. Yet I have chosen to embrace you anyway. This is a bit concerning considering that my parents taught me not to talk to strangers. And here I am, doing the exact opposite of that. I blame you for my rebellion. I blame you for a lot of things, actually. You’ve made me do really strange things, TCK Identity, even when I didn’t know who you were. For instance, that blasted “From” section on Facebook never seemed to stay the same. For a few months, it would be Ilorin, Nigeria because that’s where I was born. Then, it would be Calabar, Nigeria because my Nigerian culture suggests that my hometown is my Father’s hometown. Other times, it’d be Canada. Or Kentucky. Or California. And then it would be blank out of frustration because you made the task of saying where I was from more difficult than it needed to be. And as if that internal conflict wasn’t enough, Facebook would mock me, asking me in that blank from section, “Where did you grow up?” So, I entered all of those aforementioned places BECAUSE I GREW UP IN ALL OF THEM, DANGIT! Facebook would not let me enter where I grew up. I repeat: Facebook would not let me enter where I grew up. So, there you have it, folks; Facebook discriminates against TCKs (please don’t take that statement seriously). But because I do not have the time or energy to lead a revolution and express my grievances against such a sad part of my Facebook experience, I answered Facebook’s, “Where are you from” question with “Elephant Island, Antarctica.” Again, I blame you, TCK identity. You’re the reason why I feel slightly un-American because of my Nigerian and Canadian identities. You’re also the reason I feel like an outsider every time I visit Nigeria because of my Western identities. You’re the reason for my sudden interest in Australia and Australian culture. You’re the reason I fantasize about living and schooling there after my undergraduate education. I’m possibly the only non-Aussie in Southern California who has been keeping up with The Voice Australia (don’t tell me who goes on to the final round; I’m trying to catch up). You’re the reason why I vent to my first culture kid friends about how much easier they have it since they don’t have to deal with cultures that are so opposite from each other. All they could do was feel sorry for me. You’re the reason why their feeling sorry for me was not cutting it for me. I desired to be understood, not pitied. Then I met you. I signed up for that “Anthropology for Everyday Life” having no idea it was a clever nickname for “Cultural Anthropology.” I had no idea that the last day of class would leave me in tears because I finally understood the inner struggle I was having with my cultures. Dr. Ayers, my professor, said I was a third culture kid. It was at that moment I knew that there was a name for you. Sure enough, I Googled that term and videos of other TCKs came up. I’m surprised I didn’t suffer whiplash at that moment because I found myself nodding to the experiences I had been saying all of my life. Except this time, those experiences weren’t being spoken by me. They were being spoken by other TCKs. About a week after that instance, I ran into Rachel’s blog, Djibouti Jones, my first encounter with a blog mentioning TCKs. As I explored more, I discovered that there are more people who are expats and TCKs. And more. And even more. Whoa, TCK identity. We are going way too fast. We need to take it slow. The amount of TCKs and expats I have met through social media is too overwhelming for me. Have we been taking it slow, though? Well, the desire to meet more TCKs and expats always increases, and I go with it, so I guess not. Look at you, being rebellious! I didn’t know I was a TCK until I met you in that class. And to be honest, I hate you. But I also love you. And I couldn’t imagine my life making more sense without you. Thank you for showing me I’m not the only one going through this identity crisis. Thank you for the support group of TCKs and expats I have encountered thus far and the ones I will encounter in the future. Thank you for giving me the courage to speak out what I have kept silent for many years and for making me feel okay for being different. You’re not too shabby, mate. Not too shabby. Yours, Mary

Make it yours Write a letter to Third Culture Kid self. Maybe you need to yell at it, maybe you need to thank it. When did you first learn the term Third Culture Kid? Journal about your response. Do you connect more easily with TCKs or non-TCKs? Consider why this is. What are some of the ways being a TCK makes you feel different from the people around you? Similar to them? Do you wish you learned the term earlier? How do you think that would have impacted you? Try to explain the term to someone who isn’t familiar with it.

Tribute to a Pioneer by Ruth Hersey

We almost didn’t go to the session. I don’t remember what the alternative was, but I know we hesitated, my newlywed husband and I, dazed by all the options at Urbana 90. We had come to find the world and hadn’t been disappointed. There were speakers from several continents and every international Christian organization you could name was there, recruiting. Ever since we’d started dating after getting to know each other at an MK Fellowship event at Asbury College, we’d known that we wouldn’t spend our lives in the United States. We wanted to go somewhere else. There was a whole world out there. We knew that from experience; he’d grown up in Japan and I in Kenya. We couldn’t resist this particular session, billed as an MK Meetup, and turned aside from whatever enticing international smorgasbord offering was taking place at the same time, and entered a lecture hall full of people. A white-bearded man introduced himself as Dave Pollock and asked people to come to write the name of their school on a white board. Before long the board filled with names of schools from every country you’ve ever heard of and some you probably haven’t. I don’t remember what Dave said that day, mostly because it was so exciting to be in a room with so many TCKs, some of whom, it turned out, we knew. (That tends to happen when TCKs get together – you always have a person or place in common, even if you don’t know each other.) I do know that I learned that term that day: TCK. That’s what we were, Dave told us, Third Culture Kids. I have Dave’s book in front of me as I write, and I’m sure what he said was something similar to what he wrote in the introduction: “It is my conviction that being a TCK is not a disease, something from which to recover. It is also not simply okay – it is more than okay. It is a life healthily enriched by this very TCK experience and blessed with significant opportunities for further enrichment.” He always presented himself as a “wannabe TCK,” and even though he recognized the challenges we faced, it was obvious he loved being around TCKs. Four years later we met Dave again. We had finished graduate school and moved overseas; spent a year teaching at an international school in Haiti and returned to the States for the summer. We did temp jobs and waited to see what would happen with Haiti’s political situation and whether we’d be able to return. A friend of ours worked with international students at a nearby college. She called one day to tell us she thought we’d enjoy a Re-entry Seminar the college was hosting, led by a guy called Dave Pollock. We were working during the day, but drove over that evening. Our friend was right – the session was life-changing for both of us. Dave quite simply told us who we were. He explained the challenges and the benefits of being TCKs, and in his trademark way, illustrated every point with wonderful stories, collected over the years from hundreds of TCKs. (In time we got into his presentation, too, as he told people about Steve taking me out for sushi to vet me while we were dating.) When we got back to Haiti, we told our administrators about Dave and his seminar, and eventually he visited Haiti three times and had dinner with us in three different houses. It’s hard to believe I spent as little time with Dave as I did because he became such an important part of our lives. Some examples of his effect on us: A Haitian-American kid living with us said, “That guy is the first person in my life that ever understood me.” I was listening to Dave speak in our school chapel when a friend called and said, “Go home and turn on the TV.” I did, in time to see the second plane hit the World Trade Center. Dave was there for our students, helping them process the news. Dave prayed with us as we grieved a miscarriage. I remember he told God about “the heaviness” we feel, we human beings. Dave often preached from 2 Peter, saying it was the epistle to TCKs, because it’s written to exiles. I can’t read those five chapters, ever, without thinking of him. Dave and his wife Betty-Lou sat in our living room as I nursed our second child and they talked about the loss of their own son. And then on Easter Sunday, 2004, we lost Dave too. He’d been doing a seminar in Vienna, Austria. It was somehow fitting that he was a long way from home. Even though Dave has been gone a long time now, I still find myself thinking of him in moments of crisis and wondering what wise words he would have had. After the earthquake in Haiti, when I was evacuated with our two TCKs to the US, while my husband stayed behind, I thought of Dave again and again. It’s hard to narrow down what Dave did for those of us TCKs who grew up before all the variety of help there is now, the understanding, the seminars. Dave was the pioneer. For so many of us, he was the first one who helped us find our name. We could accept being TCKs as a rich gift, while at the same time acknowledging the losses it had brought us. Dave used to say the Great Commission went hand in hand with the Great Commandment. God wanted us to go into all the world, but He also wanted us to love one another, to care for one another. Dave cared for us TCKs. I loved him and I won’t ever forget him.

In Conversation with Ruth Your piece is a tribute to those who pioneered the TCK discussion and terminology. Are there people or resources you look to now, for the current young generation, people who are continuing to push the conversation deeper? I have read, and loved, all of Marilyn Gardner's books, and I have read and enjoyed some Pico Iyer, too. Most of the reading I do about TCKs and other immigrants of all kinds these days, though, is fiction. Jhumpa Lahiri is one of my favorite authors, and her book The Namesake one of my all-time favorite books. I could relate in so many ways to Mohja Kahf's book The Girl in the Tangerine Scarf. I recently discovered Imbolo Mbue, a writer from Cameroon, and read her book Behold the Dreamers. I am always drawn to novels about cultural exchange, and love reading about others' experiences of this. How do you feel your TCK identity impacting you now, and your husband? Our daughter is in college now, and we keenly feel the separation as she is in the United States and we are in Haiti. Her leaving triggered all kinds of memories in me of my first separation from my parents during my own childhood, even though I was seven at the time and my daughter was eighteen. Suddenly I felt that I absolutely could not tolerate any more loss in my life. I got some counseling to help me through this transition and I can't recommend that highly enough. It's hard to be a person, and I don't know how much of my struggle is from being a TCK, and how much is just from being human, but having a skilled, compassionate person to talk to about it is invaluable. (Unfortunately, my counselor left the country. Figures.) As the world becomes increasingly global, what do you think TCKs can uniquely offer? In terms of skills or character or experience…? I remember Dave Pollock saying that TCKs were the prototypes for the future, and that we'd meet more and more people who fit the description. I have found that to be true. I always expect TCKs to have super empathy skills, but not all of them do. In fact, it's hard to generalize about them. I appreciate the variety in the TCKs I know, and the unique ways they each contribute, whether it's their linguistic abilities, the great stories they have to tell, or the delicious food they know how to cook. What are you up to now, in life and work and living? We are still in Haiti. In fact, we have lived in the same house for 16 years. My son has lived in the same house his whole life. I say this incredulously, because I have lived in 25 homes in my life. I am so grateful for the stability I've found in the midst of the frequent instability of Haiti. I still teach middle school English, and I'm starting to have some children of my former students in my classes. My husband works at a different school now, but is still teaching. Our daughter is a junior at Wheaton, and our son is 15 and in 9th grade. We are savoring his last few years at home. Make it yours Write a tribute to someone who significantly and positively impacted you as a Third Culture Kid. If you’re brave enough, share it with that person. If you can’t share it, read it out loud in their honor or share it with someone else who knew them. If you didn’t know the term Third Culture Kid, what would you call yourself? Create your own definition that captures how your life has shaped you. Draw or paint a picture of what being a TCK means to you. Are there non-TCKs who have loved you well and who seem to understand this aspect of who you are? This is no small thing. Thank them for their support and care.

Embracing the Uniqueness of Third Culture Kids by Richelle Wright

It was one of those moments — absolutely impossible to replicate… ever. And yet it was so beautifully simple. Leaving the recreation center (where we sometimes retreat for pool time or a couple of hours hanging out watching satellite TV in an air-conditioned room), we noticed a huge gathering of black kites hunting something, gliding and drifting, plunging then lifting – over the softball field. Instantly mesmerized, the entire family stopped and watched, our eyes glued to the sky and the movement of those graceful birds, hoping to determine what was the cause of this large gathering of birds of prey. Then I allowed my eyes to drift back toward the green grass of the infield. My littlest one had wandered out, wearing nothing but her swimsuit in several hues of neon, and there she stood. Or, more accurately, there she slowly turned, round and round, head tilted back, eyes skyward, totally absorbed and totally fearless, immersed in the drama taking place just above her. At least fifteen birds, many with wingspans nearly twice her height swooped and dove all around her. Two, in fact, literally collided only feet above her head. The birds pursued recently hatched termites, oblivious to their audience. For some reason, that moment, more so than any other right now, seems to encapsulate my life as a mama to many third culture kids (TCKs). I’m passionate about TCKs… for obvious reasons. I have eight of them living in my house, day in and day out. I also teach (math and coordinating the special education department) at an international school where most of the students are from expat families. A large part of life and ministry for me is TCK centered and focused. We love our life living and working overseas, traveling, learning languages and cultures, making friends from all corners of the globe, becoming a part of our local Nigerien community and integrating into the international expat community as well. Our kids also miss their grandparents, cousins, four seasons each year and the myth of McDonalds… Since our oldest was not even yet a year when we began this journey, our children don’t really know anything different. One of my fears when first began praying about bringing our family to Africa that my kids would end up different… That has happened. I was just thinking the other day about all the ways my kids are different. Football means soccer. They aren’t quite sure what to call that seasonal game their mama starts talking about every September where big guys wear tight pants and chase, in spurts, a strange shaped ball up and down a big field. Church means at least three different languages, head coverings for my girls, and kids up front, men on the right with women on the left. Often only men receive one of a limited number of song books, youth group is for college- aged students and when communion is offered, you stand to signal your intent to participate. Most Communion Sundays, they are the only children standing. Their classmates have names like God’s Goodness, God’s Comfort and God’s Favour, Blessing and Happiness, or Mohamadou and Fatima; English or French might slide off the tongue in no specific order as you hear them chatter. Occasionally a Zarma or Hausa word finds its way into the mix as well. Homework by candlelight is a weekly, if not more often, occurrence. Assignments requiring internet research are a necessary bane of all. Favorite movies and music depend on who has brought what most recently from their passport country, while fashion is an odd mix of t-shirts from the west paired with bright, bold cotton African fabric tailored into baggy pants or tied on like a long wrap around skirt. Henna tattoos are the birthday party rage and most kids don’t learn to tie shoelaces until 3rd grade or later. After all, who needs to when flip flops are the shoe of choice and are available on literally every corner? Of course, they can’t remember whether they should call them flip flops or thongs. They have a similar problem with the non-writing tip of a pencil: is it a rubber or an eraser? Details like these might be quaint, unique and interesting to home country friends when the family heads back to passport lands. But what about when the newness wears off? How do I best help my kids… and the other kids with whom I work… get ready for those sorts of changes and transitions? How can I educate and prepare them so that they are willing to see the fun and the intrigue and the wonder of their “home” and, yet still be themselves – TCKs who’ve mostly grown up in Africa? I want to see and hear them laughing at and accepting their eccentricities while still feeling good in their own skin. I want them to appreciate their passport country but never lose their love for this place and this expat community… that will probably always feel more comfortable, at least on some level. Or, as Ruth so eloquently phrased it: how do I aid in the process of “…normalizing… experiences and then the empowering… TCKs and ATCKs to live life to the fullest potential.” My husband and I, although intentional about discipling our children in this area, don’t have a formula approach. We aren’t professionals with tons of education and experience behind us. We aren’t good at some of those different activities detailed in TCK transition seminars or read about in the literature by all those experts on TCKs. We do have a huge transition imminently looming and our oldest TCK is just now beginning that leaving the nest process. We’ve got no “proof” that what we’re doing is successful. We are, however, committed to parenting our children and making the best decisions and choices we can. Our strategy can be summed up in five words: time, tailoring, listening, praying and grace. We talk, a lot. We ask questions and then we listen. Hopefully, a lot more than we speak. We let them share about their dreams for the future… as well as their nightmares. We hear about what they love, what they hate and what they are looking forward to. We discover what they remember and what they treasure, from everywhere we’ve ever been. We let them take the lead in defining home, but we also encourage them to consider any place where their heart feels safe a potential home. Then, we disciple them in that process of learning to construct or find those heart safe places. We take time to enjoy those once in a lifetime moments like black kites hunting freshly emerged termites – they are a lot more common than I used to think. We’ve created our own family culture with bits and pieces of the places we’ve lived and the people we’ve known… and we invite others to join in and participate, regardless of where we are. I pray more than I ever thought was possible. And we try to re-member grace – for our children, for those our children meet, and for ourselves… especially during the more trying seasons. It is interesting to think about that word, written in that way: re-member – a conscious choice, again and again, to recognize that everyone belongs to that group who needs grace, again and again… We also strive to live and to teach our children to live daily Job’s refrain: “The Lord gives, the Lord takes away… Blessed be the name of the Lord!” We’ve found that when we acknowledge our losses, each one is often linked directly to a later gift or gain that would have never been possible without the first loss. It doesn’t stop the pain of the loss or negate its reality. But it does help us to look at life as a complete picture. And perhaps that is the one way that my TCKs can embrace their uniqueness while feeling a part of any world and any culture: gain and loss, change and transition – they are universal. They are a part of life for everyone, everywhere. In at least that one detail, my TCKs can be just like everyone else. Maybe that can be the bridge to help them look outside their life and their story to see that everyone around them has one, too… and that it is worth the effort to get to know those other stories. If I succeed at helping my children even begin to learn this, then maybe they can also be the ones to help remind me when I forget.

In Conversation with Richelle Five years later, what are some more unique things you've noticed about your TCKs? Are they able to joyfully embrace their uniqueness? I do think my TCKs, for the most part, embrace their uniqueness. My adult ones are very aware of the many ways they see the world differently from the majority of their friends. Two of those three are more comfortable with other TCK friends, for the most part. Sometimes, as I observe them, it is like with other TCK friends, they can stop holding their breaths and truly be themselves. All three are cultural chameleons, well-liked, involved with others (each in their own unique way that fits with their differing personalities) and will verbalize the idea that to function well in the present, they have to find a balance between accepting their uniqueness, yet – as one says – “just get over it.” I think what my TCKs are trying to communicate is that while they can “self-define” by recognizing and celebrating all of the unique TCK variables that have made them who they are today, they can’t let that uniqueness be all that others use to define them. My crew still living at home with us are still very much “in process.” This group has lived a couple of very difficult transitions, including having best friends (big brother and big sisters) leaving the nest – and feeling somewhat left behind. It is something all younger siblings experience, but as a family unit that is very close – our children generally love to be together. We have another one graduating this year and heading for that next step. I dread and look forward to it all at the same time because as that one moves on and continues more independently growing and becoming, I have opportunities to see better the uniqueness of the younger ones, particularly the new oldest one at home. On the whole, though, I’d say that they appreciate their different individual strengths and abilities, recognize readily the strengths and talents in others around them and enjoy the many unique opportunities afforded them living the expat life. One thing that has been a surprise to me is that while they are expats, they are not surrounded by host country friends/expat/international community today the way they were when we lived in Niger. Instead, their friends are host culture or 2nd/3rd generation immigrant mingled with host culture and a few other TCKs. They are much more comfortable and at home in this present world than they were in our home assignment home town, with friends they’ve known most of their lives even though they’ve only been able to interact on furlough years. They’ve truly embraced this transition to a new place. You mention five ways you specifically think about parenting TCKs and one of the words you used is 'tailoring.' Can you expand a bit on that term in this context? As far as the word tailoring - My educational training and formation is that of a special educator, with a focus on individualizing education and making necessary adaptations to allow children – in their uniqueness of abilities and disabilities – to access the education. That perspective has very much influenced my approach to parenting. We are very much NOT formula parents. We focus much more on relationship than specific “outcomes.” It reminds me of when we’d go to a tailor to have an outfit made while we still lived in Africa, and the tailor would take measurements, look through a book of models with us, and we’d each choose the outfit we wanted. Even if the material was all the same, each outfit was personally tailored to reflect the individual’s size and body shape, but also their personal style and preferences. God created each one of our children and we are not going to be able to change them or make them into minis of us, their parents – and nor should we want to. We can, however, disciple them “in the way that they should go,” and help them learn how to make the most of their talents and find strategies to accommodate for their weaknesses. I like how you end the piece with thinking about how some aspects of being a TCK, like transitions, are really universal. What are some ways TCKs can connect with non-TCKs over some of these more universal aspects, without feeling too foreign? I think the connecting comes from observing and seeking understanding first, then acknowledging, accepting and appreciating the differences (which tends to come pretty naturally, or instinctively, to TCK cultural chameleons) and then that frees our kids up to see that more often than not, there is a lot more connecting us than dividing us even when at first glance, our circumstances seem worlds apart. What are you up to now, as a family and personally? We currently live and work in Québec City, Québec, Canada. My husband works for a religious radio/television studio production studio (www.espoir.ca). I help (special education, teaching English and anything else that is needed in the moment) at the only Protestant Christian school in the metropolitan area of Québec City and the only French language Protestant Christian school in the province. This is also the school our children attend. I’m also volunteering as a peer counselor with one of the local community organizations. Last but not least, we are part of a team preparing for a new church plant. We also run the cheapest bed and breakfast in the city for anyone who wants to come visit. Our three older children (22, 20 and 19) are living and studying in the States – our oldest will be graduating from college this year. Our fourth graduates this year and hopes to return to the States for a year-long Bible/discipleship program before studying in Québec to become a vet-tech. This past year, all five of our still at home kids played on five different basketball teams, so you can imagine what we’ve spent many evenings doing! We are looking forward to spending the summer in Québec this year, instead of traveling back to the States. Make it yours How can TCKs be encouraged to embrace their uniqueness? How can they be encouraged to feel they belong, that they are part of any world or culture? As a parent, or as a TCK, how has your family developed your own family culture? How do you carry that with you? Has that provided a sense of belonging? For Americans: Do you use terms like “football” for soccer? Consider: do you use it because it is a habit or because you like how it sets you apart or because it is a way of demonstrating your global experience? For any global citizen: are there terms like the football/soccer words that you use in a similar way? Or foods, ways of eating, mannerisms? Things you do without thinking, or perhaps with deep intention, that identify you as a TCK? Talk about these words or habits with the people in your life and explore why you do them, what they think about them, and what they mean to you.

What I Learned from My Third Culture Kid Husband by MaDonna Maurer

I’m a monoculture kid married to a Third Culture Kid.

I met Uwe while working in China. His name and passport were German, but his English accent was very American. He was sort of German, but not really. His idea of personal space was more like the Chinese. I remember before we dated, a packed 10-hour train ride, where I was thinking, “This guy is way too close.” I couldn’t figure out why he seemed oblivious to this personal space dilemma I was having. I soon discovered that he grew up in Taiwan and attended an American school for most of his childhood. That little information explained some, but not everything. At that time, I was fairly new to the TCK world.

After a few months of dating seriously I had the opportunity to attend a few TCK seminars led by the late David Pollock. I decided to attend them all when Uwe informed me that through David’s stories I’d really “get him.” I took notes like a serious student preparing for a final. I knew our differences were different and that could affect our relationship, but I wasn’t worried until David shared examples of relationships and marriages between monoculture and third-culture people.

His examples seemed to never really have a “happy-ever-after” ending. One person was always unhappy, miserable, or wanted out. This terrified me because we had just begun to discuss marriage. The question boomed in my head, “Is this relationship doomed?”

Fortunately, David came to our school and I had the opportunity to meet with him personally. I asked David if he thought this relationship had any chance of success. I loved his answer. It wasn’t magical, or inspiring – just truthful. He smiled and said, “Any marriage takes work from both sides. If you work at your relationship, then your marriage will be successful.”

I remember sighing with relief because I really liked this guy I was dating. I really wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.

We’ve been married now for 14 years and I can attest that David’s words are true.

Marriage is work. I’ll just add that it is sometimes hard work, but worth every effort that is put into it. I’ve learned that our differences are sometimes due to our background and sometimes simply because I’m a woman and he is a man. Though we think differently, I have learned so much from him regarding living overseas, teaching TCKs, and raising our own TCKs.

I’ve learned that TCKs are tight. What I mean is they connect really fast. Once a TCK finds out the other person is a TCK, they immediately see if they know any of the same people. They freely talk of where they grew up and where they went to school. It’s not a competition or making an impression – it’s a connection. And I’ve found that being married to one, I get the same treatment, sort of like a VIP card. I’ve come to realize that this “club” isn’t selective, it’s just that they understand each other at a level that most mono-cultural people can’t.

I’ve learned that TCKs are individuals. I’ve learned that you can’t put a TCK in a box and neatly label them. Uwe has many of the characteristics of a TCK, but he doesn’t possess them all. Though his siblings have experienced many of the same circumstances, they don’t possess the same characteristics. This is true for most families, whether monoculture or third-culture. People just don’t react exactly the same because personalities are different. Conferences, books, and articles about TCKs are all good, but one must remember that a TCK is an individual. And to really get to know the individual, one must spend time with that person.

