Author: anastasiia.manko

There is a very specific type of silence that exists on a Sunday in Switzerland.

If you live here, you know exactly what I mean. The shops are closed, the streets are empty, and the entire country seemingly retreats indoors for family time. During my first year, that Sunday quiet felt incredibly loud. It was a weekly reminder that I hadn’t quite found my people yet.

Social media loves to sell us the aesthetic version of moving abroad: arriving in a new city and instantly finding a vibrant, diverse group of best friends to get matcha lattes with. But the reality of making friends as an adult is notoriously clunky. Making friends as an adult in a foreign country, while studying in a second language and trying to rebuild your confidence? That is an entirely different sport.

For a while, I put my social life on pause. I was carrying around extra stress weight, feeling awkward in my clothes, and convinced myself I needed to be “ready” before I could put myself out there. I thought I had to lose the weight, master the German language, and have my life perfectly together before I was worthy of anyone’s friendship.

Furthermore, I was intimidated by the local social culture. Swiss people are famously loyal, but cracking into those established friend groups—where people have known each other since kindergarten—felt like an impossible task.

But eventually, I got tired of waiting for my life to magically start. I had fought so hard to secure my apartment and survive my first university exams; I realized that having a beautiful living room isn’t enough. A home is made of people.

If I wanted a vibrant life here, I couldn’t wait for a friendly extrovert to simply adopt me. I had to do the uncomfortable work of putting myself out there. This was the birth of my “Saying YES” strategy.

I started treating the pursuit of friendship with the exact same relentless discipline I used for my apartment hunt. I applied for Tandem program to master my German skills and make a friendship with a local person. I forced myself to attend university networking events, even when I really just wanted to stay home and watch Netflix.

Let me tell you, going on “friend dates” is both hilarious and exhausting. You have to explain your entire life story over and over again. You sit over coffees, navigating awkward silences, trying to figure out if your senses of humor align, all while translating your personality through a second language.

But slowly, the math started to work in my favor. I met one girl for coffee who completely understood my struggles with the university system. Through her, I met someone else. I started saying “yes” to every single invitation, even if my German was clumsy, and even if I didn’t feel perfectly styled.

If you are reading this from a quiet room, feeling like you are the only person in the world without a safety net today, please listen to me: your people are out there. But you have to let them find you.

Here is what you need to remember about closing the friendship gap:

1. Stop waiting for the “perfect” version of yourself Do not put your social life on hold until you lose the weight, learn the language perfectly, or land the perfect job. You are worthy of connection exactly as you are right now, in all your messy, perfectly human glory.

2. Expat friends are your ultimate anchor In the beginning, I thought I was failing if I didn’t have a purely Swiss friend group. But there is a profound, beautiful bond that forms between expats. You are all untethered, navigating the same bureaucratic nightmares, and missing the same comforts of home. Lean into the international community.

3. Be the initiator Assume everyone else is just as intimidated to make the first move as you are. Be the person who asks for the phone number. Be the person who suggests grabbing a coffee after the lecture. The absolute worst they can say is no.

Building a chosen family from scratch takes bravery and a lot of awkward coffees. But the first time you sit around a table in your new city, laughing until your stomach hurts with people who know the real you, you will realize every single “friend date” was worth it.

How did you make your first friendship after moving abroad?

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.

When I hit rock bottom during my first year in Switzerland, human interaction was often too much for me. I was hiding from the world, embarrassed by my 15kg weight gain, exhausted by the language barrier, and grieving a breakup. Reaching out to friends felt like lifting a boulder, and networking felt impossible.

During those quiet, lonely months in my room, books became my mentors, my therapists, and my safe space. I didn’t want to read toxic positivity (“Just smile and manifest your dreams!”). I needed grounded, practical, and deeply honest advice. I needed to understand why I was failing and how to rebuild.

If you are currently navigating a massive life transition, moving abroad, or simply trying to put yourself back together after a crisis, these are the five books that genuinely anchored me.

1. Atomic Habits by James Clear

Why it helped: When you are depressed, the idea of “changing your life” is paralyzing. You think you need to wake up at 5 AM, run 10 kilometers, and speak fluent German by next week. James Clear destroys this myth. He teaches that monumental changes are the result of tiny, 1% improvements.

How I applied it: This book is the exact reason I started my “15-minute daily walk” rule. I stopped focusing on losing 15kg and started focusing on just putting on my sneakers every morning. Clear taught me that discipline isn’t about motivation; it’s about designing your environment so that the good habits are easy and the bad ones are hard. If you read only one book on this list, make it this one.

2. The Culture Map by Erin Meyer

Why it helped: During my first months here, I constantly felt rejected by the locals. I thought Swiss people were cold, distant, and didn’t like me. I took the direct, sometimes blunt communication style very personally.

