Matrescence Abroad

My kids have two last names, and they aren't hyphenated, because I don't speak Dutch.

My eldest was born just before Christmas, which meant my husband and I had to register a new baby before the offices closed for the holidays. I'd had a home birth, so some services came right to our door. Early on Christmas Eve, holding a newborn with my milk having just come in, I heard the doorbell ring while my husband was out running one of those administrative errands. It was a visiting nurse, here to check on the baby.

When she asked for the baby's name, I gave it. "With or without a hyphen?" she asked. I had no idea. We hadn't thought about it. I called my husband, who didn't answer. The nurse couldn't wait, she told me, annoyed, in halting English. It was Christmas Eve, and I was her last client of her half day. And since I don't speak Dutch, who was I to argue?

"Without, I guess?" I said. She wrote it down and went on her way. Twenty minutes later my husband called back, and I informed him of the decision I'd made.

I already felt like an alien on a new planet. Matrescence as an expat is a wild ride.

What is matrescence?

If you haven't heard the term before, matrescence is the developmental transition of becoming a mother. Like adolescence, it brings physical, hormonal, neurological, and emotional changes, along with a shift in identity. It can be a rollercoaster wherever you are in the world, and it doesn't end when your baby starts sleeping through the night. Becoming a mom is an ever-changing experience. If you're far from what you consider "home," it can be an even wilder ride.

The village problem

Everyone tells you that you need a village. But what if your village is on the other side of the world?

For many expats, that's just reality. You may have grandparents and aunties who would love to help, but they can only visit for a few weeks, or not at all. You scroll past posts about grateful grandparents and feel a pang of jealousy or regret, knowing the most important advice you're given feels impossible to follow.

And it doesn't end when your baby is no longer a baby. So many times I've juggled work, sick kids, and a traveling husband, wishing I had a grandparent down the street I could call to come over.

When my mom visited, she was amazing, but each visit lasted only a few weeks. Finding my footing with her support, and then without it, left me feeling completely lost. After her first visit, she offered to pay for a night nanny, the way her parents had done for her when I was born. The problem was that I had no idea how to find one in Brussels. A quick Google search turned up nothing, and I wasn't yet connected to the moms of social media. If I'd been somewhere I was already established, I probably would have known some older moms who could point me in the right direction. They would even have told me about the subsidized program that sends trained nurses to support moms during the first 12 weeks postpartum. Without that network, I was doing it all alone.

Who am I here?

Matrescence changes your identity. How you see yourself changes, and so does how the world sees you. Living abroad can do that on its own. I never considered myself a loud person, but as an American in Brussels, I suddenly felt like one. Not being able to fully communicate in French added to that feeling of being both too loud and never quite heard. And I say this as someone whose first language is English, the default language of many services here. I can only imagine how much harder it is when you're communicating in your second, third, or fourth language.

As my kids have grown and become immersed in French, I'm so grateful they've fully absorbed a second language. But I also feel a pang that they have a whole community, whole sets of friends, that I only live on the edge of. Some of that is just part of motherhood, but adding a language adds complexity.

Living in between cultures

Expat life means living in between cultures, and navigating that as a new mom can be especially hard. When my first was a baby, born at the start of winter, they screamed every time I put a hat on their head. Since I was usually wearing them, I just zipped them into my jacket, leaving room for their face so they could breathe. It didn't seem like a problem to me. But to the older Belgian ladies, I was clearly a negligent mother. I couldn't get on the bus or tram without being sternly lectured, in French, about my baby's bare head. I wanted to live somewhere old ladies told me how cute my baby was, not everything I was doing wrong. It felt isolating, and like one more way I was failing at being a mom.

As my kids have gotten older, and are constantly "incorrectly" dressed, I've learned that this kind of disapproval is just the Belgian way, and I no longer take it personally. But as an American, I still sometimes feel a small loss when I make eye contact with a stranger looking at my child and they don't immediately smile.

All the feelings

Moments like these can stir up all kinds of emotions. The joy of introducing your baby to your extended family can mix with grief over how far away they are. You may question the decisions that brought you so far from home, or feel envious of moms with different support networks. All of this is a normal part of expat matrescence. As your kids grow, the grief evolves too: gratitude that your children are experiencing a new culture, mixed with the stress and sadness of trying to hold on to your own.

So what can you do?

What helps

Find other expat moms. It may not be the village of your dreams, but being surrounded by moms who get it is priceless. Knowing you're not alone eases some of the loneliness of matrescence abroad. It's even better if you can find a mom from your own country, so you can share your challenges in your own language. And give yourself permission to grieve what you're missing. It's real, and it deserves to be felt.

Ask for what you need, and learn where to find it. This is where your network of moms comes in handy. Whether it's a meetup, a yoga class, or a Facebook group, finding the right support takes pressure off doing it all alone. This stays important as your kids grow, when you need advice on after-school activities and last-minute childcare.

Look for the silver lining. I'm not a "good vibes only" person, but I do think that shifting your gaze can help. Becoming a mom in Brussels meant I got paid maternity leave even as an independent worker, home visits from midwives, and affordable childcare. My children are growing up bilingual in a multicultural community.

You already have the skills

The good news is that if you're an expat, you're already used to big change. You know what it's like to have an evolving identity and to navigate a world that feels new. Those are exactly the skills matrescence asks of you.

Whether your baby is six weeks old or your kid is six years old, you don't have to figure this out alone.

If this sounded like you, I'd love to have you in the Embodied Motherhood Community. It's a warm, low-cost space for English-speaking moms in Brussels and beyond, where I share mind-body practices and where moms swap stories, recommendations, and the occasional "wait, that happened to you too?" Come find your people: https://embodiedmotherhoodspace.com/community

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