I’ve learned that TCKs are adaptable. I think this is the most important thing I’ve learned, that I can’t file his personality, character qualities and habits into cultural files. I can’t say he does a certain thing because that part of him is German, or Chinese, or even American. He does have a bit of all three cultures that make up his personality, but I can’t put them into files. It is like taking three colors of clay and kneading them together until a new color has been made. This new color can’t be unmixed. It’s very much like the poem by Ruth Goring called, “I Am Green”

one life is navy blue one life is sunshine yellow I am green. I still read about TCKs because we are now raising three of our own. My husband has experiential wisdom about leaving, grieving, arriving and TCK life in general, but he will agree with me on this: that we all need to continue to study and learn from each other; that the most important part is to remember that the TCK is an individual. Each life, whether monoculture or third culture, is like a beautiful painting that can only be truly appreciated by taking time to get to know the individual.

Make it yours What have you learned about yourself or the TCKs in your life, regarding their uniqueness? What are some challenges specific to a cross-cultural marriage of a TCK and a non-TCK? Some TCKs have talked about pressure they feel to marry another TCK. Have you heard or experienced this? What do you think of this idea? Do some of those challenges cross over into other relationships as well? How can TCKs be encouraged to lean into these challenges and strengthen these relationships? MaDonna talks about how TCKs are tight, individual, and adaptable. How do you see these traits in TCKs you know?

Reflections from a Father and His TCK Daughter by Trey Morrison

I tried to raise two third-culture kids. I failed, but I think this is a good thing.

When I grew up my family did a lot of traveling. My father worked for Delta, so flying was normal life. By seven, I was allowed to travel solo to visit relatives. By the time I reached double digits I had memorized the security codes for the “Authorized Personal Only” airport doors in Dallas, Denver, Cincinnati, and Atlanta. I knew where I could get cheap food and a nap while waiting for a flight under the normal airport. I had been to all 50 states by the time I was a teenager and I had been to Europe numerous times.

My father constantly pushed us out of our comfort zones and I was equally comfortable building a log cabin in the North Georgia mountains with a toothless 70-year old mountain man as I was choosing the proper fork at the Cincinnati country club. Okay, maybe I was a little more comfortable in the mountains.

Despite this upbringing, I found myself married and working as a realtor raising two children in a small town with a white picket fence. Ughhh! I saw my kids growing up in complete homogeny and it drove me crazy.

Something had to change.

I convinced my wife to move the family to Panamá for 9 months to stir things up a little bit. I needed the kids to get more exposure than a little mountain town had to offer.

After much arranging, we moved to Panamá with nothing more than eight checked bags and a dog. When we got there, the home we were supposed to live in was not ready. There was no power and the pool was green. It took us months just to get basic furniture and essentials into the house. All the while trying to raise two small children.

After we settled in, we found schools for the kids. My daughter Sydney went to a small school with a mix of local and expat children. She had classmates from China, Russia, Peru, Argentina, England, South Africa, Chile, Australia, Panama, the US and Canada. My son Michael went to a Panamanian preschool, where he had to wear a uniform and there was no English spoken at all.

After the nine-month “gestation” period was over we went back to the States for a few months and then came back to Panamá with another eight checked bags. We ended up moving back and forth between the US and Panamá for three years.

In order to paint a picture of my daughter’s TCK experience, I interviewed her. She is now eleven years old and I wanted to know what her memories were, and what struggles and joys she could remember. ********** Me: What is your favorite memory about living in Panamá? Syd: I loved going on the beach and playing in the pool, just everything, everything, everything. Me: OK, what is your worst memory? Syd: Um, well, getting stung by a bee on that swing. But then it was cool how we put mud on it. Me: What was good about moving back and forth between Panamá and the U.S.? Syd: I had friends in both places I was always glad to move back and forth and see friends I had not seen in a while. Me: What was the hardest part of constantly moving between countries? Syd: When you leave toys behind and you want to play with them you then remember they are in another country. Also, when we stopped [moving back and forth] I lost touch with my old friends. Me: Did you ever feel isolated from other kids because you were not around all the time? Syd: I was too young to feel isolation, I just didn’t think about that. Me: Tell me some more stories about what you remember. Syd: I remember Halloween when both houses and the pool house and the caretaker’s house had candy for us. And for Christmas we found a real tree, which was hard, and we made ornaments from seashells. And Easter we had an Easter egg hunt and it was fun and we swam. I remember hermit crab hill and Shiva Time. Me: What was Shiva time? Syd: When the sun was setting and you could do whatever you want with your shadow on the wall, and 2, 3 or 4 people could get together so it looked like a four-armed or eight-armed person. It was especially cool because everything looked pinkish. Me: What about food? Syd: I loved Tamarindo candies, pineapples, coconuts, maracuyá, and those things with the meat and raisins, what were those called? Me: Empanadas? Syd: Yeah, empanadas. I love those. You should learn to make those! Me: What would your friends here think about Panamá if they went there? What would they think was crazy and different? Syd: There are so many less cars there and everyone bikes and walks everywhere. But there are barely any sidewalks and people wear black and walk in the road at night. I remember that. The houses are smaller and shabbier, and the roads have more potholes. There is a lot of trash there, like litter. It is just third worldy. Me: What did you think about living in a Third world country? Syd: I always felt a little, not rich, but like I had more money than everyone else. And half of the nights I was there I couldn’t get to sleep because the music was very loud. Like loud, loud, loud. Me: So, was the whole experience worth it? Syd: It was a bit stressful, but it was worth it. Me: What was stressful? Syd: Traveling. Traveling is always a little bit stressful. ********** After these three years my wife had had enough of the transitions and decided we needed to stay put. I wanted to continue to live in Panama, but I was willing to see her point, after a few weeks of pouting. We were always either preparing to move or settling in after a move and that was stressful.

So now I guess my children are no longer TCKs. For me, the transition to not living abroad has been more difficult than the transition to living abroad. I miss the chaos, but I know that not everyone thrives on chaos the way I do, especially not children. They need routine. When interviewing Sydney, I noticed that many of her memories were of the things we tried to do to keep continuity with her life in the U.S.

We created Halloween for them by giving candy to the caretaker and getting friends to wait in all the buildings, and out buildings, on the property. We did an Easter egg hunt and had a Christmas tree. None of these things were local traditions.

We participated in many local celebrations too. We went to two Carnival celebrations and one was in a river. We burned life size effigies on New Year’s Eve. We immersed ourselves in numerous Independence Day parades. There are two independence days in Panamá, one from Columbia and one from Spain. We celebrated with the Panamanians in all the local holidays we could. But it is interesting to note that the ones my kids remember are the U.S. ones.

I am grateful the kids had the experience they did and I think it has made them better people.

They are truly colorblind when it comes to race. They are open to new ideas and new people and they have something in common with me as a child. They are excellent travelers. They are patient and great at entertaining themselves without electronic devices. That is a rare commodity here in the U.S. and is certainly due to their experiences living in other cultures.

Don’t tell anyone, but I secretly hope to do another stint overseas someday, but for now our roots are growing deeper in the mountain soil.

Make it Yours Read the following comment left on the blog post. How would you respond? What determines whether or not someone is a Third Culture Kid? Comment from the blog: I appreciate this article, especially the packing it all up to go to Panama out of a secure situation with a white picket fence, but there are a couple of things I would question. The first would be the length of time spent. It sounds like you went back and forth numerous times in those 3 years. Is that really ‘moving’ abroad? Most of us who either are/were TCK’s or raised TCK’s (or in my case both) stayed for long periods of time in a country without returning to a passport country. Some would argue that 3 years, specifically if they were interspersed with long periods of time back in the passport country, would not be considered a significant enough time to end up with the characteristics of a TCK. In terms of ‘color blind’, while I get the idea and see the value for kids, especially when it comes to prejudice, my friends of ‘color’ (which basically means they have nicer skin then I do and don’t look as old) dislike that term. If I look at them and say I don’t see color, then they are frustrated. They identify with who they are ethnically and that means skin color. My kids basically were frustrated that they were white…still are sometimes which has its own issues. Beyond these couple of things, what I deeply appreciate is your desire to do something different, to shake up their world, and it sounds like they will benefit for a life time from that. Trey recreates holiday traditions for his children. How have you, or your family, done this? And how have you incorporated local traditions as well? Trey says he tried and failed to raise TCKs, do you agree? Why or why not? Other people often say they feel like TCKs. Perhaps they have moved around a lot in one country or have been raised in a unique situation. Ruth van Reken and others have coined another term: CCK, a Cross Cultural Kid. Is this distinction important. Why or why not?

A Third Culture Kid Talks About Raising Third Culture Kids by Marilyn Gardner Just being brought up by people who didn’t and still don’t feel fully here, fully present–that’s very intense...It’s not just all about the house we live in and the friends we have right here. There was always a whole other alternative universe to our lives.” from Jhumpa Lahiri: The Quiet Laureate – Time Magazine 2008 If I could pick two words to describe my life they would be the words “Between Worlds.” Like a tightrope walker suspended between buildings, so was my life. My tightrope was between Pakistan and the United States; between home and boarding; between Muslim and Christian. Since birth I knew I lived in a culture between – I was a third culture kid. I realized early in life that airports and airplanes were perfect places of belonging, because I was literally between worlds as I sat in airports, idling the time with my books and my brothers waiting for flights. Or sitting in the airplane, row 33D, buckling and unbuckling while settling in to a long flight. I always knew I would raise my children overseas. In my mind it was a given. It made complete sense – it was a world I loved, and my kids would love it too. But there is a curious dynamic when an adult third culture kid moves on to raise third culture kids. First off, you transfer your love of travel, adventure, languages, and cross-cultural living. You don’t worry that they will be away from their passport countries, you don’t worry that they’ll miss aunts and uncles. You know theirs is a life that few have, and even fewer understand but you also know that in many areas the benefits outweigh the deficits. So, I was set. My world was a world of expat comings and goings, making friends with Egyptians, conjugating verbs in Arabic classes, and attending events at international schools. It was a world of change and transience and we were at home within that transience. We didn’t name the losses – we didn’t think there were any. But then we moved. We left our home in Cairo of 7 years, our life overseas of 10 years, and moved to a small town in New England. A town that boasted community and Victorian homes, a small school and tidy lawns. A town with white picket fences and white faces. And it was during this move that the dynamic changed, for I could no longer transfer that which I knew to my children. Instead I transferred insecurity and an over powering sense of being “other.” Nothing in my background had prepared me for this move. No books, no language classes, no articles. – nothing. I was struggling to find my way in a world that I didn’t know, and I was doing it with 5 third culture kids on my proverbial apron strings. And suddenly this adult third culture kid thing was not an asset – it was a deficit; a glaring deficit that manifest itself in insecurity and turmoil. I didn’t know how to cook with American ingredients or what to do at American public schools. Birthday parties and play dates were unfamiliar, and my background was a conversation stopper at every level. What happens when the adult third culture kid finds herself raising third culture kids back in their legal passport country? A whole lot of pain happens, a whole lot of insecurity, a whole lot of self-questioning and self-doubt. I hid all of this in a well-developed fortress of confidence dressed up in up-to-date outfits that would belie the out-of-date person I was. I worked hard to create a persona that would work. And all the time I was exhausted. I wanted to curl up with my own mom and cry until the tears could fall no more. I wanted to gather my children to myself and whisk them off where we would be safe – to Pakistan or Egypt, my safe spaces. But I did none of those things. I kept putting one foot in front of the other, step by blistered step. I made curry and Kosherie, tastes of home in a strange land. I decorated with brass, copper, pottery, and a little double heart frame that stood on the mantel with pictures of Arafat and Rabin. We talked Egypt and Pakistan and slowly learned to talk small town New England. And the kids continued to say they were from Egypt – they were African American, they were ‘different’. Our home was, in the words of Jhumpa Lahiri, an ‘alternative universe’ that stood in stark contrast to the world where we had unpacked our suitcases. While America was on the outside, we had a whole other world on the inside. We continued to live in the space between, the one where I was most comfortable – Between Worlds. We looked like everyone around us, but we were immigrants in our own right. This negotiating two worlds was more than slightly schizophrenic and at times impossible. I was a third culture kid raising third culture kids – and I wasn’t sure how else to do it. But Grace entered the space between and slowly by slowly I began to meet people who wanted to hear my story, who shared our curry, who walked beside me. Slowly I began to trust these friends to be cultural brokers, liaisons who could explain American oddities to me so that I could feel more comfortable. And as I grew more comfortable, others grew more comfortable around me, around us. We no longer exuded a “We’re other, We’re better” scent. Instead, we could laugh and be content as other, be accepted as different but not bad. It was years later that I read the following words in an article, words that reminded me of our story, that described what a third culture kid raising third culture kids needs. “So, when she comes to you, don’t ask her where she’s from, or what’s troubling her. Ask her where she’s lived. Ask her what she’s left behind. Open doors. And just listen. Give her the time and space and permission she needs to remember and to mourn. She has a story — many stories. And she needs and deserves to be heard, and to be healed, and to be whole.” © Nina Sichel That’s what I needed, that’s what they gave, and that’s how I healed. *this essay is also included in Marilyn’s book: Between Worlds In Conversation with Marilyn In your essay, you write that you didn’t name the losses, you didn’t think there were any. Why do you think it is important to name those losses? How can we help our children to do that? Naming things makes them real. Moving, multiple goodbyes, leaving houses, countries, and precious belongings tend to be minimized in the third culture kid journey. There is tremendous healing when we talk specifically about the things we left behind. There is an Edenic quality to naming anything, and that includes losses, be they friendships, food, places, or things. I think taking time before the chaos of a move to talk about what you will miss the most, followed by a conversation about what you are looking forward to in the next place is a way to start. The book The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien looks at both the literal and figurative things that men carry into war – physical objects represent emotional burdens. Perhaps third culture kids need to be encouraged to have some physical objects that represent their journey, not as burdens, but as reminders of who they are. When we are packing our bags to leave, space is a huge consideration. We can’t possibly pack everything that makes up a life, but we can negotiate and leave room for each person to have a small bag that is completely their own. No one else gets to decide what goes into that bag. That way, there is some ownership and the child can decide what is most important to them. You’ve now been in the US for quite a long time, how has the adjustment gone and how do you think it has impacted you, your children, your husband? The first seven years were the hardest! I am not joking when I say that. I didn’t realize that until we moved to Phoenix, Arizona. We moved from Cairo, Egypt to the North Shore of Boston for seven years. At seven years, we moved to Phoenix, Arizona. I remember getting off the plane in Phoenix and the sun blazed across the sky at 122 degrees. I breathed hard and thought “I don’t have to try anymore.” I had a deep and visceral response to the desert warmth that came from my childhood memories in Pakistan, and from our years in Cairo. This was a turning point for me and I began to relax in ways I was unable to previously. My big fear until that point was how to raise global kids in small towns in the U.S. Just as we were moving to Phoenix, my oldest daughter had graduated from high school and was heading off to American University in Washington, D.C. She had requested that she be in the international dormitory in college, and I was delighted by that decision! I remember thinking “Yes! She loves the world.” Each of our kids have gone on to have their own times of living and traveling to various parts of the world, primarily through gap years. But they have also embraced the marginalized and chosen to live counter culture in many ways. None of them are attached to a myth of the American dream and for that I am grateful. My husband had grown up in a military family so he had the nomad spirit as well, but when you’re a military kid, you are a child of the government so his experience and understanding of American culture was completely different than mine. That said, since he was a little kid he loved the world and four of his formative years were spent in Germany, so living internationally was part of his DNA as well. I think we have realized that we will never be fully adjusted. There will always be longings, wherever we are in the world. But we’ve come to have peace in that space between. You've traveled a lot, does that help you stay in the US or does it increase your longing to live abroad again? (maybe both!) I can’t count the number of times we have tried to get back overseas! We began doing some work with Syrian and Iraqi refugees a few years ago and it was a gift to get back to the Middle East. But we have also had amazing opportunities in the United States to develop friendships with people from all over the Muslim world. My husband was the administrative director for an Islamic studies program at Harvard University for four years and the opportunities for connection with people from the Middle East, North Africa, and Southeast Asia were incredible. Recently I’ve had the privilege of working with the foreign-born Muslim community to develop public health projects, and both of us have jobs that have given us unique opportunities to engage with the world. Our hearts are split between worlds and though we would love to be back in the Middle East, we don’t want to waste what we have in the U.S. Do your kids still refer to themselves as TCKs? How do you think their time abroad has impacted them as adults? I don’t know that they ever fully embraced the term the way I did. Perhaps it was because I had just discovered it when we moved back to the United States from Egypt. If I had discovered it previously, I could have used what I learned to help them. Instead, the literature was all new and so I was absorbing it for myself and didn’t even realize that I had my own brood of TCKs all around me. One of them has referred to us as a transnational family, and that term resonates with me. Since they are now all adults, it feels a bit disingenuous to answer for them in terms of the impact. But I believe that living overseas has significantly impacted their experience, partially because I was working through adjustment for so long. I think that children of TCKs need their own support groups – especially when they too were raised as TCKs! One was born in Pakistan and two were born in Egypt, so whenever the “where were you born?” or “where are you from?” questions come up, there’s a story. And they all have their own stories that are woven into the whole. We also have an extended family of Adult TCKs and second generation TCKs who live or travel internationally for work. In fact, the fourth generation of third culture kids has now begun. So what my parents started so long ago in Pakistan doesn’t seem to be ending! Research now shows the importance of kids knowing their story, and I take heart in that. Because this story that began so long ago with my parents is not over. Each generation writes a new chapter, but that doesn’t take away from the chapters written earlier. It just makes them that much more interesting. Make it yours How has being a TCK influenced your parenting? What if you aren’t a TCK and are raising TCKs, how does understanding the identity of your kids affect your parenting? It is important for parents to recognize that their experience living abroad is not the same as their children’s experience. Talk to your kids about things you see or do or encounter and explore how each of you understand them or react to them differently. Develop good questions to explore this more often as a family. Do you think it would be easier to raise kids in your home country or outside of your home country? What are some of the unique challenges TCKs face when they become parents, either living in their passport country or not? How can being a TCK make you a great parent no matter where you live? Ask your kids about how you’re doing as their mom or dad. Be sincerely open to hearing their feedback.

15 Things I Want to Tell My Third Culture Kids by Rachel Pieh Jones You are the coolest kids on the planet. You cliff-jump and climb up and then down into active volcanoes. You flew internationally on your own before becoming a teenager. You sleep under the stars on the beach and know how to pee on a toilet or in a hole or behind a bush or where-there-is-no-bush. I know it is hard. I watched you, proud and teary, the first day of school when you didn’t know how to count to ten in French and on the first day of school in America when you didn’t know how to eat lunch in a cafeteria. I see your moments of hesitation when kids talk about something you don’t understand. I saw your shoulders droop that day you wore your traditional Djiboutian dress to church and then, once you saw how other kids were dressed, asked if you could take it off. I hear all three of you refer to a different place as home. I don’t know what it is like. I know what it is like to parent a TCK but I don’t know what it is like to be a TCK. I’ve read books and listened to talks and attended seminars, but you are forging a path I have not walked. I’ve got your back and I’ve got a box full of Kleenex and an ache in my belly from our shared laughter. I do not know what your particular journey is like, but I will hold your hand, fierce, until the very end. I am sorry for the things this life has taken from you. The names of all the friends you have said good- bye to are branded in my mind. Grandparents and cousins at your birthday parties and school events. The feeling of belonging to a specific place, house, culture, language. A mom who can be a parent chaperone without having an accent. Sports and musical and academic activities at which you naturally excel but will never fully experience. I am thrilled for the things this life has given you. Adventure and a wide-cracked-open worldview. The opportunity to trust God when nothing around makes sense or when everything around makes sense. Friends all over the world of diverse faith and languages and skin colors and food preferences and economic levels. Multiple language fluency. Creativity and the intrinsic ability to look outside the box, to see from another person’s perspective. Real gratitude, stemming from an understanding that things are fleeting, gratitude for relationships and for time spent in togetherness. Adaptability. Courage. Courage. Courage. I want to hear from you. Tell me how hard it is, tell me the things you love, the things you wish were different, the things you would never change. I need to hear from you what it is like, I need you to be honest with me about the goods and the bads and then I need you to let me hold you. And I need you to hold me. I cry for the choices we’ve made. And then I defend them with passion. It isn’t easy to parent a TCK, or any kind of kid, and I have wept tear-stains into our couches and our pillows and the shoulders of dad’s t-shirts. Sometimes I wonder if we have been crazy or irresponsible. But then I look at you and I cry again, good tears, because you are beautiful and complicated and deep, and these choices have been part of forming you into you. You are strong. You’ve been through evacuations and international moves and medical crises and hellos and goodbyes. You have tried new and scary things. You have laughed and cried but I haven’t heard you whine and complain. You have more than embraced life. You are unique. No one else in the world has your story. And yet, you are part of an amazing community of people with stories similar to yours and stories different from yours, whom you can listen to and learn from. You have built awesome memories. Remember the time you camped at Arta Plage and the flood came and the French military rescued you? Remember the time you carried baby God through the neighborhood in Balbala, head of a train of singing and clapping families? Remember meeting the Harlem Globe Trotters? You have grief. And that is okay, mom and dad are not afraid of it and we want to carry it with you. You are creative. You are empathetic. You are wise. I am beyond proud of you. You know that book, I Love You to the Moon? Well, I love you to Somaliland. And Kenya. And France. And Djibouti. And Minnesota. And anywhere else. And back.

Make it your own

Make your own list, add to it throughout the years. Read it out loud to your kids

Ask your kids what they would want to say to you (and let them say it!)

If you are now an ATCK (Adult Third Culture Kid), what are you thankful for in your upbringing? What are you not thankful for? Consider talking with your parents or siblings about some of these things.

If you aren’t a wordy-person, make a list in photos and frame it or put it in a Shutterfly book.

Give the list to whomever it is that you want to understand you better: spouses, roommates, teachers, a support group, friends.

If you are a TCK, write a list for your parents. Use it as a prayer list for the TCKs you know and love. Use it as a conversation-starter, to move things beyond the surface to deep waters. Share it with fellow TCKs or fellow parents and talk about your experiences, your fears, your joys.

Use this to launch a 15-things styled list for a different category of person. Perhaps your homeschooled kids or your refugee friends. Something to bless and encourage and demonstrate with-ness, togetherness. On Third Culture Kids and Adoption by Galia Rautenberg

Our family was completed three years ago by the adoption of our beloved girl in China. Until then we were just another couple, from two different countries with different cultures, different religions, with a cloud of complicated historical background above us, speaking different languages having different hobbies and both living outside of our passport country for many years.

These are just too many reasons for a relationship to fail, but we overcame the obstacles by acknowledging the differences, respecting and embracing them. We had been moving internally in China every few years due to my husband’s job. In this vast country even an internal move feels like going abroad to a new land, with various dialects spoken by locals, diverse delicacies and habits.

My husband is German, I am Israeli, and our daughter is from China. We have been living in China for almost 14 years now and I am not sure yet how many years more we will stay. We are so used to the life here in a certain way but on the other hand we occasionally experience what every expat in this country knows well as “China days,” some very frustrating days when everything goes wrong, mostly due to miscommunication and dissimilar logic. We are living in a city with a very small expat community and limited social contacts.

Our daughter is five now and often asked by peers and adults whether she is Chinese or a “foreigner.” Well, it is the right question to ask as she is ethnically Chinese, but her parents are not, and she speaks some languages which they can’t understand. So, does the fact she was born in China make her Chinese? Is she Israeli/German, born Chinese? She is living with western culture at home and with another one while outside. It would be helpful for the future to be part of a community where she is not the only adopted child and we hope to live in such place in the future, maybe in larger cities of China.

Our daughter attends a local kindergarten, where she is the only child with Caucasian parents. She is in her original culture, among her people, she looks like everybody else and yet is so different and draws so much attention mostly due to her parents who do not look the same as anybody else. She seems to enjoy the attention now, but we are not sure if it will always be enjoyable.

Questions of relevance naturally don’t bother her much right now, but we very often ponder what the future holds in this context. Despite the challenges of living in China we are so happy she gets the chance to grow up here. Even when we travel abroad, either for traveling or visiting our families she always expresses the desire to return to China, to her long-term friends, her room and comfort zone. However, on the day of her adoption and for the time being, she has crossed an unseen line from being a local, to somewhere between two parallel sets of races and cultures.

Mia speaks three languages; she is fluent in English and Chinese and able to speak (and mostly understand) Hebrew. This is another advantage of living in China. It is very important for us that she be fluent in Chinese, as we see it as a part of her identity but also will extend her possibilities, in case she would like to return to live in China or even in the business arena. One of the repeating questions that locals ask us is whether she can speak Chinese and they are thrilled to find out she does. Language is important and speaking the Chinese language can connect her, we hope, easily to her roots and origin, enhancing her feeling of belongingness. Our daughter is Israeli/German by passport, but will she ever feel connected to her passport countries or will she see China as her primal and eternal home? We just hope she will find the balance of identity in a way that will comfort her and allow her inner peace, following her dreams and aspirations.