How I applied it: Erin Meyer’s book was a revelation. It breaks down how different cultures communicate, give feedback, and build trust. I realized that what I perceived as “coldness” was actually the Swiss respect for privacy and efficiency. It stopped me from playing the victim in cultural misunderstandings and gave me a framework to adapt to my new environment without taking cultural differences as personal attacks.

3. The Gifts of Imperfection by Brené Brown

Why it helped: Expat life comes with an insane amount of pressure to look successful. You want to show your family back home that moving was the right choice. When my relationship ended and I was struggling academically, I felt a deep sense of shame.

How I applied it: Brené Brown writes about the courage to be vulnerable. This book gave me the permission to stop pretending I was okay. It taught me that accepting my messy, imperfect reality—the weight gain, the linguistic struggles, the loneliness—was the only way to actually heal. It inspired the very honest tone of this blog.

4. Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl

Why it helped: When you are drowning in your own problems, it is easy to become completely self-absorbed. Viktor Frankl was a psychiatrist who survived the Holocaust, and his book is a profound exploration of how humans can find meaning in the most horrific circumstances.

How I applied it: This book gave me a massive reality check. It didn’t invalidate my pain, but it shifted my perspective. Frankl writes, “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.” I couldn’t change the fact that I was alone in a foreign country, but I could change how I responded to it. It helped me find a sense of purpose in my university studies and my daily struggles.

5. Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance by Angela Duckworth 

Why it helped: When you fail at something abroad—whether it’s getting an apartment, making friends, or understanding a lecture—the immediate thought is, “I am not smart enough or talented enough to make it here.” Angela Duckworth’s research completely destroys that myth. She proves that talent matters far less than “grit”—the rare combination of passion and relentless perseverance. 

How I applied it: This book became my anchor during the brutal Swiss apartment hunt and my first terrifying weeks at the university. Every time I received a rejection email or cried over translating my homework, I reminded myself of the core message of this book. I didn’t need to be the smartest person in Switzerland, and I didn’t need to have perfect German. I just needed to be the person who refused to quit. It validated my realization that stamina, not luck, is the true superpower of any expat.

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Books won’t solve your visa issues, and they won’t automatically write your university essays. But they will give you the vocabulary to understand what you are going through. They remind you that no matter how isolated you feel in a new country, someone else has walked a similar path, survived it, and wrote the map down for you.

If you’ve been following my journey, you know that the emotional side of moving abroad hit me like a freight train. But once the initial fog of depression and heartbreak began to lift, I was faced with a completely different, much more tangible monster: Swiss bureaucracy.

Before moving, I pictured Switzerland as this hyper-efficient, digital utopia. And while things do work like a Swiss watch once they are set up, getting them set up involves an amount of physical paper I hadn’t seen since the 2010s. When you are already mentally exhausted, opening your mailbox to find five new letters demanding forms, signatures, and payments in a language you barely speak can induce a panic attack.

If you are new here and feeling overwhelmed by the endless administrative maze, take a deep breath. You are not stupid, and you are not doing it wrong. It is simply a rite of passage. Here is the honest, unglamorous guide to surviving your first few months of Swiss paperwork, based on my own trial and error.

1. Embrace the physical mail culture The first shock of Swiss adaptation is realizing that emails mean very little here when it comes to official business. Switzerland runs on physical mail. Your permit, your health insurance cards, your bills, your passwords for online banking—everything arrives in a physical envelope. My biggest tip: Go to a local stationery store (like Pfister or a large Coop) and buy physical binders (the famous Leitz folders), a hole puncher, and dividers. Dedicate one folder to health insurance, one to housing, and one to your residence permit and university documents. Do not throw any official-looking paper away, even if it looks like a receipt. You will likely need it for your tax declaration next year.

2. The 14-Day Rule (Kreisbüro / Gemeinde) When you finally find an apartment (which, as I wrote in my previous post, requires surviving 99 rejections), the clock starts ticking. You legally have 14 days to register your new address at your local municipality (Kreisbüro in Zurich, or Gemeinde in smaller towns). Show up with your passport, your rental contract, your university acceptance letter or work contract, and a passport photo. The officials are usually polite but incredibly strict about rules. Don’t try to charm your way out of missing a document; just bring exactly what is listed on their website. This registration is the golden key—without it, you cannot get a bank account, a phone contract, or health insurance.

3. The Health Insurance (Krankenkasse) Maze This is the one that makes every expat cry at least once. Health insurance in Switzerland is mandatory, private, and breathtakingly expensive. You have three months from your arrival date to choose a provider, but you will be billed retroactively from day one. The hardest part is understanding the Franchise system. Your Franchise (ranging from 300 CHF to 2500 CHF) is the amount you have to pay entirely out of pocket before your insurance starts covering 90% of the bills. Because I am a student trying to manage my budget, I chose the highest Franchise (2500 CHF) to keep my monthly premium lower. But this means that if I get sick, I pay for everything up to 2500 CHF myself. It is a gamble, and you have to sit down and honestly calculate what you can afford. Compare providers on websites like Comparis.ch—it will save you hundreds of francs.

