One of the most profound, yet rarely discussed, griefs of moving abroad is the loss of your “language personality.”
In my mother tongue, I am quick-witted. I know how to use sarcasm, I understand subtle cultural nuances, and I can articulate complex emotional or academic concepts without a second thought. My language was my armor and my primary tool for connecting with people. I was an adult with a rich, fully formed internal world.
Then, I walked into a university lecture hall in Lucerne, and my entire identity was stripped away at the door. Suddenly, I was reduced to a working vocabulary of a few thousand words, desperately trying to keep my head above water.
I still remember the physical shock of my first few weeks of classes. I was absolutely blown away by the extensive vocabulary and the sheer, unfiltered speed at which my classmates spoke. It felt like everyone else was watching a movie at normal speed, while I was stuck on 2x speed with the subtitles turned off.
During lectures, I often felt paralyzed and, honestly, incredibly stupid. The professors would casually throw around complex business terminology—words that felt heavy and impenetrable. They would discuss market structures, corporate strategies, and financial frameworks, and while everyone else nodded along effortlessly, taking neat notes, I was secretly drowning. I was sitting in the middle of a crowded room, entirely isolated by my inability to comprehend.
The intellectual frustration was exhausting. I would sit in seminars listening to a debate, and a brilliant, perfectly articulated point would form in my head. I knew the answer. I understood the concept. But the gap between my brain and my mouth felt like an ocean.
I was terrified to raise my hand. I would sit there, my heart racing, silently rehearsing my sentence over and over again. I was convinced I would use the wrong preposition, mix up the sentence structure, and embarrass myself in front of these incredibly articulate students. What if they laugh? What if the professor doesn’t understand my accent? By the time I had mentally checked my grammar, translated the vocabulary, and finally built the courage to speak… the conversation had already moved on. I would swallow my words and shrink back into my chair.
Instead of sounding like the intelligent, capable woman I know I am, I felt like a stumbling, nervous child. The imposter syndrome was deafening. Every grammatical mistake I made, every time I asked someone to repeat a sentence, felt like a flashing neon sign above my head blinking: She doesn’t belong here. She is not smart enough for this.
My new normal became a daily, exhausting game of catch-up. When the lectures ended, my work was just beginning. I spent my train commutes home painstakingly translating the lecture presentations on my phone. While other passengers were reading books or looking at the beautiful Swiss scenery, I was staring at a glowing screen, copying and pasting business terms into DeepL, just trying to finally grasp the material everyone else seemed to understand instantly. By the time I reached my apartment, my brain felt physically bruised.
But over the past year, as I pushed through the exhaustion and the self-doubt, my perspective began to shift.
I started looking at the other international students around me. When they spoke with heavy accents, pausing to search for the right words, I never once thought they were stupid. I thought they were incredibly brave. I admired their grit. It hit me: Why was I refusing to give myself that exact same grace?
But over the past year, as I pushed through the exhaustion and the self-doubt, my perspective began to shift.
I started looking at the other international students around me. When they spoke with heavy accents, pausing to search for the right words, I never once thought they were stupid. I thought they were incredibly brave. I admired their grit. It hit me: Why was I refusing to give myself that exact same grace?
1. Embrace the 70% Rule In the beginning, accept that you will only understand about 70% of what is being said. Let go of the need for perfection. You don’t need to understand every single business term instantly; you just need to grasp the core concept. The rest will fill itself in over time.
2. Prep Work is Your Lifeline I stopped walking into lectures blind. I started reading the presentations the night beforethe class, translating the key business vocabulary in advance. When you remove the shock of new vocabulary, you free up your brain’s bandwidth to actually listen to what the professor is saying.
3. Own Your Accent Your accent is not a mistake. It is physical proof that you know more than one language and that you had the courage to step completely out of your comfort zone. Stumbling over a sentence doesn’t mean you are failing; it means you are actively trying.
Your native language is your comfort zone. But your second language? That is the language of your growth. Be gentle with the version of you who is still learning how to speak. She is doing incredibly hard work, and she deserves your respect, not your shame.
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