One thing is certain, she is very cosmopolitan and looks very much at ease switching between languages and environments. She will surely grow to be a multi-cultural polyglot and will visit many more places than her friends.

Adoption is precious, and we feel so blessed every single day. Inter-racial adoption, just like every other adoption, is fraught with challenges, and yet wonderful. Being an adopted TCK child can complicate things but can also make it easier sometimes. We feel our daughter’s unique TCK situation will teach her so much for the future and help her cope with some of the hardships she might face along the way, adoption related issues and others.

In Conversation with Galia When you wrote this piece, your daughter was five. Now, she is ten. How has her integration into Chinese culture been as she gets older?

When I wrote the piece, my daughter was 5 and she is 9 now and a 4th grade student. At that time, she attended a Chinese kindergarten, where she was the only so-called foreign kid, while she is now attending international school with classmates from around the globe. Attending international school slowed down her integration within Chinese society, as her local language skills are not as good as they used to be and her opportunities to play or socialize with local kids are less than before.

What advice would you offer parents of adopted children who live abroad? Do you think it is different when they live in the child’s birth country or a totally different country?

My advice to parents of adopted kids who live abroad (and this will be only according to my experience and our family lifestyle) would be to try keeping the child close as possible to his original culture. I know that living in the child's original country is many times impossible, but learning about his/her birth culture, customs and even learning the language could help soothing certain feeling in the future as our children grow up and dealing with what as many times described as a "black hole" in their past.

How does your daughter identify herself? Does it depend on where she is or with whom she is speaking?

Although our daughter has lost her Chinese citizenship once she received our countries' passports, she sees herself as Chinese. We are still living in China, so I’m not sure if this fact will change once we leave China one day, however we have no problem with that and teach her to be proud of her birth country and its people.

What are you up to now, in life and work and location?

We are still living in China, not sure for how long but we enjoy our life here and are not sure about future plans. We see our life in China as a rare opportunity for our daughter to grow up in her birth culture and in her original surroundings. I own a wine shop, a hobby that shifted into a profession.

Comments from the blog *My husband and I are Americans, living and working in Mali, West Africa, with a Caucasian daughter adopted in the states. We are in the process of adopting from Guinea right now as well. So, we will be two Caucasian parents, parenting an adopted Caucasian daughter in a third culture, West Africa context, and parenting an adopted West African child in West Africa. This certainly makes for some emotional challenges, but we are trusting that God has a plan for our kids as they grow up with flexibility and experiences that are totally unique. Thanks for the perspective you give and for dialoging about adopted TCK’s who have challenges others may not have thought about! *I am from the US, but married to a German. We met in China and our youngest is adopted from there. She keeps me on my toes – especially with all the questions she has, but I’m grateful that we are not the only family that looks like ours here in our city. It has been helpful for her, and for me as well. *I agree it can make life easier living in a community where you are not the only family that looks “different”. I can’t think of a more friendly child than our daughter but I think it might be tough on her as she grows older. We hope to be able to move to a more heterogenic community in the future. *We are two British parents of two Kenyan daughters living in Cairo…We were a fairly common family combination in Nairobi but now find ourselves unique. Thank heavens for two brilliant, well-travelled, feet on the ground kids who seem to enjoy our special family! *Thanks for sharing. I grew up in Japan. I am adopted, biracial (black/white) born in Japan to an underage military brat, adopted by Caucasian American missionaries and raised thru high school in Japan. I am returning “home” in November for the first time in 30 years. My pending trip has raised questions about the person I have grown into in the sense of; what shapes a person? environment? family? nurturing? who knows. All I know is I am a unique being. I have yet to meet another person who shares so many complexities in their back story as I have. People don’t quite get me 100 %. I know adopted people, I know black people, I know Japanese people, I know Caucasian Americans. Always had some trouble fitting in. Japan, white, black, American…. It can be lonely at times. After a while, I just stopped sharing or explaining. It gets tiring and frankly its nobody’s business. Thought I would share. *This is a helpful article and discussion thread. My husband and I have lived in Niger in West Africa for almost 18 years. We have a 13-year old adopted daughter from America. She has lived in Niger since she was 4 months old. We also have an adopted son from Niger. My husband and I speak local languages as well as some French. Our kids speak some French but not much. They attend an English speaking private Christian school in our city. We have an open relationship with our son’s birth family who live in the same city as us and we see them about every other month. Our kids feel very comfortable living in West Africa. They enjoy visiting the U.S. to eat American food and visit family but feel out of place among peers.

Make it Yours Adoption adds more nuance to the TCK conversation. What are some unique challenges for adopted kids who are raised in their birth country, but by expatriate parents? What about adopted kids raised outside their birth country, by expatriate parents? How can parents help their adopted children connect with all the countries that have formed them – birth, passport, raised in, parents’ culture…? In your host country, how do people respond to adoption? Is it welcome? Discouraged? Common? How might this, also, impact an adopted TCK? Sometimes expatriates refer to our host country as our ‘adoptive’ country. Is this an apt metaphor? What can it highlight or shed light on? How does it fall short? When an ATCK Chooses a Life Overseas by Laura Campbell

I was born in the Nairobi Hospital in 1977 and spent my entire childhood in Kenya, with the exception of brief trips back to the United States.

I always knew I was a “missionary kid,” a term that did little more than describe what my parents did. What I didn’t know was that I was also a “TCK,” a term that better explains who I am as a result of my overseas upbringing.

I graduated from Rosslyn Academy in Nairobi in 1995. At the time, Dave Pollack was coming to Rosslyn every year to do a weekend Reentry Seminar for the graduating seniors. This is where I first heard the term TCK, where I first learned why I am the way I am, and why there will never be an easy answer to “Where are you from?”

The unique advantages that TCK’s have and the unique challenges they face were broken down, and my classmates and I were given many useful coping tips as we prepared to embark on our journeys back to our passport countries. I learned about the process of reentry and how to say goodbye in a healthy way. I still go back to Dave’s concept of building a RAFT (introduced to me at the seminar and explained further in his book, Third Culture Kids: Growing Up Among Worlds) when I am facing a big transition.

I had an easy reentry experience, which I attribute in part to the preparation I received at the Reentry Seminar. Of course, there were other factors: I went to a small college where I was a face, not just a number; I plugged into a church right away; I had grandparents living in the area who were my home away from home. But I adjusted well, and fairly easily… so easily, in fact, that I began to wonder if culture shock and reentry shock were just way overrated. I assumed that they were basically the same thing. I was wrong, and I was about to find out just how wrong I was!

I was a senior in college and planning my wedding when my fiancé brought up the idea of going to work in Japan as English teachers for a few years. I blithely agreed, thinking “I’ve got this living overseas thing down. After all, I grew up abroad. I’ve gone through reentry and it wasn’t that bad. This will be a piece of cake.”

Looking back now, I can see the absolute arrogance in my assumption that I wouldn’t experience culture shock, or that if I did, it would be mild or similar to what I had already gone through with reentry.

Two months after our wedding, we moved to Japan. My first six months there were not pretty. I hated it; I was miserable; my poor husband didn’t know what to do with me or how to help me cope. I cried on the phone to my mom one day, and after listening to me whine for a while, she gently pointed out that I was experiencing culture shock. I was mad.

“I am not!” I said vehemently.

But I instantly realized, deep down, she was right. And that was the beginning of my awakening to some very important truths about myself as a TCK now living the globally nomadic lifestyle as an adult.

Growing up overseas is a different experience than choosing to live and work overseas as an adult. I had a pretty idyllic childhood – I played with my friends, I swam, I rode my bike, I went to school and church, we visited game parks and vacationed on the beautiful white sands of the Kenyan coast. I was sheltered from things like team conflicts, headaches with official paperwork, and political unrest, all things you have to deal with when you are an adult living overseas. My parents don’t remember Kenya through the same rose-colored glasses. Listening to them tell stories now, I begin to realize how different our realities were.

Growing up overseas does not insulate one against culture shock. One of the oft-touted characteristics of TCK’s is their adaptability; however, adaptability does not necessarily mean instantaneous adjustment. Since Japan, we have lived in Portugal, the U.S., and now Ecuador, and each time we move to a new country, I find myself struggling to learn and adapt during those first few months. It’s an uncomfortable period. I don’t know that it has gotten easier with practice, but I do know what to expect now, as opposed to those first few months in Japan.

Growing up overseas does not mean you will instantly love every new country. Every country is different! Japan was nothing like what I knew of either Kenya or the U.S. The culture was unlike anything I had been exposed to before. English was not widely spoken, and as I spoke almost no Japanese when we first arrived, I was, for the first time in my life, unable to communicate, and also basically illiterate. Because I loved growing up in Kenya, I assumed I would fall in love with Japan right away, and when I didn’t, when I actually found myself hating it, I wondered what was wrong with me. (I eventually came to love Japan, and it is a part of my heart now, just as all the other places we have lived through the years, but it took time.) I have learned to be patient with myself, to give myself time to attach to a new place, and also the permission to dislike certain things about it.

I am an ATCK who chose a life overseas, and in the beginning, it was difficult. More difficult than I expected or imagined. My experience is by no means universal. I know many TCK’s who had very rocky reentry experiences. And many of them couldn’t wait to get back overseas and adapted well and quickly to the adult expat life. I remember reading once that expats who adjust easily to their foreign culture have a more difficult time coming home.

I wonder if the same could be said for TCK’s? I wonder if the TCK’s who adjust easily to their “passport country” have a more difficult time when moving back overseas? And vice versa?

In Conversation with Laura

Now, five years after this essay, how would you describe your feelings or experiences about choosing a life overseas as an adult?

Five years later, I feel like we are much more settled than I was at the time I wrote the essay. I love where we live and what we do, and we have a pretty incredible life. Still, there are hard things. There are things I struggle with when it comes to this missionary life, this choosing to live in a country and culture that is not my own. My mom was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma while we were living in Portugal. Then she had a recurrence right after we moved here (actually in the midst of our transition from Portugal to Ecuador). It was hard to be so far away from her while she was going through all that.

Last year, my nephew got married, and they wanted all of us to be at their wedding. They asked my husband to perform the ceremony and my daughter and youngest son to be flower girl and ring bearer. We could not afford 6 tickets back (we could barely afford two, and only because we used miles), so we made the tough choice that my husband would go with our daughter, and the rest of us stayed behind. It was so difficult to miss their special day.

Recently, we were back in the U.S. for a "furlough," and I really struggled while we were back with wanting to live in the States again, to have an easy life... friends... a large church family where I could worship in English... libraries... extra-curricular opportunities for my kids... the list goes on. I struggle with Spanish. I can communicate what I need to communicate, but I don't always do it "prettily," and this is difficult for someone like me who is fairly articulate in English. I think at some level, I will always struggle with things like this -- no matter how much I love Ecuador, how at home I feel here, how well-adjusted I am, how well I learn Spanish, or how many years I spend here.

But then if I am honest with myself, there are things I would struggle with if we were living in the U.S. as well. There are pros and cons to every job, every place you live. "The grass is always greener..." I still feel like this essay accurately reflects my journey from arrogant and over-confident TCK to a hopefully more humble ATCK now raising TCK's of my own and learning to be comfortable in the tension of enjoying our life in Ecuador and believing we are where God wants us to be for now, and at the same time acknowledging the difficulties and the struggles, the losses and the sacrifices of a life overseas.

I love your examples of how your childhood experiences differed from your parents. I want my kids to hear the hard things about life here, so they know me, but at the same time, I want to shield them from those realities, because they love this country! Are there things we can do to balance that for our kids? Or should we wait until they are older and ready to hear, like you did?

This is such an important question; unfortunately, I don't think there is an easy answer. I think every family has to find a good and healthy balance for them, depending on their situation, their children’s ages and temperaments, and probably many other factors. My parents shielded me more when I was younger, as was probably right and healthy, but as I got older, I heard more of their struggles with life in Africa, with ministry, with teammates, etc. Now, as an adult, I love to talk with them about their time in Kenya, and it seems like I hear new stories, or maybe just new details to those stories every time!

Certain events (like moving to Kenya 6 months pregnant and having your first baby far from home and family, in 1977) began to take on a whole new meaning for me once I was the one who was pregnant and trying to figure out how and where I was going to give birth in a foreign country. I definitely think it is important for adults to keep some kind of written record -- journal, blog, scrapbook, or whatever format, that they can share with their children at a later date, especially if they feel that they do need to shield them from certain realities in the present moment.

My mom just finished transcribing 23 years’ worth of letters that she sent to both sets of parents while they lived in Kenya (my grandmothers saved every one!). I am so excited to read those and really experience Kenya through my mom's eyes as a young wife and mother, learning Swahili, learning how to cook and keep house, finding her place in ministry in Kenya. Another thing that I will say, is that my kids (at least right now), don't always love Ecuador! Sometimes, they ask when we can move back to the States -- they seem to ask that question more right after we have come back from two months of being there. My mom says that I was the same way as a kid, although I don't remember it! So, while it is true that many TCK's love their host country, I don't think that is necessarily true for all, or at least not all the time.

As parents, then, I think it is important for us to help our kids see the good things about our host country and about living overseas, the cool things they get to experience, the foods they get to try, the gift it is to grow up bi-lingual, or multi-lingual, the friends they've made, etc.

And at the same time try to give them a healthy perspective of what living in the U.S. would actually look like. No, it's not just one giant amusement park! If we lived there, we wouldn't travel all the time, and people wouldn't constantly be taking us out to dinner or to cool places or giving us gifts. You would go to school. Dad would go to work. Mom might go to work. We would go to church. We would have a pretty normal and, in many ways, boring life with chores and homework and responsibilities. Just like here in Ecuador. I think it's important for our children to hear that we don't always love everything about our host country either, but we have chosen to make it home for now, and so we model focusing on the good and choosing contentment because no place is perfect. No, not even the United States! :)

It seems to take a lot of humility for a TCK to acknowledge that living abroad is harder than they expected. What are some other useful character traits to help with these kinds of transitions?

We host a lot of short-term mission groups here at the camp, and one thing my husband always says to them right after they arrive is that the three most important things for a successful short-term project are: flexibility, flexibility, flexibility. I've thought about this a lot over the years, and I think that this is probably true for long-term mission projects as well, or for transitions, or for raising TCK's, or for almost any aspect of living overseas! Flexibility and its partner adaptability are absolutely critical to our success as overseas workers. Even though I'm a TCK, and these are supposed to be some of our best qualities, I've realized that I'm not the most flexible or adaptable person! I'm a perfectionist, I can be rigid and set in my ways and have difficulty thinking outside the box.

My husband is actually far more flexible and adaptable than I am, and he grew up in the States! I like to think that maybe I am more flexible and adaptable than I would have been had I grown up mono-cultural, but who really knows? :) And I'm working on learning to be more flexible and more adaptable as life happens and constant adjustments need to be made. I've also learned to be patient with myself when going through transitions and to think realistically about the time it will take me to adapt. It doesn't happen right away for me. It takes several months, maybe even a year or two, for me to feel comfortable and functional in a new place.

Transitions are hard and so, so exhausting. It requires an enormous amount of mental energy to do all those simple, daily tasks that we did more or less on auto-pilot "back home." I've learned to lower my expectations for myself in the first few months after a transition. If my expectations are not unreasonably high, then my disappointment and frustration with myself is considerably less. Here's a blog post I wrote about transitions that expresses some of what I said above: http://rustyandlaura.blogspot.com/2015/04/first-months.html

Comments from the blog

*So, relate with this. When I arrived in Cairo I was shocked that it wasn’t more like Pakistan. We were sick for 6 weeks because of pollution and my Urdu did not work in an Arabic speaking country…duh. It was a bit of a crisis for this arrogant ATCK who thought she could go anywhere or do anything. I think your 3 points are right on and should be part of orientation for any TCK who chooses as an adult to go overseas to work. I remember one of my brothers returning to Pakistan and getting so frustrated with the bureaucracy and my dad looking at him and saying, “It’s always been this way.” We just didn’t know it because we were kids. Facing life overseas as an adult is a different journey all together.

*I can’t answer Laura’s questions – at least not from the ATCK perspective. I can say that going overseas as a young single ready for an adventure and going to the mission field as a young mama just hoping to help her family survive and adjust were two very different experiences… so it is no stretch of the imagination to recognize that the perspective with which one goes overseas is going to impact their experience. I think this post brings up some really good points for parents raising TCKs… especially those of us with TCKs beginning to move into this reality as I type.

We don’t want to burst their bubbles… but at the same time, as our children grow up they need to grow into the reality of what living overseas means and all that entails. And I think there are some ways we can proactively parent for that… just as we would if we were living with our children in our home countries – where we work to prepare them for adult responsibilities. we may just have to be a bit more creative overseas.

*I totally agree with your 3 points and think they should be included in “guidelines” for ATCK’s! When I got back to Italy as an adult, I had to face the typical bureaucracy, my parents didn’t know (they were “privileged” expats when they moved to Italy in the late fifties). It was not a real shock, but it took me a while (2 months…) to get used to the fact that everything was very different, also at work etc. Italy is the country I grew up in (not my passport country, I haven’t experienced life there yet, and I don’t think I want to try…). Anyway, it is a very important aspect that the experience we make as a TCK (or expat or global-nomad) child is very different from the ones we make as adults.

But I would also differentiate for adults: maybe it’s easier if you are working? Isn’t it even more difficult if you are a “trailing spouse”? And it’s even more complicated if you move to a place that is culturally very different compared to the places you used to live before and you have children.

Make it yours

If you are a TCK and now live abroad as an adult, what surprises you? What has been uniquely challenging? Or uniquely easier for you than a non-TCK?

How do you balance helping your children thrive while also being honest about things that are hard? Do you think it’s more important to shield them or to expose them to these things? Have you talked about these issues with your spouse?

Laura talks about the idea of the ‘grass is always greener,’ something expatriates definitely face. Make a list of things you love about your host country and also things you love about your passport country. Don’t compare the lists but read through them and concentrate on being thankful that you get to experience all these beautiful things, in their infinite variety.

Help your children make a similar list (you might be surprised by what they say!) and delight in the uniqueness of your experiences.

When an ATCK Does Not Choose a Life Overseas by Clara Wiggins

A few months ago, we were faced with a choice. A very difficult choice. A choice many people reading this will have faced themselves, often multiple times. A choice I really, really didn’t want to make. And a choice that, once made, I knew I would regret – whichever way we chose to go.

Following a couple of overseas postings, both terminated early for very different reasons, we had decided to settle back in the UK. My eldest daughter had reached Reception age and we got her a much-sought after place at our local primary. So local, you can see it from our house. Our other daughter started at the local pre-school. Both integrated immediately into their new lives, making friends quickly and being obviously much happier than they had been when we were abroad. My husband got an interesting job in a nearby city and I started training to be an antenatal teacher. It was a good life.

But just when we thought we were settled, my husband came home from work with the news that there were several family-friendly postings going begging at work. Places that as a single working woman I probably would have turned my nose up at, but now sounded like the perfect place to move with school aged children in tow. However, trying to decide whether to leave our newly discovered settled lives behind and set off once more was not going to be an easy decision.

I myself am a Third Culture Kid. I grew up on pretty well every continent in the world – the Americas, Africa, Asia, Europe – my father’s diplomatic postings took us almost as far and wide as it’s possible to go. It was (mostly) a happy childhood. I have particularly rosy memories of our time in the Philippines – a wonderful place for a (rich, privileged) child to grow up in the 1970’s, full of weekends at the beach and afternoons at the swimming club. I spent the parts of my teen years when I wasn’t at boarding school in Venezuela, a wild and beautiful country where we swam in the Caribbean, climbed the (foothills of) the Andes and explored the spectacular Llanos.

I have never lived anywhere longer than four years and by the time I was 13 I was at boarding school in the UK, happily negotiating long haul flights back and forth for the holidays. After leaving school, I did try and settle into a normal life. But late in my twenties my itchy feet got the better of me and I took off round the world with just a back-pack for company. A year later I returned to the UK, realized I couldn’t live in just one country for the rest of my life, and joined the Foreign Office. I was posted to Jamaica, met my husband, got pregnant with my first child, and left the Office to become the accompanying spouse to my husband’s postings in Islamabad and St Lucia.

So why the problem with deciding to go abroad again? Well, the problem wasn’t me, I would’ve gone in a heartbeat, as long as it was somewhere that this time I could work. My husband is coming to a natural end of the job he’s in and needs something new. He’s always loved living overseas. No, the reason we didn’t immediately jump at the chance of moving to The Hague or Lisbon or Warsaw was the children.

I realize that having outlined above how much I loved my childhood, it sounds odd to now say I don’t want my children to have what I had. I still believe deeply that travel doesn’t just broaden the mind, it explodes it. I think I am a better person for having had the chance to explore the world at a young age.

No, the problem isn’t that I don’t want my children to have what I had – it’s that I do want them to have what I didn’t.

Growing up, I was always different. It didn’t matter where I lived, I never fit in. In Manila, we were the minority Brits in a mostly American school. Back in the UK, I was the slightly weird one who kept leaving to live in exotic places no-one had ever heard of, and then come back and expect to fit in exactly where I left off. At school there were, luckily, other expat brats like myself. But there were more rich, spoiled kids who ruled the school. Even as an adult, I’ve always found my background and experiences made me feel a little different from everyone else. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made some amazing friends along the way and even living as I do now in a town in Middle England, I’ve still found people I can relate to on more than one level.

But what I didn’t have was a base. A home. Somewhere I could always come back to and feel safe. A group of mates I grew up with, who would be there every Christmas eve, to get together with no matter where we had been for the rest of the year. I want my children to feel they belong. To be settled and to not have this need to up and move on every few years. I want them to go right through school with the same friends. To understand British culture properly, to watch all the same TV programs as the other people they meet as adults, to be able to recall the same moments of history – not to wonder why no-one else remembers the ‘thriller in Manila’ or can still sing the theme tune to Sesame Street when everyone else is discussing some random multi-colored Saturday morning show.

I realize these things are not the be-all and end-all and possibly I am depriving them more than they will ultimately benefit. But you have to go with a gut instinct and for now, this is mine. It’s been helped by the fact that my eldest daughter, who didn’t settle well in either of our two postings, is adamant she doesn’t want to move abroad again. But it’s not been an easy choice and things might still change. For now, though, that’s our choice. I was a TCK. My children have been TCK’s. But I have decided that – for now – they will be FCK’s (First Culture Kids). Or whatever a child who stays put is called!

In Conversation with Clara Are you glad you made this decision to stay? But since then, you moved again. How did you make that decision, and then the decision to return? At the time it was the right decision. But a year later, we changed our minds. Why? Mostly because my husband couldn't get out of the job he was in without going overseas. He was doing something pretty stressful at the time, which also included a long and difficult daily commute, and it was impacting the whole family. So, we looked at which postings were coming up at his grade and thought very carefully about which ones we would and wouldn't be prepared to consider.

