moving abroad won’t fix you, but it will change you forever

what happens when you leave behind everything you've ever known?

I’m Tuğba, a Turkish-Greek artist living in Berlin - as slow as possible is a newsletter exploring the in-between spaces of our lives that we see but often do not notice. Interested in reading more of my work?

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my duality by charlen

I was 21 when I left my parents’ house. What started as an eight-month adventure turned into twelve years. I never moved back into my old room. When I said goodbye to my family, I had no idea that it would be a farewell that would change my life forever. It changed my relationships, altered my beliefs, and most importantly, reshaped my identity.

I didn’t realise then that I wasn’t just leaving home — I was leaving behind the walls I had built around myself — the limiting beliefs, the suffocating labels, the tiny boxes I had unconsciously placed myself in.

I was an immigrant daughter, the child of guest workers¹, a Muslim girl caught between worlds. Not fully Turkish. Not fully Greek. A German passport without a German name. My dreams were big, but my doubts were bigger. I tried so hard to belong, but no matter where I turned, I felt out of place. I was drowning in feelings of unworthiness, of being “less than,” of living as a second-class citizen, even in my own mind.

Moving to the U.K. at 21 cracked something open in me. At first, it was subtle and gradual—like sunlight slipping through a crack in the curtains. Slowly, my tightly shut drawers opened one by one, spilling out all the things I had tucked away: my fears, doubts, and the stories I had been telling myself for years. For the first time, I wasn’t just “the guestworker’s daughter.” I became Tuğba—someone shaped by three cultures, not confined by them.

Each positive interaction—whether it was a kind word of encouragement or a friendly engagement—slowly filled my “confidence jar” again. This jar had been emptied over the years by the remarks I received from teachers, doctors, officials, German friends, bus drivers, and supermarket cashiers. Bit by bit, every comment that questioned my identity led me to confine myself to these limiting beliefs and labels.

If I hadn’t left Germany, I honestly don’t know how my life would have looked today. I’ve always been sensitive! My mum always called me her emotional child, full of feelings. Every comment, every reminder of my “otherness,” affected me deeply. I’m not sure I would have had the strength in my later years to overcome my limiting self-beliefs and rise above them to realise the dreams I had as a child.

There were barely any role models in my German hometown with whom I could resonate. I only knew one Turkish girl who went to university and my Greek neighbour who worked as a stewardess for Lufthansa. In my family, I had my uncle to look up to, as he attended a highly regarded university. I guess I’m still lucky because even though I had only a few people to inspire me, at least I knew that achieving such dreams was possible, which helped me to aspire to them in the first place. Many people don’t even have that!

Looking back, I realise how much I confined myself to the identity of “the guestworker’s daughter.” This persona shaped my experiences in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time. I can empathise with immigrants who struggle to break free from such labels, who remain in their own bubbles, afraid to venture beyond the familiar. Even now, I wrestle with these internalised limitations on some days. Therapy has helped, but the immigrant identity runs deep.

I’ve written before about how this persona has influenced my life in various aspects in a negative way.

Recently, I’ve come across a lot of discussions online about whether moving to another country can “fix” someone. Especially in light of recent political changes in various countries, there is an urge to leave and move somewhere else. While moving to the U.K. didn’t “fix” me, it fundamentally changed my life. It helped me let go of the labels I had placed on myself and encouraged me to examine these aspects more closely, contemplate them, and question their validity. It gave me the strength to start therapy and work on these issues one by one.

Relocating—whether to another country, city, or even neighbourhood—can significantly impact our self-perception. It sheds light on hidden parts of ourselves while challenging us in unexpected ways. Immersing ourselves in something new forces us to step outside our comfort zones, revealing both our strengths and vulnerabilities. It’s like forming a new friendship or starting a new relationship—these experiences bring out facets of ourselves that we might not have known existed.

While these transitions can be difficult, they’re also very rewarding for our personal growth. Travelling gives us a taster of this, too. Every move I’ve made has shaped me! Now that I’m 40, I feel that familiar pull again—the urge to move, to challenge myself, to grow. I know another chapter is waiting for me, and I’m ready for it.

I had this realisation the other day that living as a foreigner in another country provides us with another valuable lesson: compassion. Compassion for other minority groups in our native country. It’s humbling to struggle with a language that isn’t your own, to feel out of place, to be treated differently in ways big and small, and to have difficulty with basic tasks that we often take for granted in our own country. These experiences changed me. They taught me to see others—their struggles, their humanity—in a way I never could before.

I understand that not everyone can easily relocate to a different country or city, but if there is even a small opportunity to do so, I would encourage you to take it. I would love to hear about your experiences moving to a new city or country and how they shaped you.

Thank you so much for all your thoughtful comments and for taking the time to share your experiences — it truly means the world to me! Your support is nothing short of amazing, and I’m so grateful to have such a kind and engaged community. Wishing you the most wonderful holiday season, whether you’re surrounded by loved ones or enjoying some peaceful time on your own.

Take care!

Your friend Tuğba

P.S.: I started writing these "notes to self" back in the spring, and they’ve become incredibly popular, so I began collecting them into one post. Many of you are already familiar with them. Over the past few months, I’ve also invited fellow artists to share their own notes to self with me.

In today’s session, I’m thrilled to share an artist's “note to self” from

Spencer Welch

. We connected on Substack, and I absolutely adore her work — her paintings, her poetry, and the beautiful way she weaves words together. I hope you’ll find as much inspiration in her art as I do!

Notes to self: No one else is painting the exact same thing at the exact same time in the exact same style.

“While on Instagram today, I noticed a collection of negative thoughts and beliefs about my work and my self-worth. I started comparing myself and what I create to the creations of others. I felt like I wasn’t good enough, and I never would be. My daughter and son knew how I was feeling and gave me some encouragement. They reminded me that no one does what I was doing. No one else was painting the same subject in the same style that I was. No one else was me. They reminded me that I couldn’t compare myself to someone else, because they were completely different than me. I could only compare my work to my own previous work, and in doing that, I would end up being proud of how far I have come.”

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1. Guest workers, known as Gastarbeiter in German, were foreign labour migrants who came to Germany between 1955 and 1973 under various recruitment agreements. This program was initiated to address labour shortages resulting from the post-World War II economic boom. The primary countries involved in these agreements included Italy, Spain, Greece, and Turkey, with Turkish workers becoming the largest group.

Guest workers in Germany faced numerous challenges, including exploitation through poor working conditions and long hours, substandard living arrangements in overcrowded accommodations, and limited legal rights that left them vulnerable to mistreatment. They often experienced social isolation and discrimination, compounded by language barriers that hindered their social integration. Additionally, many suffered emotional strain from family separation and the psychological toll of their temporary status in a foreign country.