Our first priority was schooling but we also wanted somewhere that would offer us a better quality of family life than we currently had. We put in our preferences and waited...and couldn't believe it when we were offered Pretoria! Funnily enough it wasn't our first choice (for schooling reasons) but as soon as we heard we had got it, I knew it was the right choice. Telling the children was hard as they were very happy where we lived and at their schools. But they got used to the idea and a trip out to see where we would be living and choose a school helped. In the end we had two extremely happy years in South Africa - and only came home because my eldest daughter was due to start secondary school and overall, we thought it would be the right time to get her back into the UK system. Our memories of South Africa, all the things we did and saw in the country and the region and the friends we made, will stay with us forever. I am so glad in the end that we changed our mind. I love your honesty about making this choice. What are some positive things you’ve noticed about raising your kids in their passport country that you are thankful for? I always thought I wanted to give my children something that I didn't have which is a real home, a place they can say is theirs, where they were born, always have friends, can come back to as adults. When people say, "where are you from" they can say, "Cheltenham". Although we have come and gone, I think I have managed to achieve that as they definitely feel this is where they belong. Apart from that, I love that they are building strong relationships with their grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles who we see regularly now and who I hope will play an important part in their lives. Until recently I would have said I want them to be able to have a strong sense of identity about being British and all that it stands for, but since Brexit I don't feel this anymore. This makes me very sad. I thought we were a tolerant, open, outward-looking country. Now I just don't feel that we are. Had we known Brexit was going to happen we might have made a different decision about coming home when we did. But here we are, and I think we have to make the best of it. Sometimes it seems TCKs feel pressure to defend their decision to ‘settle’ in one place. Do you feel that from other TCKs? How do you suggest TCKs respond to or handle that pressure? I don’t know that many TCK's in my day-to-day life, but I do notice there is a tendency amongst people who have travelled a lot to keep on travelling. But everyone has to make decisions based on their particular circumstances and family dynamic. Some are happy to carry on relocating with their children every few years, moving them between different schools and curriculums or putting them into boarding schools. We had a choice not to do that and decided that coming home was best for us. At least, the decision was best for us at the time we made it. We don't know how things would have panned out had we made a different choice - but I do believe that once you have made that choice you shouldn’t regret it. We will never know how things would have worked had we made a different choice. What are you up to now? Where are you living? And tell us about your book - the Expat Survival Guide. I am back in our home town in Cheltenham, back in our old house, and my youngest daughter is back at her old school. My elder daughter has started secondary school and takes the bus every day to a neighboring town. I am now mainly working as a freelance writer, slowly building things up. I had a remote working job as a business manager for a small independent journal which I took with me to South Africa but recently gave it up to concentrate on my writing. I write mainly about parenting, travel, and expat life but am open to writing about anything and everything! So far I have been published in the Washington Post, Wall Street Journal, the Independent and several other publications/sites. But I probably need to find some regular clients as it is quite a hustle! I wrote my book the Expat Partner's Survival Guide, before I left for Pretoria. It is aimed at the partners of people going overseas to work and includes both practical and emotional advice - anything from what to pack to how to make friends. I also started a blog of the same name and specialized in writing about expat depression. My blog has been a bit quiet since I became a repat - as much as anything because I have been too busy with other writing and running a household to do much blogging. It's not easy having to do all my own housework again.

Make it yours

How have you dealt with some of the things you want for your kids, but can’t give them (whether you live abroad or not)?

Consider each of your children – do they have the same feelings you have on their behalf? How are they each different in what they need or want in terms of home or relationships with relatives? How can your specific family work on meeting the needs of each individual?

Have you deeply wrestled with the losses and the gains of moving abroad? Or of staying in your passport country? Does your spouse see eye to eye with you?

In our globally connected world, today even kids who don’t move abroad can be encouraged to have open minds toward other cultures. Even something as small as having a world map up on the wall or eating out at different restaurants not as something special, but as normal, can in small ways, keep the whole world in front of our kids. What are some other ways you can encourage global-mindedness in those who don’t move abroad?

A Whole Self by Dr. Susannah-Joy Schuilenberg The third culture kid builds relationships to all the cultures, while not having full ownership in any. ~Ruth van Reken “I don’t really know how to answer that,” said my friend, also a psychologist, in response to my question, “Where’s home?” To be fair, I knew it was a loaded question for him because I am familiar with his background. His father is English, his mother Lebanese/French and he was born in Qatar. He has lived in several different countries in his life, eventually settling in Beirut with his wife. He went on to say that he feels there is a fundamental difference between himself and his wife. “She has her place. Beirut is ‘home’ for her, and I know she has a settledness that I lack. I don’t know where ‘my place’ is, and that internal restlessness is always with me. It feels like a sore spot that I can’t help but keep poking to see if it still hurts. It always does.” Knowing I was going to write on TCKs for Djibouti Jones from a psychology perspective, I’ve been asking my colleagues about their experiences personally and professionally with this issue. As with my friend, the theme that came up repeatedly was no fixed sense of ‘home.’ Even though one of the women I spoke to has lived in the same country for over 20 years, she described herself as “…parked, not planted.” When I explored what that meant to her, she felt that she had no real roots. Even though she acknowledged that her life in her chosen country is “probably” permanent, she felt herself fundamentally disconnected from that reality in ways she could hardly articulate, even to herself. Another person I asked described his living arrangements as “…sort of like trying on different jackets. So far, I haven’t found one that truly fits me, and I’m beginning to think I’m not going to.” This particular man is Dutch, born in Saudi Arabia, and lived in eleven different countries with his family before leaving for university in the Netherlands. He described his internal response on returning to Kuwait as “profoundly moving.” He finds that he is most “at home” in the Middle East, but logistics and prudence keep him from making the connection permanent. When I asked my friend (he of the ‘sore spot’) what he thought were the benefits of being a TCK, he listed several – a global perspective, adaptability, cultural fluency, a genuine appreciation for the differences in humanity, resourcefulness, independence, self-reliance and a “well developed sense of adventure.” I then asked him about the downside, and he looked sad. “I always feel slightly disconnected from my own life and I am mindful that I have no really firm attachments. I know from my own therapy process that one of my core beliefs is that everything is temporary, and getting too attached to anything – be it a place, an object, or a person is stupid. It all changes at some point.” Here’s some things I’ve learned as a psychologist in the years I’ve worked with ATCKs. First, there’s all the stuff around culture shock. This is well-documented, and it helps to read something just to have that foundational understanding of what’s happening. There are stages of acculturation that you can actually recognize as being normal under the circumstances, and not necessarily a consequence of being TC. (A good choice would be The Expat Arc: An Expat’s Journey Over Culture Shock; Danielle Barkhouse). Second, the issues that come with the third culture experience complicate the standard adjustment bumps one can expect in changing cultures in any case. This is where the “sore spot” happens. That wound can be an inherent part of an ATCKs identity. Not ever having truly belonged, as the quote that begins this post highlights, has ramifications in the development of one’s sense of self. In my experience, one of the things that seems common is the tendency of the ATCK to idealize a particular place/time. In Cecily’s post (Seven Stages of Re-Entry Grief), she talks about her sense of alienation in Australia, and how she longed for Pakistan. This is to be expected and it’s normal. As a psychologist, when I explore this same scenario (Cecily’s) with you, what I usually find is that, in truth, you also felt marginalized or excluded in the formative culture as white, Western, expat, foreign, weird, mixed-culture, wrong religion, wealthy …whatever. But – this is the key – in the discomfort and distress of trying to adjust to the current culture, you don’t remember the truth of this. We, you and I, work together to build a balanced perspective of the formative culture, the current culture, and the values common to both. We explore how many people confuse principle and practice, and thus become rigid or inflexible, incapable of adapting to new situations and circumstances. As you identify the values that are important to you, we then figure out how those values are manifesting in the current culture. We talk about unresolved grief – a lifetime of losses, accumulated mostly without the opportunity to mourn. We make Stones of Remembrance. We laugh. We cry. I am witness to your rage of letting go. Not only of the hurts of the present, but also of the wounds of the past, never truly acknowledged in the effort to be accepted in the formative culture. Together, we clean out that deeply buried reservoir of the flotsam and jetsam of relational fractures, wounded self, and thwarted or bent dreams. And the whole time, we keep coming back to the work of defining ‘home.’ Lastly, we talk about the impact of coming back to your own identified culture and immediately running into the expectation that you as “one of us” will know the nuances, etiquette, inside jokes, and social zeitgeist of your peers. And we talk about what happens to your already fractured sense of self when you don’t, and what can be done about it. Practically speaking, there are things you can do to maximize the upside and minimize the downside of this reality. 1. Focus on people/relationships. 2. In some way, collect “Stones of Remembrance.” These are not necessarily actual stones, but rather tangible mementos of a time and place you wish to remember. 3. Mindfully, consciously accept that “home” for you will always have a different experiential meaning than it does for others and that it is up to you to define what ‘home’ means. 4. If you’re going to be returning to your own culture and you’ve got “missing years,” take some time to learn about the social trends, the movies, the pop culture of those years when you were elsewhere. Google is your friend, as are archived issues of People magazine, the New Yorker, and such like. 5. Expect to feel lonely. And restless. Without mindfulness, self-knowledge, and deliberate self-care, those feelings may overwhelm you. 6. Talk. Talk with others. Join forums, find a therapist who understands what it’s like to be American/Canadian/British/Whatever on the outside and Kenyan/Indian/Malaysian/Arab/Confused on the inside. 7. Own your TCK self. Name your fears, name your losses, own your wounds and your choices. There’s a great exercise on page 262 of chapter 19 of Third Culture Kids (David C. Pollock & Ruth Van Reken) It’s worth doing. If you can’t manage it by yourself, do it with a therapist. 8. Celebrate who you are and how you came to be the you that you are (there’s a Dr. Seuss rhyme in there somewhere).

Comments from the blog *I am an adult TCK and can identify with these words. What concerns me is that many (expat) parents do not realize there is a real difference between an adult making a couple of international moves and a child (who is still forming his/her own identity) making these same moves. Their experience is completely different! It concerns me that there are expat parents who do not want to hear the negative side. They say, “all is well because my kid even adjusts faster than I do, they learn the language quicker…”. The speed of which a child adjusts does not say anything about the impact this kid of lifestyle will have in the long run. I hope there will be more therapists worldwide who have knowledge and experience in working with TCKs and ATCKs, like you Dr Susannah. I still hear stories of therapists who have not even heard of what a third culture kid is.

*I waited until today to comment. I sent this to a friend, another ATCK and her response was “Where does one find a therapist such as this one???” High praise indeed and I would agree. So, here’s my question: What have you found with ATCK’s who do go on to raise TCK’s? I seemingly went through none of this as long as I was living overseas, but it hit so hard when we moved to the United States. Some of it may be that we moved to New England, a place that is considered tolerant but so dismissive of anyone who thinks differently or comes from elsewhere. Liberal but narrow world view didn’t sit right with me. There were no forums. There were immigrants and refugees and that’s who I connected with. I finally found a therapist, but it was over other issues – although my sense was that he got the TCK piece. But why did all of this not surface earlier overseas? What have you found in your work around ATCK’s who stay in one place after being raised globally vs. ATCK’s who move from place to place. And thanks ahead of time for your wisdom. Reply from Susannah: Briefly, many of the issues of being a TCK don’t show up while in the formative culture because the “Mental Supervisor” that governs our processing is almost always on duty. We are mindful of the fact that every encounter has the potential to blow up into something ugly/huge/shaming/insulting/whatever, and we monitor our responses accordingly. On a subconscious level, we never forget that we will never be Korean/Indian/Whatever. (It’s part of the reason that many TCKs/ATCKs experience a sense of ‘freedom’ in flying away from the foreign country. The Mental Supervisor goes “off duty” and there is a sense of relaxation/relief.) We often have a grace for ourselves in the formative culture that we do not have in the identified culture. In other words, we have completely different expectations. This is also true of others in both the formative culture and the identified. We will be excused for our cultural mistakes in the formative culture much more readily than in our identified culture, and so we experience a sense of criticism, judgment, and censure that may be more obvious and open than it is in the foreign place. In my work with ATCKs, I’ve found that they tend to fall into two camps – those who cannot tolerate being too long in one place and who usually end up overseas again, and those for whom the idea of moving overseas makes them feel physically ill. This group looks for a place of permanence, a place to belong – to make home. This doesn’t mean they don’t continue to feel lonely or unconnected, but this group tends to eventually find a measure of security, both mentally and emotionally in the feeling of permanence – as in, “I’m NOT moving.” The former group become almost perpetual nomads, and it is this group that I see most often because they are endlessly looking for something that they have never defined. Until they do, of course, they won’t find it. As for finding a therapist, I always suggest to people who ask me this that they ask the therapist how much work they’ve done with refugees & immigrants. Not second or third generation, but people who’ve come to America (or in my case, Canada) within the last 10 years. If they’ve not had any exposure to this demographic, I suggest they keep looking. The other alternative that has worked is to ask the therapist to read “Third Culture Kids.” If the therapist is willing, then very likely, working together will be beneficial. If the therapist refuses, keep looking.

In Conversation with Dr. Susannah Would you recommend TCKs talk with a professional counselor or psychologist? ​Generally, talking to an experienced professional with an understanding of the unique issues TCK's face when repatriating is a good idea. ​ Is there a particular time in the TCKs life that might make them more vulnerable and needing of help? ​What makes TCK's more vulnerable is not necessarily a specific time, but rather the psychological/emotional resilience health prior to any transition. There's a period of adjustment for all individuals, and this period is shorter/longer, easier/more difficult depending on the internal resources, personal world perspective, and sense of self-efficacy. So, in other words, past traumas and/or emotional upsets contribute significantly to the degree of resilience and the ability to adjust to the repatriating process. If there is one universal to the likelihood of vulnerability, it is when a TCK faces the dual adjustment of leaving home for the first time AND repatriating. Research seems to indicate that this is not necessarily the case when repatriating is not part of the mix. There is something significant about being 'reduced' to living as, for example, an American in the US (or in my case, a Canadian in Canada). The weight of the cultural expectations can be difficult to navigate, and the identity many TCK's own is suddenly wiped away. Add to this being away from family for an extended period for the first time, and 'Adjustment Disorder' is often the result. This can include depression, anxiety, failing classes, emotional instability, etc. How can TCKs find a counselor who is trained with their specific struggles in mind? Or is that not particularly important? Do you have some recommendations? ​Finding a therapist with, at the very least, cross-cultural experience is probably the minimum. Ideally, a foreign- born, or immigrant therapist is worth seeking out. The ability to empathize with the unique challenges of repatriation and being a TCK is important, because a professional not understanding the realities notes above, could easily dismiss the underlying reason for the presenting issues (depression, anxiety, failing). In this age of technology, there really isn't any barrier to finding a specialist in TCK issues, no matter where the individual resides. This is a good thing. I love the concept of gathering ‘stones of remembrance.’ Would you suggest people do this with others or keep it private? What are some specific ways people have done this that have proven useful? ​This is an entirely personal preference, whether these Stones are shared or kept private, but in all cases, a Stone of Remembrance is always tangible. TCKs I have worked with have done a variety of things but regardless of what the object/memorial is, it has emotional significance to the individual. Mine is a tattoo. The 'doing of it' is as unique as the person's experiences. ​

Make it yours Who are you? Make a list of all your identities. Which do you most strongly connect with? Sometimes our most powerful identities are the ones we react most negatively to. On your list, which words bring you joy? Which words make you angry? Which words make you want to cry? Why? Journal out your response or share it with a trusted friend. There are already so many great suggestions here, provided by Dr. Susannah. Do some of Dr. Susannah’s suggestions! Like stones of remembrance, create a tribute to the places and people who formed you. Maybe through music, a video montage, meals and recipes, that you can return to when you feel particularly nostalgic or uprooted. Help your kids make these tributes or markers, especially if you are at a time of major transition.

Saudade by Ute Limacher

TCK’s and all those who live a nomadic life have to say many good-byes and leave many places they called their own. When leaving and restarting over and over, they go through a so called “entering phase” during which they constantly feel the ambivalence of their nomadic life. They feel how different they are in the new place and may wish to go back where they did fit in or simply felt more comfortable. The feeling of longing or pining for something in the past overcomes us generally at a turning point.

When we think about the past, an experience, a friend or a situation that makes us want to go back for a moment and re-live it, or when we think about what we would like our future to look like in a sort of daydream, we all experience saudade.

What is saudade?

There are many different definitions of saudade, but the Dicionário Houaiss da língua portuguesa fits my purpose best:

“A somewhat melancholic feeling of incompleteness. It is related to thinking back on situations of privation due to the absence of someone or something, to move away from a place or thing, or to the absence of a set of particular and desirable experiences and pleasures once lived.”

We feel saudade when someone (e.g. children, parents, siblings, grandparents, friends, pets) or something (e.g. places, things one used to do in childhood) is missing but should be there in a particular moment, and we feel its absence.

It usually mixes sad and happy feelings all together, sadness for missing and happiness for having experienced the feeling. – It is, like Alexandre Silva says “a joy of grief” in A Saudade Portuguesa – Carolina Michaëlis de Vasconcellos.

Saudade towards people

Saudade is also “the love that remains” after someone is gone, like when we think of a person we love but who is out of reach.

When we experience the loss of friends or family members, we all feel grief. As TCK’s we often don’t have the chance to say good-bye or don’t make it on time because of the geographical distance to our loved ones. Saudade describes the sad feeling about this lost chance and the certainty that they’re gone forever. But in the mean time we also have happy feelings about the beautiful and memorable moments we spent together; and we feel grateful that we had the unique chance to have met these people.

Every time we have to say good-bye to good friends, we know that for a few of them the good-bye will probably be forever. It makes us happy and sad at the same time and we enter a grief phase when we recall all the happy moments we spent together.

Sometimes it happens that friends have to leave, and we don’t get the time to really catch up during the last weeks, or to say a proper good-bye. Quick farewells can be very painful. We recall all the precious moments spent together and realize that our life together has come to an end. It will never be the same. It’s the end of an era.

If it comes too quick I may not appreciate it. Is that the reason behind all this time and sand? (Sara Grove, Painting pictures of Egypt)

There are also all those friends we had to leave behind because of us moving, with whom we share precious memories and with whom we even thought we would spend the rest of our lives. The lost opportunity to pursue our life path together make us feel longing for the life we had.

Saudade toward places

We also long for places we lived, that enchanted us as children or where we have felt most inspired or happy. These can also be places we visited briefly but with which we had a special bond.

The places I long for the most Are the places where I’ve been They are calling after me like a long-lost friend It’s all about comfortable When you move so much The place I was wasn’t perfect But I had found a way to live It wasn’t milk or honey But then neither is this (Sara Grove, Painting pictures of Egypt)

When we move frequently, we probably don’t get back often to the place or places where we grew up. Some still call it “home”. because they have family and friends there. But sometimes these places are only pictures in our memories.

Since a few years ago, me and my family spend several weeks each year near the place I grew up in Northern Italy, because my sister and her family live close by and we want our children to spend as much time as possible with their cousins, aunt and uncle. During the past 20 years, for some reason or another, I didn’t manage to go back and visit the place I grew up, but this year we finally did, and I had a nice trip down on memory lane.

Some things looked the same, like a little church where I met friends, the house I lived in with my parents (my parents left Italy almost 30 years ago) and the streets where I did “le vasche” (take a stroll) with my friends as a teenager. It’s comforting that some things just don’t change. It’s a bit like meeting a good friend after a long period and feeling like we never were separated. – Unfortunately, my childhood friends had all moved abroad and those places don’t feel exactly the same anymore. But we still have memories.

Showing my children the places I’ve lived in will never give them the same feeling I have when visiting them, but it gives them at least some pictures to relate to when I tell them stories about my past.

I’ve lived in many places but I don’t feel saudade for all of them. Some are more important because they left indelible memories I can only share with people who were there with me. We can also feel saudade towards the future.

The famous saudade of the Portuguese is described as: “a vague and constant desire for something that does not and probably cannot exist, for something other than the present, a turning towards the past or towards the future; not an active discontent or poignant sadness but an indolent dreaming wistfulness”.

The past is so tangible I know it by heart Familiar things are never easy to discard I was dying for some freedom But now I hesitate to go I am caught between the promise And the things I know (Sara Groves “Painting pictures of Egypt”)

We think about the new places we will live and picture ourselves in a hypothetical life, a promise that we hope will come true.

Sometimes I feel this saudade towards the imagination of my future that I had in the past. As a child I pictured myself in a future very different from how my life is now. Sometimes, realizing this difference makes me want to go back and try out another path. What if I would have stayed in Italy? What if I hadn’t said good-bye to certain friends or left some places? Our life is a concoction of chances, good-byes, movings, and crossroads that require decisions, sometimes quick decisions.

Saudade towards moments

The places and people we recall are always connected to special moments. We remember happy moments shared with friends or family or places we cherished.

Then we try to remind them, “do you remember when…?” and go back down memory lane, hoping the other person shares the same memory. But it is rare that others recall exactly the same aspect about an event and we end up feeling even sadder – as if this memorable moment is important only for us, not for those we shared it with in the first place.

The future seems so hard And I want to go back But the places that used to fit me Cannot hold the things I’ve learned And those roads closed off to me While my back was turned (Sara Groves “Painting pictures of Egypt”)

Often, we feel that the past is more comforting, that the places, the people we knew were better than the uncertain – but exciting – future. But the places that used to “fit us cannot hold the things we’ve learned”, because we grew out of them. And we keep growing.

Fernando Pessoa: Saudades, só portugueses, Conseguem senti-las bem. Porque têm essa palavra para dizer que as têm.

Make it yours How would you define saudade? How have you experienced it? Draw a picture or write a song or a poem that captures what saudade feels like for you. When do you feel most aware of saudade? Keep a list of triggers and your responses to it. Can you tell when your spouse or your kids are feeling saudade? What are some signs of it? Tell them about this word and ask how they respond to it. Where is home for you? Does it change depending on where you currently are? Is it the same place your kids or spouse consider home? What are some ways you can make where you are right now into a home?

Trauma and The Third Culture Kid Experience by Sezin Koehler Just six days from today marks the 13-year memorial of a night that drew a big, bloody line down the middle of my life: witnessing my dear friend Wendy’s murder in a random and senseless act of gun violence on October 28, 2000. We were celebrating Halloween weekend when we were held up at gunpoint and the woman shot Wendy before giving us time to hand over our wallets. It was a night the sky opened up and I had a glimpse into hell. And worse, my soul sister, a fabulous creative force in the universe, was gone from this plane. Anyone with post-traumatic stress disorder knows how the incident fragments the way you experience your own life into a Before and After, and is often accompanied by a variety of personality changes in the process. For me, adventurous and bold became timid and fearful, a virtual about-face from the openness and adaptability that once were a part of my Third Culture Kid repertoire. At the time of the incident I was going to university in Los Angeles, and my family was living in Switzerland. Instead of coming to my graduation, my mum came to LA for the pre-trial hearing — the one that would determine whether there was enough evidence for an actual jury trial. These were the days before budget travel, and it felt more important to have my mom’s support in the first of three trials to put Wendy’s murderers away than have her at my graduation. After the two-year process of testifying against Wendy’s killer and her accomplice, a series of events nothing at all like what we see in television crime procedurals, I went into an emotional freefall. The American method for dealing with trauma or psychological issues is by medicating the person, even if the patient doesn’t want the meds. Anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medications made me numb in a way that felt nothing but wrong — I knew I should feel sad, I should feel scared, these were my mind and body’s way of processing not only the loss of my amazing friend, but actually witnessing her death. A short stay in the hospital later, on account of the medications, and I was across the ocean from Los Angeles to my family in a city I’d never lived in before. I couldn’t deal with myself, my job, my relationship or living in the country that took my friend and ruined my life. My mom was still living in Switzerland, and because of the high number of UN and other aid offices headquartered in Geneva she found me an amazing trauma counselor whose specialty was cross-cultural psychology and psychiatry, and one who also used art and drama in his sessions. Dr. Arpin tailored every meeting to the specific cultural background of the patient. My childhood spent in Sri Lanka, Zambia, Thailand, Pakistan, and India as well as my time in Los Angeles became the cornerstone for my treatment. He also took into account my conservative Sri Lankan father and radical American mother, a dynamic in my family that was fraught with unease that had spilled over onto me since I was a child. He also noted the tension of my having lived abroad and experiencing my passport country of the USA through a deceptive media machine that hardly prepared me for the reality of the experience, one that took on new levels after surviving a gun crime. India has been one of my favorite places I’d lived, and I often pray to Hindu deities among Buddhist, Greek, Roman, and even Celtic ones — a measure of pantheism marks my personal brand of Third Culture Kid-ness. Noting this, Dr. Arpin would bring stories I’d never heard of Ganesh and Lakshmi into our sessions, which would help me focus on my writing, drawing and dancing as healing practices — the first time I’d ever done that in my life. He also brought my love of cinema, and especially horror films, into the mix, helping me find ways to empower myself and reclaim the things I loved but hadn’t been able to enjoy for years because of the “trigger” factors. The most powerful exercise, and the one that demonstrated just how traumatized I was not only by Wendy’s murder but also by my Third Culture Kid childhood, took place in the small theatre below his office. He sat in the audience, put the spotlight on me, and asked me to describe my home. “My desk here, by the window. Kitchen here. Bed here. Door here.” As I mapped out the space with my hands. “Where are the walls?” “No walls.” I said. “No walls?” “Nope.” “And who can come in?” “Anyone.” I replied, in a ‘no duh’ kind of way. His puzzlement at my response of “Anyone” bothered me. The next week, I asked him what other people say when asked the same question. He told me most people have their rooms separated by walls, and people need to be invited to come in, the door isn’t just open. I remembered reading in Ruth Van Reken’s seminal study on Third Culture Kids that often times because TCKs are constantly shuttling through various cultures, peoples, situations, we have difficulty setting boundaries unless actively taught how to do so. The room exercise showed me that I had no personal filters, a trait common among Third Culture Kids, but one that becomes problematic when trauma and PTSD enter the mix. And I realized that the dramatic loss of Wendy, my first friend at that time to have passed away, was reminiscent on other levels of all the friends I’d lost in so many years of moving around. Back then there was no social media, no mobile phones, no Skype. Friends would often move to places with semi- functional mail service, or telephone lines that worked once a week if you’re lucky. During the first Iraq war my family and I were on Christmas home leave in Milwaukee, my mom’s hometown. We were already on our way back to Islamabad when we found out that all UN personnel and consulate employees had been evacuated. It was a nightmare for my mum to re-route our tickets after we landed in Amsterdam to my dad’s hometown of Colombo since it worked out cheaper to go to Sri Lanka than back to the US or stay in Europe. On my return to school months later, my best friend had been evacuated and nobody could tell me where she’d gone or how to contact her. I didn’t find her again for 15 years. When I was growing up a Third Culture Kid, goodbye could be pretty darn final. Reflecting more and more deeply on Dr. Arpin’s room exercise, so many memories from my childhood arose. The not-so-nice things of growing up between worlds, the tense and often frightening culture in my home life between parents with polar opposite worldviews, being bullied at school, the assorted cultural difficulties place to place that amount to small traumas, but when put together become major. We Third Culture Kids have a charmed life on the surface, but underneath, in the hurt and still-scarred places nobody really wants to talk about, there can be a great deal of hidden trauma that may only surface in the wake of a violent trauma as mine did. The trauma of Wendy’s murder had opened up a floodgate of issues I’d never properly dealt with — all the goodbyes I never knew were the last time I’d see someone or someplace, the innate sense of rootlessness and never feeling I belonged anywhere not even in my own family, the toxic and abusive relationships that had wounded me because of my “Anyone” policy — the grief was overwhelming. Twenty-four years of it, all coming through at once. Thankfully, I had Dr. Arpin’s help and in the year and a half we worked together, he helped me build some necessary walls and begin to put the mess of all the traumas into their own places. He showed me how to mindfully channel all the emotional mines littering my past into writing and creativity. All of this without even the offer of medication, unlike his American counterparts who told me that they couldn’t treat my PTSD without pharmaceuticals. And thankfully, I was a Third Culture Kid blessed to be able to leave my passport country and receive the treatment that helped heal at least the most acute symptoms of PTSD. Sadly, there’s no cure for post-traumatic stress disorder; one must learn how to manage it and ride its waves as they ebb and flow, perilous though that may be at times. Next week marks 13 years since the night that changed my life and broke it into a Before and After. Being a Third Culture Kid indeed heightened my experience of PTSD; yet, at the same time, my unique situation as a Third Culture Kid was what afforded me a powerful path towards healing. Trauma and Third Culture Kid-ness are forever linked, two of many heads on the hybrid monster Hydra that symbolize my After-trauma life. I’m now a fragmented being constantly in motion, fighting — sometimes myself, sometimes the past, sometimes change — and united in only one goal: storytelling.

Make it yours How does trauma uniquely impact TCKs? Even trauma unrelated to their transitory childhood? Some TCKs have reflected that they don’t always have the vocabulary to call experiences ‘trauma’ or to know how to face the poverty, corruption, injustices, disease, etc, in their community growing up. Have intentional conversations with your kids that help them process the difficult things they see and experience while living abroad. What are some skills, like Sezin discovered, that can help TCKs respond in a healthy way to the difficulties they encounter? It can be hard for TCKs to admit certain experiences were traumatic. Take some time to reflect on your upbringing and life and begin to name some of the experiences that deeply hurt, confused, challenged, or broke you. Then seek out help from someone like Dr. Susannah (A Whole Self) to work through those things toward healing.

An Orchid or a Dandelion by Joy L. Salmon I have often wished I were a dandelion – hardy and adaptable, able to plant myself anywhere and thrive. But, in truth, I’m more like an orchid – sensitive to the world around me, blooming only when properly planted and nourished. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how we frame our TCK experiences and what we expect from them. It led to thoughts of the placebo and nocebo effects: How our experiences are often based on what we expect. We’re all familiar with placebos – where positive expectations influence our experiences in positive ways. Nocebos are the flipside of placebos – where negative expectations create negative outcomes. The medical field is beginning to view placebos as a legitimate form of treatment, and beginning to question practices that create the nocebo effect. For example, what impact does it have when our doctors tell us all the possible negative consequences of a particular treatment, what we call “informed consent?” Research suggests that it can create a nocebo response. As a result, medical ethicists are debating whether doctors should instead create a positive expectancy by describing the percentage of people who benefitted in particular ways from a particular treatment. I think it’s very important for people to know that words can powerfully affect their brains in ways that are beneficial or harmful. ~Howard Fields Take a minute, if you would, to watch the video entitled, "Test Your Awareness: Do the Test.” You can find it on YouTube here: http://youtu.be/Ahg6qcgoay4. As you watched this video, you may have experienced first-hand how expectations influence what we discover. Often, what we expect to see is all we see, despite what else is present. It’s easy to be blind to the totality of an experience. This tendency to see only what we expect to see is also found in science. Recent research suggests those of us who have genes that lend to our being emotionally vulnerable, i.e. those of us who are “orchids,” also have greater potential when nurtured appropriately – even surpassing the potential of those of us who are born to be hardy “dandelions.” Prior to this, studies focused only on the developmental risks posed by emotional vulnerability. When the data from these risk studies were re-examined within a risk and potential frame, it was found that the “old” data supported the “new” frame of risk-and-potential. Yet the original researchers were blind to this because they were not looking for it. How does this apply to TCKs? Our expectations of our TCK experience will influence our lives. As TCKs, we lose our bearings and feel the ache of missing family and friends. We also value our travels and revel in the diversity of cultures. How might we create an expectancy frame from which a positive outcome can emerge despite moments of distress? How can we heighten our awareness to see the totality of our world? The orchid vs. dandelion study did this for me. It expanded my frame of reference and gave me hope. While some of us are lucky enough to be dandelions and adapt more easily, others of us – I among them – are orchids. I am in need of a nurturing environment to flourish. Despite my vulnerabilities – whether from nature or nurture, I am reminded that I am not destined to live a humdrum life, even when devoid of international connections. Nor a life filled with suffering, even when difficult events come my way. I can, with the right supports, be elevated by my TCK experiences, and create something valuable from them. The conclusion that we can alter experience by what we believe about it is a hopeful one. Because, indeed, it is empowering. Because it means that we’re not at the whim of forces outside of ourselves as much as we might have thought we were. ~Irving Kirsh Borrowing from David Dobbs, as a young adult, I wish I had expected my TCK experience to be “less like a trapdoor through which I might fall than a springboard, slippery and somewhat fragile, perhaps, but a springboard all the same.”

Follow-up to Orchid or Dandelion, by Joy Dear Reader, In the above post, I focused on the power of expectations. Equally important is knowing how to shift expectations and build resilience so we are better prepared to face the stressors that inevitably come our way. Whether we are orchids or dandelions, we can tip the scales toward positive outcomes when we encounter hardships by buffering them with protective factors. Protective factors, including effective coping skills and supportive relationships, are 1 building blocks for resilience and well-being. While it is best to develop or strengthen protective buffers from an early age, we can do so at any age. I’d like to leave you with some effective ways to boost your protective buffers. Begin when life is easier so the buffers can be easily accessed when life is more challenging. Approach life with a growth mindset. View hardships and failures as opportunities to learn. Believe that you can develop the qualities and relationships you desire. We must not allow ourselves to fall into the trap of thinking that who we are at this moment in time is all we can or ever will be. This fixed (non-learner) mindset limits us and leaves us on the unending treadmill of trying to prove ourselves worthy. Instead, we can listen to our internal dialogue, and challenge and replace fixed-mindset self-talk with a growth-mindset response. And then we must act on it. Acting from a growth (learner) mindset means that we respond to difficult times by developing skills, qualities and 2 relationships that we value; and we succeed through dedicated effort, focus and ongoing review of our progress. Practice skills that enhance resilience and well-being. Over the past two decades, the field of positive psychology has studied ways to enhance well-being. The 5-3-1 Practice is a set of 3 exercises that were studied independently 3 and shown to be effective in increasing resilience and well-being. Consider making them a part of your daily routine. 5 – Meditate for five minutes. You can do this by simply focusing on your breath as you slowly breath in and breath out; saying a meaningful word or phrase as you slowly breathe in and out (e.g. I breathe in peace and breathe out love); or listening to a guided meditation on YouTube. This calms the mind and body, and through practice the benefits come more quickly and last longer. 3 – Write down three good things. Use a journal to identify three things that went well during the day and explain why they went well. It is important to take the second step of explaining why they went well. This creates awareness and a sense of gratitude. 1 – Do one act of kindness. It can be a small act – allowing a sibling to have the last cookie, complimenting a friend’s hard work or holding the door as someone enters before you. Kindness reverberates. It’s contagious and creates a spiral of caring that benefits not only the receiver, but also the giver. Grow close, quality social connections. Research confirms that children require a stable, committed relationship 4 with at least one caring adult to thrive, and close, meaningful relationships are a major contributor to adult well- being. These relationships support and ground us as we go through events and transitions that turn our lives topsy- turvy. When we’re lucky, friends fall into our lap. Other times, we must consciously create opportunities to grow friendships – whether new or old. Growing friendships isn’t always easy, but I’ve had success by creating a caring circle of friends and hanging out with people with common interests. I’ve been a part of creating three versions of caring circles over the course of my life. For the most recent, I harked back to my childhood and invited friends to be a part of a knitting group called, Knit ‘n Natter. While we intend to knit, we more often end up on the natter side of things. We laugh, celebrate birthdays, laugh more, catch up on a child’s or grandchild’s successes and stumbles, attend each other’s favorite charity events, and supply meals and hugs when one of us is in need. It has become a small caring community of insiders. I also made a friend through a common interest in hiking. A couple of summers ago, I decided to section-hike the 170-mile Tahoe Rim Trail and found the wife of a colleague who wanted to do the same. We grew to be lasting friends between dashes to escape early afternoon thunder showers, my blisters, her grit despite a bum knee, and ultimately our mutual perseverance and accomplishment. Remember that good can emerge from challenging times. We end where we began: How we look at the difficulties that enter our lives – our expectations – makes a difference. Painful times of loss or transition are real and unavoidable, so we must care for ourselves in ways that help us transform and transcend the darkness. Whether we are an orchid or dandelion, or whether fully embracing or tiptoeing through the pain, we can still know and expect that we will grow and end up in a good, and maybe even a better place when we emerge. And if not what we’d consider a better place, at least as a better person with greater wisdom and depth of character. I have felt most alive, most creative – with all my senses fully engaged – while in a deep hole in life. We may hate the moment we are in for good reason. Yet we benefit from the gift it will surely bring us if we allow ourselves to approach it with a growth mindset while calling upon protective coping skills and leaning on supportive relationships. Cling to the certainty that we can carve out steps that, no matter how steep or slow the progress, will free us and carry us to level ground – and, perhaps, even to our next hilltop. Godspeed, Joy Center on the Developing Child at Harvard University. (2018). Key Concepts: Resilience. Retrieved from https://developingchild.harvard.edu/science/key-concepts/resilience Dweck, Carol. (2010). Mindset. Retrieved from www.mindsetonline.com Center for Healthy Minds at University of Wisconsin-Madison. (n.d.). Try the 5-3-1 Practice. Retrieved from https://centerhealthyminds.org/join-the-movement/try-the-5-3-1-practice Center on the Developing Child at Harvard University (2015). Supportive Relationships and Active Skill-Building Strengthen the Foundations of Resilience: Working Paper No. 13. Retrieved from https://developingchild.harvard.edu

Make it yours Did you watch the video? (if not, I strongly encourage you to go back and click through the link!) What did you notice? What surprised you? How can that lesson be applied to daily life as a Third Culture Kid or as an expatriate family? What are things unique to the TCK experience that can hinder the ability to see or understand a situation? Make a list of these and brainstorm with your family how you could help each other remove those blinders. Have you had experience in your host culture like this video, where you have either missed something seemingly obvious or you misinterpreted a situation based on your background and lack of cultural understanding? Journal about that from the perspective you might have had at the time and from the perspective you have now. Compare the two, paying special attention to where they differ. What are some specific things we can do to overcome this kind of blindness, especially in cross cultural situations?

Six Stages of Re-entry Grief by Cecily Paterson When I was 16, if you’d called me ‘an Australian’ I would have felt like you were stabbing me with a blunt knife. My reaction would have been almost physical. And then I would have corrected you. And swiftly. “I have an Australian passport. I don’t feel Australian.” Because, you see, I am a TCK. My family went to Pakistan when I was three and returned as a family when I was 16. In Pakistan we lived alternately in a crowded third world city, in the Himalayan mountains, and in the arid desert, extreme landscapes, all of them, with colorful people. In Australia we moved into a medium-sized, comfortable house in a medium-sized, comfortable country town. I found the landscape boring. Even ugly. The green-grey of eucalyptus trees seemed insipid next to alpine forests. Middle class Australians seemed dull with their barbecues, salad and cheesecakes and their languid accents. I didn’t like Australia. More than that, I felt pain about what I’d left behind when I got on that plane to fly away from Pakistan. It was intense pain. A physical rip in my chest where a piece of my heart had been pulled away and left to bleed. A hurt that was palpable. I’m 40 now. And something has happened that, then, I never thought would occur. The pain has healed. Truly. If you called me ‘an Australian’ today, 24 years later, I wouldn’t feel a thing. No knives, no physical lurching. And I wouldn’t feel any need to correct you. Because you, see, I am. I am Australian, as well as being a TCK. How did it happen? Stage One: Crisis The first year was about managing crises. Some were small, some were big, but there were many of them, one on top of the other, week after week, month after month. Every new experience brought with it painful memories of an old experience. Every new place brought pangs of longing for an old place. The crises came when we moved to our new house, when we started school and a whole new curriculum and system of education, when we negotiated the supermarket, when we tried to make friends, when we opened bank accounts, when we didn’t recognize popular music, when we didn’t know what to wear. They continued at youth group, on driving lessons and on holidays which didn’t take place at an out of reach, mountainous location off the beaten track. In the midst of the crises, we got through as a family by talking a lot. We cooked curry, looked at photos, remembered old haunts and former friends. We had a bond – not just with each other, but with our old home – that no one else could have. In the midst of the crises, I wrote letters. I wrote at my desk, looking at my bedroom decorated with Pakistani fabrics and art. I wrote to my friends, some still at my former boarding school, some in the midst of their own crises, back in their countries of birth. I wrote to friends who had already been through the re-entry process. When they wrote back, it was like drinking fresh water on a thirsty day. In the midst of the crisis I used what looked like arrogance to survive. Basically, I put my head down and focused on simply getting through my final year of school. I found a minimalist number of friends that I could tolerate, participated reluctantly in social occasions and appeared to be generally stuck up and disdainful. I wasn’t really like that, but it helped me cope in the short term. Stage Two: Going back After eighteen months, school ended, and I was free. At that point I had one thing in mind: to get back to Pakistan. Because the academic years in the Northern and Southern Hemispheres are different, I ended up with 6 months in which I could work to earn myself enough money to travel back to my boarding school for my class graduation in the middle of the year. I found four part-time jobs in our middle-sized town and went to work six days a week in a bakery, newsagent, shoe shop and doctor’s surgery. And I loved it. I was working with grownups (way easier to deal with than school-going 17-year olds), earning my own money, learning things and taking responsibility. And I had a short-term goal that made living in Australia bearable: to get myself out of there and to grad. From the letters I’d written to some of the girls in my class in the two years since I’d left, it felt like I was in the loop, in touch, up to date with what was going on back in Pakistan. But as soon as I landed in Islamabad, I realized that life had moved on. The place looked different for a start. There were new buildings and signs, improved roads and different vehicles. Heck, a major fast food chain had even moved in. At school my classmates were friendly, but in about three minutes I realized they hadn’t been pining for me for two years in the same way I’d been pining for them. It felt weird to be on the outer, almost in the same way that I had been on the outer back in Oz. I didn’t get the ‘in’ jokes any more, I didn’t know the new people and the only reason I cried during the playing of Pomp and Circumstance on the actual night of graduation was because I realized that life at this school had been over for me for much longer than I had thought. Another surprising realization came in the two months of travelling through Europe after graduation. Yes, Switzerland was beautiful, England was historical, France was romantic, and Czechoslovakia was fascinating, but the truth was, I wanted and needed to go home. Home, as it turned out, was with my family. In Australia. And landing in Sydney on the day before my pop’s 70th birthday party was a happy, joy-filled occasion. It was on that day of returning again to Australia that I knew that I couldn’t go back. The crisis was over. From that point on, I knew I would have to find a way to move on with my life. Stage Three: Making Decisions I didn’t want to work in a shoe shop for the rest of my life, so I took myself to university the following year. This meant a move to Sydney, into a residential college of 200 people. It also meant that I could make some very specific decisions. About a third of the college residents were from overseas. Quite a few of them were older. These people would have been easy to get on with. But at this stage of my life I needed to know that I could fit in to Australian society adequately. From day one I deliberately chose to mix with Aussie kids from middle class backgrounds. Sometimes I felt bad. There were people I could have befriended who probably were lonely and suffering culture shock. I could have related well to them, but I didn’t want to. I was busy trying to assimilate. I didn’t want college to be over and for all my friends to disappear off overseas again. I wanted to make friends who I could continue on with for the long term. I also decided to get involved in my church and campus Christian group. This wasn’t a hard decision – I had always been a committed Christian, but now I decided I would give my time and enthusiasm to the music group, to bible study and to other Christians. It was a decision which gave me a home. I felt like I belonged and that I was recognized as a real person. As well, for a year I went to an MK support group. It was mostly great. I got myself on the committee, helped organize a few afternoons and met people. It was good to chat to others who understood the MK/TCK mindset and at times I felt quite at home. However, it also underlined for me that you can feel ‘on the edge’ in any group – even a support group specifically set up for someone like you! When everyone else is pining for Papua New Guinea and you’re the only one who misses Pakistan, it’s as isolating as when you haven’t followed Home and Away for five years like everyone at public school has. Crystallizing in my head was this thought: fitting in to a group takes work, and most people feel on the outer at some point. It’s not just a TCK thing. This was important. I was able to see the pain of loss and the ‘weird’ TCK issues as just two specific traumas amongst a whole basket of other pains that everyone endures at some point. The more I got to know the other Aussies around me, the more I realized that they had their own pain, their own hurts. And I was making a conscious effort to get to know people. I knew that I’d been perceived as arrogant and I worked very hard to strip myself of that arrogance and disdain so that I could correct my own heart and enjoy the hearts of others. It was, of course, a painful process, and yet it was necessary. To see that other people’s experiences mattered as much as my own was a revelation but it changed everything for me. But back to the MK group. In the end, it got boring. Not because we did dull things or because there was no entertainment. The boredom came from constantly revisiting the miserable feelings of re-entry and loss. I have a short attention span, and I’d already spent years in crisis and crying. I’ve felt bad long enough I thought. I don’t want to do this anymore. And I made the deliberate decision to move the TCK heartache out of the living room of my soul and into a back bedroom. I just didn’t want to face it or feel it so often. Anyway, there seemed to be nothing I could do about it. We could talk endlessly about grief and pain and the woes of re-entry, but it was like swirling muddy water. It was easier to mop up the puddle and not think about it. I consciously filled my life with study, work, good friends (yes, it appeared I could fit in!) and a boyfriend (later my husband), deliberately building a life for myself and doing things I wanted to do. And even though it may not have been healthy just to banish the sadness, the happinesses I found overflowed to cover it up. Stage Four: Making recent history Ten years to the month after I arrived in Australia ‘for good’ as a 16-year-old, I had my first baby. I’d been married for four years, been to five different churches and had lived in four different places by that time. Just by continuing to breathe and eat and live, I’d been able to make my own ‘recent history’. When people asked me “Where are you from?” I was now able to answer, “Well, we’ve been living in Sydney, and before that I was in central west NSW.” Sometimes it was enough to avoid the questions that had always previously followed, drawing attention to my TCK-ness. Sometimes I wanted to talk about it, and then I found that memories from 10 years ago appear more faded than memories from say, two years ago. It was so much easier to talk about my memories without becoming too choked up to speak or too stirred up to function. Most of that type of conversation disappeared naturally anyway when my baby appeared. I don’t know what it’s like for men, but for a 26-year-old woman with a baby, conversation revolves entirely around bottle vs breast, toilet training and the favorite topic of all mothers of babies – sleep. Having a family of my own was the most ‘filling’ cure to the TCK emptiness. Imagine feeling very, very hungry as you wait for dinner. What you don’t realize is that coming up is a full scale, succulent lamb roast with potatoes, pumpkin, roast garlic, steamed tender vegetables and gooey, caramelized gravy. Dessert is apple pie with cream and ice cream. And there are seconds. You eat it, you sit back and loosen your belt. Then you try to imagine the hunger you felt before. It seems impossible, and yet it was so real at the time. The pains of TCKness didn’t go away from having children, but life filled up immensely, not just with busy-ness, but also with love and, correspondingly, new pains, because pain always accompanies love. Now I was suffering with the stresses of having children and the anxiety of being a good mother, especially with a child diagnosed with autism. Stage Six (infrequent): The Resurgences** The crisis and the decision periods of my grief were over at about the sixth year after returning from Pakistan. These were the periods of intense feelings. Since that time, my TCK feelings have been small and infrequent. However, I have had three major resurgences of grief in 18 years. One was at an MK camp I was asked to speak at as an adult. This was simply because I had to think hard to prepare relevant and interesting talks for the group of teenagers who were all feeling those raw pains I had known so well. Another was over a period of months, when my husband was suggesting that we move overseas. We had often talked about going overseas to work in the early years of our marriage. But once I had my first baby, that desire was completely extinguished. Now even the thought of it made me ill with depression and nausea. It’s too hard, I’m too tired, I can’t do it all again, were the only thoughts running through my head. When I cried pretty much the whole time during a ‘preliminary chat’ with an organization leader we all knew it wasn’t going to happen. And I was amazed at the strength of hidden fears and pains that were obviously still there, just not floating around. The third major resurgence of emotion was at an Australian reunion of families and staff from our boarding school, the year it celebrated its 50th birthday. I had to drive from Sydney up a mountain to the conference center where the reunion was taking place. As I drove I noticed myself becoming more and more agitated, angry and upset. I felt incredibly ill at ease the whole day, was unable to sing, and just wanted to cry. And yet six hours later, when I drove back home, down the mountain, the uncomfortable feelings subsided. I arrived back at our house happy, relaxed and normal, albeit extremely confused by what I’d just experienced. (I think these feelings were much more about a very unhappy year that I’d had at the school, rather than general ‘TCK’ feelings though.) Stage Infinity: Healing These days I see the TCK part of me as a bit like an old eccentric uncle who spends his days rocking on a porch swing on the verandah. He’s niggly and annoyingly and just slightly bitter and has nothing good to say about the view. He’s cranky, he’s embarrassing and he’s always talking about the ‘good old days’, but he’s dear and he’s part of me and he’s always good for a story that’s a bit out of the ordinary. Mostly I turn a blind eye or have a quiet giggle at his awkwardness and get on with my life, but at the quiet end of the day sometimes I go and sit down on the swing next to him and ask him to tell me a story. Maybe the one about the time we all played sock cricket in the dark, wet and cold in an English raj cottage on the top of a mountain because there was nothing else to do. Or the one about the walks we went on in the dusky Thar desert evenings with the jingle of goat herds’ bells in the distance. Or the one about the colors and smells of Karachi bazaar in the afternoons. Because he’s the guardian of my memories and part of a rich life that now only lives in stories and recollections and coffees with old friends. Today, I’m a squeak off 40 years old. I’m a TCK. I’m also an Aussie. Most of all, I know that every experience I’ve had has left a mark on me. And I’m exceedingly grateful that many of those experiences were as a TCK.

In Conversation with Cecily

The hardest stage was definitely the first year of being back, when the grief was raw.

Things that helped: my family being understanding and all going through it together, and looking at old photos. Also, going back for my old high school graduation helped me to see that I had to move on in my own life.

A few years in, I joined the MK (missionary kid) support group that was established a few years earlier in my area, but I didn't like it. They weren't particularly friendly - a little bit cliquey. The best thing then was just to go ahead and make friends and establish my life. It felt too hard to always go over old sadnesses in those days.

I'm now 28 years returned (can't believe it) and in a steady pattern. My life is here, my kids aren't MKs and I've had harder things to deal with than reentry since that time. I still dream regularly about Pakistan and it's a big part of my life. People still ask me about it, like, "What was it like for you growing up in Pakistan?" I answer them: "What was it like for you growing up in Sydney/your town/wherever?" and make a joke like, "you can't summarize your whole life."

To be honest, I'm not sure a lot of things help with grief, bar the recognition of what you're going through and giving it a name. After that, you've just got to get on with things the best you can.

Make it yours

What stage of grief are you in now? How do you know?

Draw a picture of your stage. No words. If no picture comes to mind, sit in silence for a few minutes and wait. What are you thinking or feeling in the quiet? Use color and texture in your picture.

List three people you think you can talk to about your journey. Call them and ask if you can get together or schedule a phone call. Be honest with them about the state of your heart.

Imagine what healing might look like for you. If you are already walking in healing in some way, how have you experienced that and how can you pass it on to others?

Reentry Questions by Rachel Pieh Jones This week two of my three Third Culture Kids re-entered the United States. My third TCK is coming in a few days. This isn’t long-term re-entry so maybe a more appropriate term would be re-visiting? I don’t know what to call it, but I do know there are emotions involved. Not the same emotions as are part of an actual move back to the passport country, but still. Here are a few of the things we have already discussed, in the three short days since arriving. 1. Who do I want to see during this quick trip back? 2. Who will be able and willing to understand my current life experiences? 3. How will I handle the cold? 4. I’m nervous about calling so-and-so. Is it worth the risk? 5. How much snow needs to fall before you can build a snowman? 6. It is stressful to learn how to navigate a new city. 7. What if I don’t remember someone’s name? 8. What will I wear? 9. I’m just so tired. My older kids have been through major transitions since last being in the US. They became teenagers. They started boarding school. The family moved to a new house. Some of their closest Djiboutian friends moved to Europe. Their friends in the US have gone through major transitions as well. All of this means that my kids have changed, their friends in Minnesota have changed. Who will I be able to relate to, who will be able to enter into my story of boarding school, who will graciously handle my cultural ignorance so that I can be vulnerable, myself, comfortable with them? These seemed to be some of the underlying questions, along with their inverses. Here are a few things that help ease the transition. 1. Grandparents who greeted us at the airport with signs, flowers, candy, and winter coats. As well as a few stylish, current outfits for the kids. This helped the kids feel physically warm but even more importantly, loved and welcomed. 2. Friends at church who initiated conversations, offered hugs, asked questions, and even opened conversations with their names. “So good to see you, I’m Susan.” Of course, we remembered these friends but in the culture shocked and jet lagged fog, names were a blur and the offering of a name was a quick, easy gesture that stripped away so much of our worry. 3. Board games and a movie, slippers and thick blankets, the same beds the kids slept in a couple of years ago. Familiarity and low pressure. 4. Old school friends who jumped right into life, made clear effort and sacrifice to come to where my kids were, who squealed with delight on the phone and erased that nervous: is it worth the risk to call? 5. People who not only asked about boarding school, but knew this particular one. Had been there, had worked there, could ask about specific people and places. This erased the question: will anyone understand me? 6. Long conversations between the kids and I about friendships, life changes, transitions. This helped me know where they are at, how they are responding, and allowed me to share my own experiences, to show that they aren’t going through the transition alone. Of course, not every conversation will be as smooth and of course not every friendship will be renewed, but these gestures are like balm to an anxious heart.

Make it yours Who will you ask for help when you enter your passport country? Make a list. Contact them ahead of time. Ask your friends to be intentional in helping their children welcome yours. They can do this by helping them pick out clothes, taking them to a movie, not laughing when your kids are confused or overwhelmed. Help your kids find safe people, friends or cousins or relatives, and safe spaces where they can be themselves and ask questions without feeling embarrassed. Ask these people to be intentional with your kids for years to come. Find ways to connect with your host country when away, maybe food or music, or through staying in touch with a few friends or bringing photographs to put up in your temporary home.

Transitioning Globally to University by Janneke Jellema My life changed drastically when I took an airplane from Harare, Zimbabwe to Schiphol international airport, Amsterdam in the Netherlands. I left my parents, brothers and sister behind. All that was familiar: my friends, my bicycle, my youth in Africa and lots more. The destination was known. My whole life while I grew up as blond girl with blue eyes in Zambia, Malawi and Zimbabwe, being “different” was the name of the game. On my ID card in Zimbabwe it said “alien”. That’s really great when you are a teenager! We were taught that we were Dutch, it’s the language we spoke at home, the Netherlands was the country we went to on leave. I was proud of my clogs and I loved the Dutch tulips. So, I thought I knew the country I was to go to university in. I thought I knew the country of destination. I was totally unprepared for the (reverse) culture shock that I would have. Totally unprepared for the loneliness, feeling out of place, not knowing the rules and norms, and the depression that set in. Did my fellow students or my lecturers notice the above? Did they see the loneliness? No, they did not. Many times they did not understand my stories about my African youth so I stopped telling these stories. I just did not talk about it anymore. I silenced the “African” part of me. Even now when I talk to my Dutch friends who knew me at university they say we did not know that you were depressed and that you felt so lonely. Did I cover it up? Did I keep it a secret? I do not know. It was just a time of survival. Now “survival” was the name of the game. When I transitioned to university, there were actually several transitions all at once: a different school system: Zimbabwean system changed into the Dutch school system a transition from secondary school to university a culture change: moving from Zimbabwe to the Netherlands a language change: moving from predominately English-speaking environment to a predominately Dutch speaking environment. from living at home to living on my own. A major step in independence. I am glad I survived all these transitions. It was very challenging and stressful at the time. My desire is that other teenagers making these international transitions have more knowledge, preparation and help than I did years ago. I had never even heard of the term third culture kid. It was only when I read the book Third Culture Kids Growing Up Among Worlds by D. Pollock and R.van Reken years later that I discovered it. What a relief that there was nothing wrong with me, that I was not weird but that I had all these feelings because of my global childhood. I was not the only one with these feelings but there were more people with the same experiences. Amazing! Recently I found an interesting article online: “Identity, mobility and marginality: counseling third culture kids in college” (2012) by Dana Leigh Downey, University of Texas at Austin. The article mentions that it is estimated that over 4 million Americans live abroad, with over 37,000 matriculating into U.S. universities each year. Our societies are becoming more and more global. Third culture kids “experience a collision of cultures and form hybrid identities in the course of their development”. Gaw* (2007) says that re-entry is often more challenging and unsettling than initial culture shock, affecting academic, social and psychological functioning. As with other non-majority groups TCKs are less likely to seek support services on campus. “The non-linear background of the TCK does not fit the mold of the average intake form.” There’s a good idea here: Downey suggests that counseling centers may consider adding questions to their surveys or intake forms: before the age of 18 I lived in more than one country/culture. A question like this would help identify third culture kids. It is only worth identifying TCKs if there are people who are equipped to help them. According to Downey, in order to assist third culture kids experiencing re-entry culture shock, counselors must extend: support validation encouragement along with cultural competence and intercultural understanding

That sounds too good to be true. Soon colleges and universities will start their academic year and over 37,000 TCKs will return to America to further their education. An unknown number of TCKs will re-enter the Netherlands and many other countries. What will their experience be like? Will it be different to mine years ago? Will they be identified? Will they be helped by well- equipped counselors, and mental health practitioners that have experience working with third culture kids? *Gaw, K.F. (2007) Mobility, Multiculturalism and Marginality: Counseling Third Culture Students. Special Populations in College Counseling: A Handbook for Mental Health Practitioners (63-76).

Janneke’s 10 Tips for transitioning well to university (for parents and TCKs): 1. Choose a college or university that is internationally minded, with international programs or international students. The international character will help you feel more “at home”, you will fit in more easily. 2. If possible visit the college or university before hand, to see what it is like and to be able to compare it to other colleges or universities. 3. Parents: prepare your TCK before they leave. Talk about the practical stuff: where can they spend the weekend? Where will they spend Christmas? When will you see each other again? How often will you skype? 4. Parents: teach your kids and teenagers about what a TCK is. Even if they are not interested in it at this moment, it will help them in the future. 5. Read the posts on DenizenMag: A TCK’s Guide to College. There’s great advice there. 6. Read and give your TCK a copy of Tina Quick’s book The Global Nomad’s Guide to University Transition. It is a very useful and practical book. 7. Consider using the online mentoring services by Sea Change Mentoring, they help the teenagers handle the international transitions successfully. 8. If possible have the TCK do a re-entry course at the moment of transition, with a follow up a couple of months later. 9. Stay in contact with other TCKs, they can support you during all the changes. You can join TCKid.com to meet other TCKs online. Or start a TCK group at your university. 10. Ask for help, seek professional help or counselling if needed (preferably with a professional who has experience working with international students or TCKs).

In Conversation with Janneke What are some things your parents did well when you transitioned to university? My parents bought an apartment for me, so I could live there with other students. In the Netherlands, university students usually don’t live on campus but the students rent rooms in the city they study in. My parents bought the apartment in a place where an aunt and uncle lived and friends of ours who had lived in Malawi when we lived there. So at least I knew a few people there. My parents taught me how to read and write in Dutch, so that definitely helped when I transitioned to a Dutch university. They gave me lots of responsibility, I was authorized to buy the apartment, I had to arrange electricity, water, furniture and every thing with very little help. What are some things that would have been helpful? To have been able to previsit the university. There are special days that new students can visit the university so they know what to exepect and it can help them decide what course they want to take. I did not have the opportunity to previsit the university. To have met a Dutch university student before hand, so I could have asked some questions and I would have known what to expect. To have an ATCK mentor or buddy I should have been better prepared. Maybe we should have talked together about the changes that were about to occur. Maybe I should have spoken to a Dutch family who had recently transistioned to the Netherlands, I would have better known what to expect. It would have been nice if I had been better prepared for the practicalities, like using public transport, using a bank account, cycling on the other side of the road, knowing the traffic rules etc. Maybe I should have chosen a more international university. I wish my parents had taught me talk about my feelings and that they spoke about their feelings. Emotionally there had been no preparation for the transition. Prior to the transition I think it would be good for parents to talk to their young adult and make a plan together. What will you do when you feel homesick? What can you do when you need help? Who can you call? Where will you spend Christmas? When we spoke to each other on the phone we spoke about the things we did and not about our feelings. I wish my parents had taught me that I was a third culture kid, but at the time they did not know the concept. Knowing the term would have helped me. I discovered it years later by reading the book “ Third Culture Kids, Growing up Among Worlds” by Pollock and van Reken. I think it could help if parents recognize the losses, there were so many losses with that one plane journey to the Netherlands. To this day, I do not feel my parents acknowledge the tremendous impact transitioning on my own had and the enourmous amount of pain and loneliness that accompanied that transition. It was actually traumatic for me. My whole world changed, and I had to handle that with minimal support. I wish they would empathize more and acknowledge how difficult it was for me. By having me buy the apartment and everything that accompanied this, I actually had to do a lot more than Dutch students do, though with less support and less help. My transition was before the possibilities of the internet, Skype, and email. So staying in contact was more difficult those days. What do you think about kids returning to their host culture at some point during their transition time? Useful or damaging? While I was at university my parents moved from Zimbabwe to Malawi. In retrospect, maybe I should have made a visit to Zimbabwe while they were packing the house, so I could say goodbye too. Zimbabwe was the country I transitioned from to the Netherlands, it was the country I had done my secondary school in, I lived there for six years. It was the land of my teenage years, of our great youth group at church, the families of my friends lived there. It was home to me for that time. I had been studying in the Netherlands for 2 years before I went back to Africa. Together with my brother, I went to visit my parents, other brother, and sister in Malawi. We had lived in Malawi before but now my parents lived in a new neighbourhood, went to a different church, had new friends, and so on. Things were not the same. I could not visit them in Zimbabwe because they did not live there anymore. The holiday in Malawi was very good, it was a turning point. Before that visit to Africa I had times I was very homesick. Homesick for Africa, for the food, the warmth, our family, the church I knew, and missing friends. Homesick for everything well known to me. That holiday I discovered I did not “ fit in” anymore. I had changed, I lived on my own for 2 years, I made all my own decisions. I had kind of “outgrown” my place in the family. Living with my parents for a couple of weeks in Malawi, I discovered my “home” was now in the Netherlands. Maybe I had overfantasized Africa? After that holiday, I was less homesick for Africa and more at peace with living in the Netherlands. That journey was wholesome and healing. I think it is good for young people to return to the country they left if possible, even if their parents do not live there.

Make it yours When TCKs transition to university, the grief of their siblings left behind are often neglected. Pay attention to your children, if your kids are at this stage and check in with all of them about how they are transitioning. This is the same for parents. We face a lot of grief and change when a child graduates. They are leaving behind a family but also a country, or maybe even a continent. You might not know when or if they will ever return. Take care of yourself if your family is walking through this change. Get enough sleep, make clear plans for communicating, be clear about expectations in the final days of separation. Consider ways your family can stay connected. Of course there is Skype and Whats App, how about other creative things like special package deliveries or gift baskets from their expat host country? Maybe watching a movie at the same time over the internet together or creating competitive games siblings could text each other about. Keep building memories even over the distance.

The Third Culture Kid’s Struggle to Fit In by Paige Porter-Livesay Growing up in Haiti, we had a countless number of visitors in and out of our house, ministry, school, and really, in our lives as a whole. I wish I knew how many people I’ve met in my life, I bet it beats the average 19-year-old by a lot. Some people left more of an impact than others. At times I didn’t even take the time to remember their names, others I thought I would be close with forever. Both extremes were wrong of me. There were many goodbyes. I didn’t realize it until this summer when I left the country that I grew up in to start college, how much those goodbyes affected me. Meeting all these people growing up, I bet you might guess I have no problem making friends. As I have been adjusting to life in the states I have realized how hard it is to “fit in” and stay true to myself. Making friends has been difficult, to say the least. In some situations, it can be easy making friends. Growing up as a missionary-kid, being a chameleon is a skill most MKs possess. Living outside of the USA, many different types of people come and go throughout an MKs life. Meeting people on your own turf, on the “mission field” is much easier. We, as MKs, have needed to find our place in countless situations, and circumstances. Whether that is in a school where we were the only non-natives, or at a church where our parents were speaking. I generally found that it was easy to find some sort of place for myself during those moments. People knew a little bit about us and I didn’t have the work of explaining who I was. Since moving back to my passport country, I have found it to be so difficult to fit in and make friends. I’m not quite sure how to stay true to myself while making new friends. Now that I am going to an average community college, with other average people like me, it’s significantly harder to fit in (the way that MK’s fit in, which isn’t really fitting in at all.) When I enter a classroom, no one knows that I’m different from him or her. (I don’t mean that in a snobby way.) Nobody knows I grew up in an insanely poor county, and this isn’t really home to me. I look like I belong here, after all. It’s harder to make friends than I ever expected it to be. In fact, I haven’t yet found a way to make a real, genuine American friend. I’ve found I have two choices. One: Be honest about who I am, and that this country is not my home. I would need to explain that I don’t quite know how to do life here and that I don’t really enjoy life yet either. I would want to explain poverty is something that isn’t a shock to me and that not everyone can even begin to imagine walking into a community college class. I would need to explain that rape and abandonment are tragedies I know well. Two: To simply go along with what my fellow American “friends” are talking about and pretend like I know what they’re talking about. I would need to play along like music and football are important to me too. I would need to pretend I care about the things they care about and stay quiet when ignorant or hurtful things are said about the poor about a minority or about the hurting. I would not be free to explain my heart and the things I’ve learned to love because of my beloved third-world country that raised me. The thing is, it feels to me like nobody understands or cares to know the real you when the real you isn’t the norm. They are afraid to try and don’t know how to talk about the odd life you have had so instead they choose not to talk at all. I realize how downer this sounds; I’m not denying that. Although, as a fresh college student who just entered back into the US, I’m not yet at a place where I can be super extremely positive about this new phase of life. I know I’ll get there, through the prayers and help of others, and each time that I give the struggle of this transition over to God. I do believe I’ll make other friends that will understand my heart, but right now, I’m not yet there.

Comments from the blog *You brought something up here that I had not previously considered. When you grow up as an “MK” people kind of “know” you — they come to see you or meet you already knowing about your life and having a huge interest in it. That’s not really the normal American kid experience. People tend to place you/us (missionaries) on a pedestal so that becomes your/our norm, being thought of as an interesting or maybe inspiring person. Returning to America makes all that go away, and I wonder if some of the struggle isn’t caused by that false sense of importance we can sometimes feel when people elevate us for the work in Haiti. *I don’t think your problem is only because you’re a missionary kid; it has also to do with having been so fully immersed in another culture, especially one as different as Haiti is from America. It’s like we go through culture shock all over again once we return to America…This lonely feeling you are experiencing also has to do with having expats as your long-term friends and going to church with those types of people from all over the world. They seem to be a different breed. This feeling of not belonging also has to do with having lived in an area that is not as prejudiced against those with other skin colors. It saddened me, for example, that in America, people label other people so easily. People who want to help the poor, are often labeled as “bleeding hearts”, or “socialists”. If a person wants to be kind to foreigners, they are looked at suspiciously, as if they might be some kind of spy. People say they are “Pro-Life” … yet their “Pro-life” doesn’t include taking care of people after they are born…or making sure that hungry children here in America have something to eat. In my case, re-entry also shocked me when I realized how many different brands of products there are here in the stores. I was used to seeing only one or two brands of anything in the stores of my new land. They were not affluent enough to have dozens of different brands like they have here. At times, I didn’t know where to turn. It was all so confusing! Mostly, I was shocked how people seemed to be shallow…so into material things. I was shocked at coming back to a world where even in Christian circles, no one really gave missions a serious thought. Your generation, the one raised with smart phones, has changed drastically from mine. People used to say “hello” when they met…now they keep their eyes down, and onto their cellphones. People can bully someone very easily by sending them nasty text messages. Girls get lured into making “selfies” in hopes that some guy will like the way they look. I teach, so I see how so many are tempted in having it all be about looks and “Keeping up with the Kardashians.” Being “grown-up” often means being very shallow about many things. Keep zeroing in on the needs of those around you and working on your relationship with your family and with the Lord. Remember, too, that all the “greats” we have ever heard of, such as Corrie Ten Boom, Gladys Aylward, Darlene Rose, Elizabeth Elliot, Mother Teresa, and on and on…they all had trials and loneliness, they all had times when they couldn’t see an answer, but they all came out victorious.

*You explained the disconnect so perfectly that it almost hurt to read this. I felt completely lost in my home and school because I had seen and known things that I could never explain. My parents never went to Haiti, didn’t understand how much I struggled with balancing the two worlds, and couldn’t help me because they had no context for what I couldn’t understand. The people I had been friends with since kindergarten felt so foreign to me as they worried about prom and getting their first car while I worked and saved to afford the plane ticket back to PAP for the summer.

When I reached college I finally found my tribe and connected with people who had similar life experiences of poverty, culture shock, and international living. But like someone else said, I had to first be open with people about who I really was. I had to explain the Creole tattoo on my wrist, I had to talk about Haiti and Brazil and Uganda, poverty and hope, holding a baby as he slowly died in my arms – I had to let those experiences out, so people could say “Whoa. Hey, do you know X? He grew up in China!” and then connect with X. Sometimes I was labeled the weird girl. Sometimes I didn’t want to be the odd one. But when I was open (without being judgmental) I found people who had been, who knew, and others who simply wanted to.

Make it yours So many struggles for TCKs don’t surface until they are faced with transitioning to their passport countries, often for university. If your TCKs are transitioning soon, or if you yourself are, make a list of people you can reach out to who live nearby – for help, for a homemade meal, for someone who understands you. Ask one or two people who will be physically present to help you. People might not know how to help, but most will be happy to, when you ask. Talk to TCKs just a few years ahead of you to find out what helped them, what struggles they had, how they created a new home for themselves. Talk as a family about when your TCK will be able to visit ‘home’ again, if possible. On campuses, find a group, club, sports team, faith-based group, you can connect with while doing an activity that gives you joy and helps you connect with skills and interests you developed while growing up abroad.

When Third Culture Kids Reunite by Jenni Legate Upon arrival in Athens, tears sprung to my eyes at the sight of my friends. The last time I had seen many of them was at our high school graduation in Pakistan. I rushed to hug them, words tumbling out in a jumble. We laughed at the initial awkwardness we all felt, and then it was as if we had never been apart. We talked about our lives in our “home” countries, about our families and jobs. Someone brought up some of the ridiculous situations we got into in high school: the time baby cobras hatched out of the potted plants, the school lunches seasoned with the occasional cockroach, the teachers who made our lives miserable or inspired us to achieve our dreams. Memories bubbled to the surface. TCK reunions overflow with emotion. We have said so many goodbyes in our lives to friends we never knew whether or not we would see again. We returned to our passport cultures without knowing who we were or where we belonged. We lost contact in our childhoods with more people than most people even meet in a lifetime. Our journey beyond the high school years has been complicated, often lonely, and full of awkward moments. For many TCKs, the trip “home” has meant having to learn the language of their passport culture. For all TCKs, it means learning the culture everyone assumes they should already know. For the most part, we maneuver and learn our “home” culture on our own. Today, because of the internet, it is possible for TCKs to stay in contact after re-entry to their home culture. For those of us from older generations, this was not possible. Still, today a TCK may find the interactions with other TCKs becoming superficial as they grow distant and move on separately with their lives. The close bonds formed, sometimes under fire, but always while being the outsider together in a host country are difficult to recreate in our passport countries. Connections begin to unravel with time and distance. Nostalgia for the worlds we have lost becomes our outlook. When we have the opportunity to meet with old friends, we jump at it. It means more than your average stateside high school reunion. It means seeing people we never thought we would see again, recapturing unique shared experiences, the times we spent in the host culture that people in our home cultures could never understand. The things that were once normal to us are foreign in our home cultures, and though we may try to carry those experiences with us, we slowly lose the essence over time. A reunion is like sniffing the rosebud of memory. Our reunions tend to take place in various corners of the globe. We met in Athens because a few of our friends were Greek and settled there after high school. We have met in the Washington DC area many times. A reunion last year took place in Istanbul. I’ve had mini-reunions in central England, Norway, and other parts of Europe. Some of my TCK friends from the high school in Pakistan meet yearly now to cross the US by motorcycle. The friendships started in our youth are close, unique, and unmatched in our adult lives. The ability to reconnect reminds us of who we are and what we shared. Our reunion conversations are all over the boards. Politics and religion, poverty and wealth; we speak of riots and wars as other people speak of climbing trees and playing with dolls. In Athens at dinner most nights, we ordered massive quantities of food and shared it: cheese-stuffed peppers, tzatziki, lamb sausages, squid, octopus, sardines, mussels, meatballs, dolmades, feta cheese and olives, Greek salads with every meal – all delicious. At reunions in Washington DC, we gravitate to Indian or Thai restaurants or pot lucks at someone’s home with shamiana tents shading our meals and mirrored pillows decorating our seats. Without fail, stories abound. Everyone tries to imitate the Pakistani and Indian accents we remember so well. We see the sights. We take endless photographs. We cruise the Bosporus or tour the Smithsonian. We create new memories to carry us into the future. One evening on the way home from dinner in Athens, our Greek host made a comment that he didn’t really feel like he “fits” anywhere. It may have been because he did not know how to read and write in Greek when he went home, but he felt he would never fit into his home culture. At work, and even at family events, he felt like he was on the outside looking in. He missed social cues, references to the home culture of things that happened while he was in Pakistan. This resonated for all of us. We agreed that we have all returned “home,” without ever feeling at home in our passport countries. The place we belong the most is with each other – with our international and Pakistani friends and other people who grew up the way we did. I feel at home with other TCKs in a way that is not possible in a non- TCK setting. Reuniting with other TCKs after many years is overwhelming. Reflecting on it now, it seems while in Athens each of us had at least one day of complete emotional meltdown. When we left Pakistan after high school, we scattered across the globe, not knowing whether we would ever see one another again. Our time at the school in Pakistan was unusual, to say the least. We had a small student body, and the international community was close-knit. Together, we had faced history classes and Model UN; cultural conventions and proms at the Intercon Hotel; we had encountered spiders, snakes, and angry mobs; we had been through riots, military coups, and armed conflict. Each year, we made new friends and said too many goodbyes to our best friends. After reuniting, the time comes to say goodbye. It is impossible to put into words how complicated and painful it can be to separate again. Parting is fulfilling and devastating at the same time. After a week in Athens of sightseeing, sun, fun and reliving old memories, we began to leave. I hugged my friends and told them I loved them. I choked back a sob as I turned away. I wandered aimlessly through the airport, dejected. It felt as if I were leaving my family behind forever. I had ample time to reflect on my flight home, about travel, life, friendship. For the TCK child who grows up outside the passport country, a reunion with others who grew up the same way is grounding. It helps us put down roots where none may have existed.

In Conversation with Jenni

Do you have any tips for TCKs transitioning to the US in terms of school and friendships – those left behind and the new ones they develop? I have had a couple of smaller reunions since writing this with mixed results. Mostly one-on-one visits. One was disastrous, we just couldn't make a connection, but the others have been good and re-solidified our friendships. For teens about to transition off to university in the US, far from you, communication is so much easier these days than it was when I went off to school. I had no way to contact my parents in an emergency, let alone friends, and I lost contact with every friend I had. It took years - until Facebook came along - to reconnect with them. I would recommend they gather as much contact information as they can now, keep their yearbooks, take a lot of photos of the friends and places they want to remember, do something meaningful with them - a hike, planting a tree, volunteering in a community project together. And, if they're inclined to keep a journal or a notebook - memorialize those times by writing about them. Then try to realize as they make new friends in school that they will still have the friendships they have now for years into the future. Remind them that friendships take work, and that is especially true when there is distance. Those reunions are important, when they have the chance to make them. I'd also recommend they check in with a counselor at school to find out whether there's a coordinator for international students or students like them - TCKs. Some universities actually pay attention to TCK issues now, but even if they don't, there should be a focus on the international students, and they can ask to take part in some of those activities. I'm not going to lie. My first year back in the US for college was one of the hardest years in my life. It would have been so much easier if I'd had friends or relatives who could have helped me with the transition. I was out of step with the culture, had no idea what people were talking about most of the time, and felt like I was the brunt of a lot of jokes I didn't understand. I made a few friends, mostly with international students, but it was hard going. I have a friend who was a principal of a school for years who once told me that she could always tell the kids who moved around a lot because they tend to make friends with the first people who offer friendship - and that can be disastrous. So, I would caution TCKs to hang back a bit. Be friendly, but watch, observe what's going on around and don't jump into friendship with the very first person who shows interest in you. My present self is wishing I'd had that bit of advice back then. If they realize they will be out of step to start with, it might be easier. Or they may be the type of kids who can just jump in and experience it all without hesitation. Even so, a bit of reflection is a good thing at this stage. There is still peer pressure at university, and it's something to be aware of. While I'm cautioning stepping back and observing before jumping into new friendships, at the same time, they need to be wary of being too detached and not feeling part of the excitement of campus life. My family moved every 3-5 years, and as a result, it can be too easy for me to detach and feel like an outsider. Balance between the two is so important. Knowing they have parents/family they can turn to when everything is confusing and overwhelming is also a big plus. Remind them to work at the friendships that are most important to them. If they have a chance to Skype or meet up every so often, do it. That re-connection can be so grounding. It's too easy for us to let our friendships scatter like the wind, especially if we've moved often or had others move in and out of our lives frequently. But I hope for TCKs transitioning that they have an idealism and youthful energy that carries them easily around all the pitfalls and brings them many treasured friends long into the future. What are you up to now? I have been a paralegal throughout my career, and I still am. I've been living in Thailand for the past 2 1/2 years, but I am grateful to have the ability to work remotely for a law firm in Seattle. For the past couple of years, my husband and I have been privileged to travel around SE Asia a lot and even worked in a trip to Europe for a couple of months, and a trip to Egypt. We're now planning to return to the US, get a truck and travel trailer, and roam the US for a while. We have enjoyed living in Thailand, but miss our families back in the US, and feel the call to go back. I plan to continue to work remotely, and I'm hoping to work on writing and photography as we go.

Make it yours Share a story with your family or friends about one of your most surprising reunions. A joyful reunion. A hard one. What do you think contributed to making them joyful or hard or surprising? How does social media help and hinder TCKs with transitions and building community? What are specific ways a TCK can use social media to their advantage, without abandoning in-real-life relationships? Consider planning a reunion. What would it take, who would you include, where would you meet? Dream about it, pray about it, make it happen.

Glimpses of a Third Way by Idelette McVicker

I have a favorite laundry detergent on three different continents.

Growing up in South Africa, my mom used Skip. She stood in the laundry room and mended and ironed and listened to SABC radio on both warm and winter evenings. I learned to buy Tide in Taiwan from the Wellcome supermarket (with two l’s) and now I shop for earth-friendly Ecos at the Costco on King George Highway.

When I lived in Taipei, I stocked up on my favorite toothpaste (Mentadent P), my favorite roll-on and Freshpak rooibos tea whenever I visited Cape Town.

I’ve had bank accounts in Africa, Asia and N. America.

I learned to eat pancakes for breakfast at Jake’s Country Kitchen on Chung Shan North Rd. in Taipei and learned there. in that city, to shop for tealights at Ikea. It’s where I had my first American Thanksgiving, celebrated Diwali and spent Christmas eating vegetarian food with Ananda Marga monks, while on assignment.

I’ve celebrated the national days of Turkey, Jordan, Honduras, Guatemala, Indonesia, Thailand, South Africa, Haiti and more at elaborate banquets, while my scooter was parked on the sidewalk outside the hotel.

I wore Chinese silk for my wedding dress, created by a kind tailor in Taipei, on a freezing November day in Vancouver.

When I first learned about Third Culture Kids, so much of it resonated. This concept—of somehow being part of a third and unique culture outside of the dominant culture we live in–helped give me understanding for my way of seeing the world. I may not have grown up in a third culture, but I’ve spent half my life finding my way on the other side of getting off that plane at Chiang Kai-shek International Airport in 1995.

I can never go back. Nor do I want to.

I am a Third Culture Adult, an immigrant, a global citizen, an outsider.

Now, not only am I a proponent of a global way of embracing the world, I also think those of us who have done so, get to see glimpses of a Third Way.

This Third Way—a Way where power shifts to the margins and becomes Love and understanding—come to us through different experiences, I believe. Mine just happened to come by walking through the door of a global life.

I also believe it can come through experiences like deep pain, or loss, or struggle or grief.

Scott, my hubby, lost his mother as a young teenager. She’d filled his life—had been the wind beneath his wings— and when he lost her, he wandered out to the wilderness to grieve and mourn and find himself in a different way towards the future.

His life was broken open by this grief and loss and he tasted this other way, so when I came from worlds away, we could meet each other here.

That’s why, even though he’s lived all his life in a 50-kilometer radius, our home is a home for many. This is why our door is open, to let the sunshine in, the sounds of neighborhood and friends and virtual strangers from around the world.

Maybe this is why the Sermon on the Mount calls us blessed when we are mourning; blessed when we are humble.

Blessed when we eat last; blessed when we understand our shortcomings.

We come to this Third Way by being broken open and it becomes blessing.

We come to this Third Way whenever our story shifts and we suddenly find it doesn’t quite run according to our expectations.

This Third Way comes when we find ourselves on the outside of the dominant story.

Becoming an immigrant broke me open for this other Way. It splattered me and poured me out, so my old container no longer worked.

Here on the outskirts, pioneering a new life in Canada, no previous degree or family line or achievement or friend could speak on my behalf.

I learned that our essence, without the trimmings and the branches and the shade or even the fruit our lives may offer, is enough.

Once we are broken open like this, we inevitably spread out and set up camp outside of the center. This is where we find our hearts open and exposed, our lives vulnerable without the re-enforcements of the city wall.

We learn that we need each other, like daily bread and a little wine.

This Third Way is not hierarchical.

It’s a movement outside of the center.

Often, it’s finding each other through conversation and food.

Memories of bi bim bap are mixed in with memories of a family braai on a Sunday afternoon.

Sharing stories over a steamy bowl of noodles or while sipping a Fanta under a thatched roof in Burundi, unite us.

We, the mish-mashed participants in a Third Way, know that we can’t survive without connection.

We know that, essentially, we are the same. And it’s not strange when the woman in the Costco aisle, both of us leaning over our carts, tells me my Gabrielle has a twin walking about in Afghanistan.

We see this essence in each other.

Our world only makes sense because of the people.

I tried so hard to find my place in this world. I yearned so long and hard for home and then one day, I realized there had to be a different way. That’s when I stopped looking for home and became home.

I stopped looking for Peace to appear from outside of myself and I am owning—slowly and humbly—my part in making Peace. I have a part in picking up the pieces and mending the broken pieces and finding the missing pieces. We are all part of shaping this different world. I’ve come to understand that how my daughters treat each other—how they become peacemakers in their little messy room with the bunkbed and the Ikea rug in the suburbs—is important work of Peace. I’ve begun to get a glimpse that how they are with each other, is also how they learn to be with the world.

I don’t always get it right. (Just ask my girls!) But I want to do it better.

I imagine that if we could all meet the girls in the Democratic Republic of the Congo or in Moldova, we’d hate for anything bad to happen to them. When we shift to friendship and a closeness—when the world is no longer big, but small—then standing up for justice, is no longer something we should do, but something we want to do, because these are our friends, our sisters, our daughters.

When these stories of bombs and fear and poverty are no longer far away, but when they become close, because of the people we’ve connected with or the experiences we’ve lived, how can we not believe in a different Way?

We’ve tasted and we’ve seen.

Make it yours List some of your favorite products from the country(ies) in which you grew up. Are you able to find any of them where you live now? Do your friends or family appreciate them in the same way you do? Even if they don’t, explain why these are so important to you, if you are able to articulate it. How do you understand Idelette’s idea of the Third Way? Do you relate to this way of living in the world? Why or why not? How can being an immigrant, an expatriate, a person on the Third Way change the way we see the world and interact with people around us, for better or even for worse? Being a global citizen, someone who cares about so many places around the world, can overwhelm when there is pain and suffering and disasters. How can we use that tender spot to heal, to bring joy and hope?

Living with the Empty Spaces by Heather Caliri

Before we left for a six-month sabbatical in Buenos Aires, everyone agreed on one thing.

“Kids are resilient,” everyone said. “Throw them with Argentine kids for five minutes and they’ll be playing together. Your kids will be fine.”

And my kids were fine, and they are resilient. But did my kids dive into a new culture without any hesitation, just because they are kids?

Um, not so much.

Our apartment in Buenos Aires was a few blocks from two great parks, each complete with swing sets, sand to dig in, and kids of all sizes.

“No,” they’d say.

I’d bribe them with promises of riding the carousel.

But once we were there, one or the other would stare, angrily, at kids who tried to speak to them.

Sometimes one would stomp over to me. “Mama, that girl tried to speak to me in Spanish.”

I’d sigh.

They would perk up immediately if they heard anyone speaking in English, going over and chatting, making friends. And then go back to silence if the other expats left. And after six months abroad, our grand experiment in growing semi-third-culture kids was not the success I’d hoped for.

They’d gotten used to staying up until ten, drinking sweetened yerba mate, and scrambling aboard fast-moving buses. But they learned approximately four Spanish words and have no desire to learn more.

I wanted immersion, and instead we’d dipped in our toes.

Looking back on the experience, I think all my sunny overconfidence came down to this: I forgot that deeply entering into another culture requires facing a loss of the same magnitude. You must strip away old cultural assumptions. You must experience alienation from friends and family back home. You must live for a while with the empty space that’s left.

And you must wait, aching, for that emptiness to be filled with new things.

I lived in Buenos Aires for a year in college, and in that short time, I felt loss and experienced filling. I know, at least a little, what a blessing it is.

And how extraordinarily hard it is before you start getting filled.

I am not sorry to have gone through the grief, alienation, and pain that brought me to a place of connection and love.

But I found it hard to ask my children to do the same.

I homeschooled them instead of enrolling them in local schools. I didn’t force them to go to the park when they didn’t want to. I found them friends that understood some English. I found English-language TV for their downtime. I created a little haven of the US in our apartment. I did all this even knowing the prize that waited on the other end. I hesitated to require them to experience the loss.

I still wonder if I did the right thing.

We chose to go for a short period of time; I wasn’t sure if we’d reach the richness in only six months, no matter how deeply we immersed ourselves. And coming to a new country embedded in your family means you’re shielded more from grief and sadness, isolation and frustration. Perhaps no matter what I required of my kids, six months wouldn’t have left them anywhere closer to immersion.

And yet–

I returned home with a sense of loss myself. Because honestly, our family may not attempt to live abroad together again. And I wish, very much, that my kids could have experienced the loss and the gain, all mixed up together.

I’m realizing that as hard as it is to experience pain myself, it is harder to watch someone else go through it. It is hard to allow the grieving and bewilderment that comes when bedrocks of your kids’ identity—culture, language, place—are shaken.

It required a resolve and strength of character that I wasn’t prepared for.

Knowing that, and being surrounded by my home culture again, I am trying to cultivate that resolve on a smaller scale. I’m trying to look into any of the doors to other cultures open to us here, and continue trying to usher my kids through them, even if it’s not always comfortable.

To have friends that don’t share our faith, so that phrases like, “The one true God,” have to be taken out and examined.

To attend events not in our native tongue, so that we know what it is to sing a song where the very cadence of syllables feels exhilarating and strange.

To model creating relationships across cultures, even if my kids complain that they feel left out when I speak Spanish.

I’m seeing that encountering other cultures as a family still requires us all to be shaken, resolute, and awake, in the way of any spiritual practice. It requires awareness. It takes time. And no matter how rewarding and right it is, it doesn’t come naturally.

Comments from the blog: *These are the words that shouted to me from the page “I’m seeing that encountering other cultures as a family still requires us all to be shaken, resolute, and awake, in the way of any spiritual practice. It requires awareness. It takes time. And no matter how rewarding and right it is, it doesn’t come naturally.” For our family it was a bit opposite — it was the U.S. where we held back, weren’t sure how to navigate life…and I ask myself the same questions you do — all the time. And watching my kids go through the hard, hard process of being in the U.S (for us it wasn’t back in the U.S because they’d never lived here) after 10 years was so difficult. So painful at so many levels. From being told they were boasting for talking about getting chicken pox on the plane from Greece to Turkey to the terror that came with going to a public school in America! Just as you articulated – going through it yourself is bad enough but watching them have to go through it is even harder. Ultimately, I’ve had to accept that I didn’t know how to live when we moved here, and that I needed mercy and grace then for going through the process….and mercy and grace now for working through the memories. *I love this, and I can’t even say exactly what it is, but it makes me feel better in some way. I think it’s simply hearing that another mom feels the same guilts that I do. I have never been bothered by the “US haven” that we’ve created within our apartment because I think our kids need it, but I’ve also started to be concerned lately that we’re not “immersed” enough; that we’re not “good” expats. Yet, at times, I feel the opposite. The guilt that I felt when my son first started school in a Korean preschool was indescribable. I guess what it comes down to is the fact that, as a mom, I will never feel like I’m doing it right or doing enough. That’s why I’m so thankful that God continues to guide us, through each of those decisions–little or big. You are doing your very best for your kids every day, and God is guiding you through that process. What a relief, right? *I don’t see the loss nor any bravery here. Unless you are braving the loss of your McDonalds and Walmart. Everyone should enjoy going overseas with their family and living life in another culture. It’s a fun and rewarding experience. We’ve lived many years in Djibouti, Saudi Arabia, Germany, and have traveled many other countries. The whole family speaks multiple languages, loves a wide variety of food, and are deeply enriched every time we travel. There is no loss. Your perspective is strangely skewed. *Living overseas can be fun and rewarding but I agree with Heather that there is a significant sense of loss as well. A loss of time with extended family, a loss of an innate ability to know how to respond to certain situations, a loss of the familiar and comfortable, which runs much deeper than food or shopping. I think part of the adventure of living overseas is being able to sense that loss and then to embrace the new things that are gained. I’m glad you have had such a positive experience with your family, but I know many other families who have not enjoyed the life overseas. I guess each person, need, and experience is unique. Myself, I can say that while I enjoy living overseas I also experience a sense of loss, it is a kind of good-hurt.

In Conversation with Heather How do you think staying longer would have affected your experience?

Staying longer would have definitely changed our experience, but I'm not sure it would have changed my sense of isolation. I think a lot of my difficulty was that I find moves (whether abroad or not) really stressful, and maybe even triggering (I moved a lot as a child, and the moves were part and parcel of a lot of trauma in my family). Also, at the time we were in Argentina, I was going through a LOT of growth and change relating to community, faith, anxiety, and self-love. The move sped up the process of shedding layers of my self-protection--which was very good, but deeply unpleasant in the moment. I think I would have struggled even if we'd been there a year or two. Had we moved with the intention of staying permanently, I think I would have finally found the community I needed to thrive, but realistically, that takes years, not six more months. It's kind of comparing apples to oranges to wonder how much longer would have been "different".

Do you have any regrets? About going, about coming back?

I have zero regrets. Just because it was hard does not mean it was a bad choice. It was life-changing (and its hardness was one reason why). My ultimate goal was to teach my kids that there are other, different, wonderful ways to live in the world, and that Americans don't have the corner on 'normality'. My girls were young, but just knowing they have lived in a place many Americans couldn't find easily on a map is a valuable lesson.

How would you respond to the comment from the person who couldn’t see any of the hardship in your time abroad?

Wow, that's pretty harsh. It's funny: I find myself guessing that she has either never lived abroad or has done it way more than most people. I find it scary to talk to make small talk at the church I've been at for 30 years, so for me, moving to another country was a big deal.

That said, to a large extent I agree with her. We lost and sacrificed very little by moving. It was an incredible privilege to be able to do what we did, full stop.

On the other hand, making big changes in your life for no other reason than you yearn for them requires bravery. I'm not saying moving abroad short-term for fun is laudable in any way. However, it is brave. It's the same kind of bravery that leads people to write, or paint a picture, or speak another language, or set boundaries with toxic family members, or mentor someone, or go see a therapist (all of which I did because of the bravery I learned in Argentina). In other words, it's an ordinary, imperfect bravery that I think is not celebrated often enough. Dreaming a dream and running after it is a powerfully subversive way to live. And I don't really mind if people aren't impressed by the choice we made. I mean, sure, it felt cool to play at being an expat, but if that had been my main motivation I wouldn't have made it through customs. Mostly, I felt incompetent and lonely. I did it for the yearning, not the brownie points.

What are you up to now?

I live in San Diego, in the same community and church that I've been for 30 years. My husband still runs his own software business online, and I still homeschool our kids like we did in Argentina. In the years after we moved home, I went through a big transformation, seeking therapy, writing proposals for three books, learning to speak up for myself and generally becoming more me. I'm happy, and peaceful, and joyful, and so grateful for all of it.

Currently, I'm releasing a creative Lenten devotional, continuing to write as much as possible, and trying to figure out how to be a good friend to people at my church, especially the immigrants among us. I also have been known to play a 'snuggle zombie' to get as many hugs out of my kids as possible.

Make it yours Do you agree with Heather, that making changes requires bravery, no matter what that change is? When have you felt most brave? What other emotions rise up alongside bravery in those moments? Why do you think some people deny any hardship in living abroad? Do you think they are being honest? What hardships have you experienced? And of course, what joys have you experienced? Journal, draw, or create something that expresses both the challenges and the joys of living abroad. Have your family contribute to it and hang it on the wall. Consider adding to it over time, a family tapestry of your global life. The Strength of a Melting Pot by Pari Ali

I do not know when the story begins; perhaps it begins even before what I consider the beginning, the migration of my maternal ancestors from Iran to India, a couple of centuries ago, to settle in Hyderabad, then ruled by the fabulously rich Nizam. They were not the only ones; Hyderabad attracted the educated elite and ordinary people from all over the Muslim world. Persians, Afghans, Arabs, Turks came. They settled and intermarried, they also married into the Indian Dakhani (of the Deccan) families.

Cultures merged and mixed and so did languages. Though Persian was the language of the court, Dakhani—a dialect of Urdu spoken in the Deccan—containing words borrowed liberally from the local languages, grew richer as it absorbed words from all the languages spoken there. The people adopted courtly and refined manners, bowing slightly and greeting each other with adaab instead of the salaam, the cuisines mingled adding Indian spices to the cuisines of the new settlers and at the end of the day Hyderabad had developed a unique identity; its food, language, dress, greetings, lifestyle, jewelry, architecture unique, not found anywhere else in India. It was a land of sweetness and grace and in this land my ancestors settled, perhaps never travelling back and over time the Persian language they spoke was replaced by the Dakhani Urdu spoken in the typical Hyderabadi accent.

Despite the variety of cultures there was a respect among people and everyone found their own place in the framework of things. I do not know if the children of the earliest settlers considered themselves Third Culture Kids, but they certainly belonged to a distinct culture.

A few decades after my maternal ancestors moved to India, my paternal ancestors moved to Bombay from Kutch, which lies in Western India at the beginning of the Indian Peninsula. Bombay, with its beautiful natural harbor and seven islands joined by causeways to make one complete city that stretched from South to North. Bombay a bay so beautiful it was considered fit for a king, and was part of the dowry given to King Charles II on his marriage to Catherine of Braganza.

It was because of its natural harbor that Bombay became the business capital of India, people came from all over the country in search of fame and fortune. Many achieved their goals and among them was my great, great grandfather who made both name and fortune. A new culture emerged here as well, while the rich educated Indians adopted the clothes, language and lifestyle of the British, the others who came from all over the country and spoke a number of languages and dialects developed a kind of pidgin Hindi. It is a dialect spoken only in Bombay (now Mumbai) and often ridiculed by Indians who speak pure Urdu or Hindi.

Like other communities, the Kucchi community too settled here. They held on to their language and dress for one more generation, their food for a few more. Most of them did not go back home. The generations that followed had no links to Kutch; they studied in convent schools, spoke English with friends and at home, dressed in western clothes, watched as many English movies as they watched Hindi, holidayed on the hill stations the British had settled. They were as different from the Hyderabadis as the proverbial chalk from cheese. Hyderabad and Bombay, separated by just 700 kilometers might well have been the most easterly part of the East and the most westerly part of the West. They were different not just in culture but also time, for one was almost frozen in time, moving slowly like the wheels of a rusty cycle rickshaw and the other was an unstoppable juggernaut moving full steam ahead.

I am the child of this unlikely union, a Third Culture Child born with this strange legacy, two places so diverse they could never be reconciled, a legacy that made me search for my own identity and my heritage for a great part of my life. There were elements that attracted and enthralled me in my Hyderabadi heritage, yet my strong streak of independence resulting from being brought up in Bombay could never accept the old-fashioned rules of Hyderabad. My sisters and I were not even allowed to talk to our male cousins for God’s sake! My father was pretty conservative but to us this was beyond ridiculous.

We were bold, independent, stubborn and outspoken, especially me. We fought for our rights and fought against what we considered to be totally stupid customs. I remember speaking at length to a cousin, a really nice guy, much much shorter than me. The next day a great uncle insisted that I should marry him.

“Marry him or carry him?” I asked. Yes, quite rude I agree.

That was me then, rude and headstrong. I grew tall early in life and was on the receiving end of proposals from doting mamas till I finally fell in love and got married. It was one of the great banes of my existence.

There were other things that rankled, through our childhood and youth we spoke mainly in English. We did speak Hindi but the Dakhani Urdu was such a mix that it was like a foreign language and sometimes we stared completely flummoxed when asked to fetch and carry or do simple tasks. What on earth were taabdaan, tashtari, rikabi, etc. Our clothes were another factor that sent everyone into culture shock. It was the norm to wear jeans and tops in Bombay and that is what we wore on our visits to Hyderabad. So it was that, even though we loved the city and went there often, and even lived there once for two years out of choice, it left us exasperated too.

It is quite ironic that I fell in love with and married a Hyderabadi. What is even stranger is that I settled down with him in a Middle-Eastern country. A lot of my life has been spent in resolving the resulting conflicts. For instance, we used to go out quite often with my husband’s friends, the women and men walking in two separate groups. Not being able to be with my husband, who I had left home, family and favorite city to be with, used to upset me no end.

Once more the Third Culture heritage has passed on, this time to my children. They though, unlike me, have managed it much better. They are more level-headed and aware of who they are. There might be a slight conflict in identifying with the number of races they have descended from but there is little cultural conflict. They know what parts of their culture they want to accept and what they do not wish to be associated with. They move on ahead in life with confidence doing their own thing, embracing good things from all cultures they come across. They have a deep faith in God and all their actions are ruled by principles and morality, which I find very reassuring. I think they will do much better than I did.

There is just one thing I would like to add, that cultures are a good thing, but they should not be rigid, and they should not be intolerant or judgmental. If someone is doing something differently or making choices you would not make, it doesn’t make them evil or bad, unless of course what they are doing is going to be harmful in anyway. It is important to give people the benefit of the doubt, to at least try to understand, to give acceptance and respect instead of censure. Moreover, cultures over time have proved to be growth and change oriented, adaptable instead of inflexible.

Protecting your culture, your way of life might seem to be the right thing to do but give other things a chance; who knows, it might be for the better.

Make it yours

Is there way to balance protecting your own way of life while opening up to embrace another’s way of life? What might this look like?

When might it be appropriate to speak into a culture in a challenging way, to push back against something you feel is not just different, but wrong?

Which appeals to you more: a melting pot where people blend together? Or a pot of chili, where people hold their own culture but intermingle? Is there another image that better describes the way you aim to live in the world cross- culturally? 1. 1. Embrace Race by Angie Washington

On my shelf sits an extensive collection of Oz books. L. Frank Baum, the Royal Historian of Oz, takes you to worlds full of wonder, adversity, and fantasy. He worked closely with his illustrators in the creation of his stories. In the adventure called “Road to Oz” even the pages are different colors depending on which part of Oz Dorothy is wandering through. Her companion Polychrome – the Rainbow’s Daughter – goes with her to the green pages of the Emerald City, the blue pages of the land of the Munchkins, the purple pages of the North Country of the Gillikins, and the yellow pages of the Country of the Winkies, to name a few.

The fictitious worlds in literature and cinema tell the truth of cultural connections. They teach us to attend to, and thereby value, what makes us so very different yet, all the more, the same as one another. Music matters. Art matters. Food matters. Language matters. Race matters.

I am the Royal Historian of The Washington Family. As such, I keep alive the stories we live together as a family. My first three kids were 3, 2, and 10 weeks when we moved from the U.S.A. to Bolivia, South America. That was over 10 years ago, and we have added two Bolivian born children to our family since. As the title Third Culture Kids implies they are growing up as multi-cultural humans. We knew that even if our dream to become missionaries never materialized, our children would be raised multi-culturally.

My husband is black. I am white. I have heard our children call themselves: white, black, pink, and brown. They compare skin color after a day in the sun. Then they add to the descriptive list: red, freckly, tan, and super dark.

We talk about race and racism quite often. Even in the tiny country of Bolivia, racism has a hold. One taxi driver saw my chubby, light-skinned boy on my lap and told me I was “improving the Bolivian race” by allowing a white child to be born as a Bolivian. My kids notice it, too.

“Mama, they were talking bad about a kid at school.”

“Oh? Tell me what happened.”

“They were saying mean things to her because her skin is dark.”

“Yes. That happens. What do you think about that?”

“I am a different color than they are. I wouldn’t like it if someone treated me different because of my skin color.”

This was spoken by a little person who has only a textbook knowledge of their racial roots. They can watch YouTube videos of the speeches of Martin Luther King, Jr.; but they have yet to feel the pain of racial slurs. Concepts like slavery and prejudice have a unique skew in their minds because they are also mixed with the Bolivian history of conquistadores and colonialism.

Chronicled in the annals of mankind, lay side by side the embarrassing behaviors of racism next to the celebration of individuality. We mustn’t try to cover up one by exalting the other. Nor must we adopt the victim mentality of one and deny the redeeming power of the other. The stories need to be told.

My kids were born in a nation still figuring out what to do with their race. Now they have been removed from that tension. We have a new tension to manage. I am grateful for the third culture of “The Washington Family” so we have a platform to discuss things like race, pride, and nationalism. We can’t ignore it. We embrace it.

Comments from the blog: *You have articulated the experience of our family (minus the move to Bolivia) and this conversation continues to this day, 45 years after my aunt married a Fijian. It continues with their daughters, and their grandchildren, and it is revived anew in my own family. My grandson’s father is Jamaican. The context has been mostly Northern Canada where my cousins were mistaken for First Nations or East Asians, and regularly subjected to racial slurs and discrimination in ‘tolerant, multi-cultural Canada’ that have scarred them both. A recent observation by my six-year old grandson that “no one has skin like —-(his cousin)” made all of the adults present comprehend that this little boy is growing up Third Culture in the land of his birth. It galvanized us into initiating what turned out to be a hilarious conversation with two four-year olds and a six-year old about skin color; being the only “blackish” person around; and why there are no more “like me” in the white bread city where my daughters live. The look on my grandson’s face when we showed him a picture of his Fijian uncle made us realize we have been seriously remiss in not discussing what we, the adults were blind to. He is different, he knows it, and he needs the opportunity to talk about it. *We used to laugh a bit at our kids – they were convinced all black skinned people spoke French… my uncle (from deep south Mississippi) did not appreciate it when they tried to speak French to him. It was also eye-opening and uncomfortable and a huge learning experience to become the minority after having always been a part of the majority in my home culture. It has made our children more sensitive to recognizing others who are different, and they often try and make them feel welcome… because they’ve been there and understand how hard it is to be the only one who looks like they don’t belong ~ *At the beginning of this year our team consisted of: two black men, two Latina-White women (Puerto Rico and Ecuador), and me. One of the black men and his wife with roots in Puerto Rico have just gone. So as a white person I have always been, and continue to be, the “minority who is not from a minority group” on our team. Once another missionary in town who was the majority race in his passport country asked one of the black men on our team, “What is it like being a minority?” He went on to explain the odd feelings of being the minority here in Bolivia. Growing up a minority is a very different thing than being thrust into a minority position in your adulthood.

Make it yours How do you experience race in your host country? How do you respond to racism? Does your response differ if you are in your host country vs. your passport country? How do your children experience and talk about race, especially if you are in a country where you look different from the local people? How do you think TCKs are uniquely prepared to deal with racial tensions today? Share some stories with someone of how you thought about race as a child while living abroad. What are some ways your experience of race is different, because of living abroad, than it might have been had you remained in your passport country?

Passport to the World by Bonnie Rose Third Culture Kid. Just three words that are so easy to understand on their own. String them together and things get a bit complicated. I can explain it in a couple of minutes or in greater detail but that does not mean the person listening will fully understand. Which is often the case when you have not walked in someone else’s shoes. I became a third culture kid because I was a military child who was born overseas and grew up hopping around military bases in Europe until I was seventeen. I have tried explaining my military upbringing and the culture of military families to my in-laws during a conversation about our differences. It was met with a response similar to ‘I know a military family and they are not like that’. When trying to connect with people who have not ‘walked in your shoes’ it is like hitting a brick wall. Growing up as a third culture kid, living a nomadic life, I have learned life is not simply black and white. People dress differently, eat differently, parent differently, and basically live differently. Just because something is different, does not make it wrong. I bring up TCKs frequently when it comes to conflicts where my life or choices are judged negatively. It boils down to the lack of understanding and seeing the world only from a small perspective. I do not claim to understand the full spectrum of every culture in the world, but I do accept that we are all different. Different can be scary but different is also beautiful. There is no cookie cutter mold for how life should be lived, and I have seen the negative outcomes when one forces a mold onto a different culture then it was intended for. As a TCK, I cannot fit in any one mold as I claim ownership over every country I have lived in and in every culture where I have spent a significant amount of time. I never know what the future will bring but I get excited by the possibilities, the lands I have yet to explore, and the people I have yet to know. All the while, I cling to my past. For Third Culture Kids, our past does not hold us back. It defines our character and who we are in life. One of the biggest misconceptions about TCKs revolves around our unintentional name dropping. I commented to someone about their trip to Italy with how I had lived in Italy twice and went on to recommend a great place for pizza. A third party chimed in with ‘no one cares where you have been’. Which was easy for me to dismiss as I know they are not a TCK and therefore do not understand what places mean to us. There is no home I can go back to, no house to return to for the holidays, and no one street that will contain years of memories and stories. My lifetime of memories is scattered across the globe and are as changing as we are as third culture kids. It has even molded the way I travel. I cannot go to a new country and not experience it organically as someone who grew up in that location. I do not want to stick out as a tourist in another land. As a TCK we mention places, not because we had the opportunity to be there, but because we left a part of our heart and our soul in the footsteps we left behind. These past two years I have lived in England, my world as a Third Culture Kid has been met with a sense of normalcy, something I had not experienced in the last ten years living in the USA. In my parent’s home country, I was constantly a hidden immigrant. I looked and sounded American but was always an outsider. Here in England, I am constantly running into other expats and Brits who have lived abroad. Even those people who never lived outside of England have vacationed throughout mainland Europe. As a TCK, I carry that nomadic free spirit and will always have an intangible sense of ‘home’. It will make my bonds with other like-minded individuals attract more quickly as we share the same passport to the world.

Comments from the blog: *I am a tck and military brat. I have grown up around other kids who were raised in the same way. So “name dropping” has never been a problem. We do it, of course, but that is only because that is all we have to share of our lives. It is amazing to have grown up in that supportive environment where I didn’t have to worry about sounding like I was bragging. I think this is going to be my biggest adjustment when I go back to my passport country for school. Suddenly no one is going to understand that I am simply trying to open up and share parts of my life. Maybe the parts I am able to share took place in Germany or Turkey, but they are just as important as their memories that took place in America. And me sharing those memories isn’t bragging but doing just that, sharing and trying to forge a connection with those around me. *The conversations I have with my children (11 and 13) are about qualities and context, ours and those of others. Qualities of vulnerability, courage, authenticity, compassion, … and the context of children and teens wanting to be “normal” or learning to determine belonging. When the conversation turns to what is normal or what creates belonging, we find lots of things in common, whether we played tag or looked for snakes. And these topics and concepts are not too big for children to grasp and apply. Kids are great philosophers and creative thinkers! *Technically, I’m not a TCK. But I made numerous cross-country moves within the U.S. while growing up, so can relate (a little bit) to some of the TCK experiences. And the “name dropping” issue is something that I can TOTALLY identify with. Of course, there were some exceptions, but my overall experience was that kids in my new schools/neighbors couldn’t care less about the friends I had, things I was involved in, places I got to experience, back at the previous place I had lived. As far as they were concerned, I had come into existence the day I arrived in their town…I was a blank slate. As painful as that often was, I’m thankful for the sensitivity it fostered in me. Now when I meet kids or adults who just moved from somewhere else, I make a point of asking them about their old home…what sports/activities they were involved in, who their friends were, what they did for fun. In all kinds of settings (schools, churches, neighborhoods, work places) it’s easy to focus on acclimating new people to where we are…forgetting that they have a rich past of experiences and people that have shaped them. And, often, new people are still grieving what they’ve left behind.

Make it yours How would you respond to people like Bonnie’s in-laws, who say other TCKs, or expatriates, are not like you, not the way you feel you are? Why do you think they say things like this? Can you relate when Bonnie writes that she has no home to go back to, no house to return to for holidays, no street that holds her memories? What are some positive and negatives about this reality for TCKs? It can be easy to focus on struggles or losses. But Bonnie has a positive attitude about the way her upbringing gives her a sense of adventure and desire to explore. What are specific positive traits you see in yourself, or your children, that you can trace to their TCK identity? Make a list of things you are thankful for about how you were raised, or about the experience your children are having as TCKs. If you feel discouraged, tape the list up on the mirror in your bathroom or use it as the screen on your phone. Remind yourself to focus on gratitude.

A Transitional, Formational Life by Kelley Nikondeha

Open suitcases strewn on the bedroom floor signal that summer’s coming. Once more we strategically pack clothes, electronics, books and all manner of sundries into our checked and carry-on luggage. We’re leaving the United States, bound for Burundi, known as the heart of Africa. This isn’t a family vacation. It’s our annual family migration. We move together between familiar places, our lives stretching to fit these diverse locales. In this kind of life-style, airports are demystified at an early age and travel amenities become daily tools. When it comes to in transit vocabulary, my children are well versed in both words and icons. Living between Burundi and the United States marks my son and daughter as third culture kids in a strange sort of math where 1 + 1 = 3. But I see the logic of it now, several years in, because while they’re dual citizens neither passport fully defines them. I see them as exponentially more owing to their friends from both countries, their ease with other languages and currencies, and their inside knowledge of extreme poverty and middle-class comforts. My children inhabit a larger world. Not everyone thinks this is the case. My own mother wonders if one day, when they’re grown, they’ll tell me how much they hated this life between worlds. Maybe she’s right. Maybe one of them will look back with regret, wishing for a normal childhood in one home, one city, one culture. This possibility jiggled around in my mind like a loose pebble in my shoe for many months. What if they grow to despise this life? Only recently did I find some resolve. What if…well, by then it will be too late. The die will have been cast long ago on African soil and around tables filled with sweet pineapple and fiery pili pili sauce. Their memories already saturated with pictures of women in bright fabrics balancing baskets of cassava on their heads, cars and bikes crisscrossing the city without the need for stop lights, ebony-skinned relatives telling Kirundi jokes that they’ll never forget. They won’t ever shake the Burundian drumbeat pounding the ground, cracking the sun-starched air, reverberating through their bones. By then, their hearts will already have been recalibrated, their minds mapped by multiple languages. My son will play soccer learned in the African street and baseball he picked up in his American school. My daughter will move her arms, liquid and limber as a river, to the Burundian traditional songs as easily as she can bust out a hip-hop attitude to Beyoncé. They’ll understand American slang as readily as Kirundi proverbs, instinctively know not to stare when stateside but find the freedom to in the streets of Bujumbura, sometimes they’ll crave my mac n’ cheese and other times the comfort of Senge’s bugari and sauce with glistening silverfish. My kids will remember our home filled with people all the time, friends from South Africa and Luxembourg, Kenya and Australia, Uganda and Canada. They might recall playing with Muslim friends, as well as Catholics and Protestants. And they’ll see black and white people as good, smart, funny and safe. And they won’t be able to unknow these truths – the sheer goodness of all these people from all these places who loved them and left their subtle imprint. What freed me from my fear that they might end up hating this life is the fact that they will already have been shaped by it. They will already know too much to ever see the world in flat or narrow ways. They won’t be able to see Western culture without Burundian sensibilities providing a gentle corrective. And Non-Western cultures will be familiar yet tempered by their American experiences. My children won’t be able to deny the multiple lenses that allow them to see the world with such texture, nuance and richness. As the mother of third culture kids, I’m letting go of the fear and leaning into the formation afoot. This life isn’t only about migration, multiple places and varied cultures; it’s about the formation of a sweeping worldview. My son will see things I miss, my daughter will hear things I’m deaf to – and this is what I want for them, to have eyes that see and ears that hear so they can engage with greater insight than I ever imagined. This kind of life might not be easy, and I’ll give them that. But our bi-cultural life is good, and they will reap the rewards in irrevocable ways. I trust that to be true. I’ve been wondering about the life of Jesus in all this. He resided in heavenly places with limitless access to glory, goodness and power. He moved to earth inhabiting a humble home in Nazareth with a stay-at-home mom and a tradesman for a father. And both these places were home to Him, shaping who He was and how He grew to be Messiah. No one could say He was only God – because He knew what it was to live on the underbelly of the empire that oppressed His people. And yet we can’t say His humanity was simply that, surely it was shaped by His deep remembrance of His heavenly home. Maybe it took both places for His formation, both places contributing to our salvation through the most stunning Third Culture Kid. My kids and I talk about this over dinner sometimes. My son’s pretty convinced that our kind of life isn’t unprecedented. We think this is how Jesus lived, and it helps us push through the hard times. I hope they hold on to this – even when they are grown. Either way, I know this is formational.

Comments from the blog *I love this post. And my guess is that many of us Adult Third Culture kids (especially those who raised TCK’s) will bookmark this and read it over and over. And your words “Sweeping worldview” that’s it. That’s partly why we are restless in western churches and purely western blogs, that’s why we gravitate toward immigrants and refugees, identifying with them far more than those from our passport countries. But back to Jesus – the first time I ever thought of this was years ago when I spent my first Christmas away from home, in Chicago – so far from Pakistan. In the midst of the sobs that come from the soul I realized that Jesus lived between worlds, that he knows this longing and redeems it. The sobs continued for a while as the reality of that truth sunk in. Thank you, Kelly, – for this beautiful post. And again, Rachel for this gorgeous series. *What a lovely way of seeing the positives in the circumstances in which you (and your children) live. The truth is that our formative years have the potential to produce rejoicing or regret no matter where/how we were raised. It is attitudes and perspectives like yours as parent that make it much, much easier for grown up children to recognize and acknowledge the benefits of their childhood, and to deal forthrightly and intentionally with the parts that were “badly sewn” as my own daughter says. *really appreciate and am thankful for both your attitude and your perspective. i think your what if question is a normal question for parents of tcks… especially if we haven’t been ones ourselves – we just can’t totally get what they are thinking and feeling. however, in your what if questioning, i LOVE that you choose to focus on the positive and all that God is doing in what may be a difficult, unasked for life circumstance for some of these kids. one thing common in the human experience is that we all have things arrive (and sometimes stay) in our lives that are hard and unasked for… and God works so amazingly through them and teaches us to be more like His Son in the process. i think those of us who write about tck issues can often focus on the hard and the loss and the hurt as though it is unique and scarring for these tcks… and as though that can only ever be a bad thing.

Make it yours What are your fears about raising a TCK? Be honest about them, write them down, share them with your spouse, pray through them. How can we help our children see their transitory lives with reality but also with joy and hope, not through rose- colored glasses, but not as only a series of losses and pain either? Have you thought about Jesus as a TCK before? How does that make you feel about your own identity? Who else do you know who is a TCK? Barack Obama, but also someone you can personally connect with – both where you live as a TCK, but also maybe someone from your church, or work community. Think about how you can be an encouragement and a blessing to this person.

Author Bios (in alphabetical order) Pari Ali blogs at Weaving Tapestries Mary Bassey is a Nigerian-born third culture kid living in America. She is currently a fourth-year Pre-med university student studying Biochemistry with hopes of participating in global healthcare. Find Mary at www.verilymerrilymary.com Heather Caliri uses tiny, joyful yeses to free herself from anxiety. Her work has appeared in Christianity Today’s blog, iBelieve, SheLoves Magazine, The Mudroom, Brain Child Magazine, The Literary Review, and Relevant.com. She lives in San Diego with her husband and two daughters. You can find Heather at A Little Yes. Try her mini- course, “Five Tiny Ideas for Managing Anxiety," for free here. Laura Campbell spent the first 18 years of life in Kenya. She has four precious children, born on four different continents, truly a family of global nomads who have lived and traveled all over the world. They currently live in Tabacundo (about an hour and a half drive north of Quito), where they administer a Christian camp, Camp Bellevue. She blogs at: http://rustyandlaura.blogspot.com/ Marilyn Gardner is the author of Between Worlds and Passages through Pakistan. She writes at www.communicatingacrossboundaries.com. Ruth Hersey was Educated in four countries (Kenya, England, the United States, and France), Ruth Bowen Hersey is a TCK married to a TCK (from Japan) and raising two TCKs. She teaches 7th and 8th graders at Quisqueya Christian School in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, where she has lived for 17 years. She blogs at thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com Rachel Pieh Jones lives in Djibouti with her husband and three children. She has written for the New York Times, Runner’s World, Brain Child, and the Big Roundtable. She created the award-winning cookbook, Djiboutilicious. Her next book will be released by Plough in 2019. Find her at www.djiboutijones.com Sezin Koehler Jenni Legate was born in Libya and grew up in Africa and Asia. She currently lives in Thailand with her husband/best friend/travel partner. Jenni has worked as a paralegal, a mediator, a small business consultant, and a freelance writer, publishing several articles for local-interest magazines and a business magazine. She has written several award-winning memoir pieces and short stories for writing contests. Jenni currently writes non-fiction, memoir, and fiction, drawing upon her global experiences. Find her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/NomadTrailsAndTales/ Ute Limacher a European expat-since-birth. Born in Switzerland, she grew up in Northern Italy, studied and worked in Switzerland and Italy before moving to the Netherlands in 2005 where she lives with her Swiss husband and three children. She is a former researcher in French and Italian Languages and Literature who reinvented herself and became a passionate language teacher, expert in multilingualism, writer, blogger and translator. She blogs at Expat Since Birth MaDonna Maurer is currently living in Taiwan with what she calls her “fusion family.” When she’s not teaching, taking her daughter with special needs to therapy class, or writing she helps her husband with Taiwan Sunshine, a nonprofit for families of children with special needs. She has become a firm believer that cold Wulong Green tea is the best afternoon drink. You can find her writing at raisingtcks.com. Idelette McVicker lives in Vancouver, Canada and pledged her heart to Scott 14 years ago. She believes in kindness and calling out the song in each other’s hearts. She also believes that Love covers–gaps, mistakes and the distances between people. She blogs at idelette.com Trey Morrison is the author of Panama with Kids and you can connect with him at The Resilient Family or Moving Abroad with Children. Janneke Muyselaar-Jellema is a medical doctor specialized in the normal development of children and adolescents. She worked cross culturally as a doctor in an asylum seekers centre in the Netherlands. Born and bred in Africa she knows what it is like to be a third culture kid, she has thought about it, talked about it, read about it, cried about it, and written about it. She moved more than 12 times before her 20th birthday. At 19, she transitioned alone from Zimbabwe to the Netherlands to study at the university in Leiden She now works in medical education at the Leiden university. http://drieculturen.blogspot.nl Kelley Nikondeha is the Co-director of Communities of Hope (a community development enterprise in Burundi) and author of Adopted: The Sacrament of Belonging in a Fractured World. Cecily Paterson writes at www.cecilypaterson.squarespace.com Paige Porter-Livesay Galia Rautenberg can be found on FB under Galia Rautenberg. Originally from Israel, Galia has been living in China for 18 years with her family (husband, daughter, a cat, and a dog). Ruth van Reken desires “the normalizing of experiences and then the empowering of TCKs and ATCKs to live life to the fullest potential.” Follow Ruth on Facebook and keep up-to-date on her writing, speaking, and other offerings of wisdom on her blog Cross Cultural Kids. Bonnie Rose Joy L. Salmon Joy L. Salmon is a former TCK who lived in Pakistan for most of her youth. Her dissertation research was on the early-adult experiences of third-culture kids (TCKs) who returned to the USA upon graduation from high school overseas. She is a licensed psychologist, with a Ph.D. in Counseling Psychology & Human Systems, and provides technical assistance to child welfare organizations. Dr. Susannah-Joy Schuilenberg is a Canadian behavioral health psychologist traveling the world on a busman’s holiday. Currently parked in Kuwait, she is a culture vulture, seeing the world through the lens of her camera, the eyes of her grandsons, and the framework of psychology. Makes for an interesting mix. Bossy from birth, compassionate by choice, and funny by accident, Dr. Susannah writes about anything that catches her attention. Follow her on twitter. Angie Washington and her husband, DaRonn, have five children. Adoption is very close to her heart. For over a decade she has been serving alongside her husband to establish and administrate: a church, the orphanage, a K-12 school, and a network to aid pastors and church leaders. Her passion for words takes form in writing, blogging, and teaching (all bilingually). You can find Angie at her blog: “the @” Clara Wiggins was born an expat in Cuba to British diplomat parents and has lived in several countries including the Philippines, Nigeria, Venezuela, Gibraltar, New Zealand, Jamaica, Pakistan, St Lucia, and most recently South Africa. She is the author of a guide called the Expat Partner's Survival Guide and has worked as a journalist, diplomat, antenatal teacher, and freelance writer She, her husband, her two daughters, and their miniature schnauzer dog have recently returned to live in their home town of Cheltenham in the UK. She cannot promise that she will stay there for long. Find Clara at: https://expatpartnersurvival.com/ Richelle Wright married in 1994 and she and her husband immediately began searching for a place of service where they could both use the talents and training God had given. Along the way, God entrusted them with eight wonderful children. Their first country of service was the very hot, desert land of Niger, West Africa. After 13 years, they transitioned to the cold and snow-covered province of Québec, Canada. Parenting eight Third Culture Kids is daunting and overwhelming on a daily basis, but also the most worthwhile thing. Richelle writes at Our “Wright”- ing Pad and can be found on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and LinkedIn.

Notes

[←1] Center on the Developing Child at Harvard University. (2018). Key Concepts: Resilience. Retrieved from https://developingchild.harvard.edu/science/key-concepts/resilience [←2] Dweck, Carol. (2010). Mindset. Retrieved from www.mindsetonline.com [←3] Center for Healthy Minds at University of Wisconsin-Madison. (n.d.). Try the 5-3-1 Practice. Retrieved from https://centerhealthyminds.org/join- the-movement/try-the-5-3-1-practice [←4] Center on the Developing Child at Harvard University (2015). Supportive Relationships and Active Skill-Building Strengthen the Foundations of Resilience: Working Paper No. 13. Retrieved from https://developingchild.harvard.edu