4. The Hidden Surprises (Serafe and Beyond) Just when you think you have paid for everything, a bill from SERAFE arrives. This is the Swiss radio and television tax. It doesn’t matter if you don’t own a TV, if you never listen to Swiss radio, or if you only watch Netflix on your laptop. If you live in a Swiss household, you have to pay it (currently around 335 CHF per year). When I got my first Serafe bill, I thought it was a scam. It’s not. Pay it quickly, because the reminder fees in Switzerland are ruthless.

5. The Magic of the “Betreibungsauszug” You will hear this word constantly. The Betreibungsauszug is your debt collection register extract. It is a piece of paper proving you don’t owe anyone money. You need it to rent an apartment, and sometimes to get a job. You can order it at the local post office or online. Guard your financial reputation fiercely here; a single unpaid bill that goes to debt collection can ruin your chances of finding housing, getting a job or extending your residence permit..

Which documents seem new for you?

In my first post, I told you about my breaking point. That raw, uncomfortable moment of looking in the mirror and deciding I couldn’t live on ‘pause’ anymore. I realized I was wasting the absolute best years of my life lying in bed, swallowed by expat depression, stress-eating, and self-pity. The realization was like a bucket of ice water. But here is the hard truth about hitting rock bottom: realizing you need to change and actually changing are two entirely different beasts.

There was no magic switch. I didn’t wake up the next day as a completely new, hyper-productive person with a flawless Plan B. I had no energy, a fuzzy future, and a body that felt heavy and unfamiliar from 15 extra kilograms of stress. I knew that if I tried to fix my entire life overnight, I would crash and burn. Instead, I had to rebuild my reality brick by brick. Here is exactly how I did it.

Taking back control of my body

When your mental health is plummeting, your physical health is usually the first casualty. My coping mechanism for the stress of moving abroad and a painful breakup was food. I was constantly seeking cheap dopamine through sweets and junk food.

To break the cycle, I knew I had to introduce radical discipline. I made the conscious, difficult decision to completely cut out sweets and overhaul my nutrition. The first few weeks were miserable. My body craved the sugar, and my mind craved the comfort. But replacing emotional eating with actual nourishment was the first step toward respecting myself again.

Then, I introduced sports. I didn’t start exercising to get a perfect “summer body”; I started because I needed an outlet for my anxiety. I forced myself to move, to sweat, and to push my physical limits. Every time I finished a workout, even when I desperately wanted to quit five minutes in, I proved something crucial to myself: I can do hard things. That physical endurance slowly began to translate into mental resilience.

Facing the reality of the Swiss housing market

While I was rebuilding my internal world, my external world still needed fixing. I desperately needed my own place—a safe haven where I could truly feel at home in this new country. Anyone who has moved to Switzerland knows that the housing market here is notoriously brutal.

I dove into the paperwork, writing motivation letters, collecting references, and showing up to viewing after viewing. And then came the rejections. So many rejections. With every “We regret to inform you…” email, the old, pessimistic voice in my head whispered that I was a failure and that I didn’t belong here. But the discipline I was building in my workouts kicked in. I refused to give up. I tweaked my strategy, sent out more applications, and treated the search like a second job. After a massive amount of “no’s,” I finally got my “yes.” Getting the keys to my own apartment was a monumental victory. It wasn’t just a place to live; it was physical proof that I was capable of rooting myself in a foreign land.

Saying “Yes” to life and people

Perhaps the hardest step of all was breaking out of my self-imposed isolation. When I gained weight and lost my sense of direction, my instinct was to hide. I put off meeting people because I didn’t feel “resourceful” enough, and frankly, because I was deeply insecure about how I looked.

But isolation is the fuel that keeps depression burning. I had to force myself back into the world. I made a promise to myself to start saying “yes.” When my friends invited me out, I forced myself to get dressed and go, even if I only stayed for an hour. I pushed myself to attend new events, to network, and to meet strangers.

I won’t lie—it was exhausting. For an introvert recovering from a depressive episode, trying to make small talk in a new country feels like running a marathon. There were awkward moments, language barriers, and times I felt completely out of place. But slowly, the ice melted. I started laughing genuinely. I started feeling the warmth of human connection. By opening myself up to the world, I finally started to feel alive again.

Taking the ultimate risk

Once the fog of depression began to clear, I realized I wanted more than just survival—I wanted growth. My previous routines were broken, which meant I had a blank canvas. I decided to take a massive risk: I applied to university.

Choosing to pursue my first degree entirely in a foreign language terrified me. It meant stepping far outside my comfort zone, risking academic failure, and competing in an environment where I was already at a linguistic disadvantage. But the old Ana—the one who planned everything and played it safe—was gone. The new Ana knew that taking risks was the only way to truly live. I hit ‘submit’ on my application, embracing the uncertainty.

Today, my life isn’t a flawless Instagram aesthetic. It is messy, demanding, and constantly challenging. But it is mine. I fought for it through discipline, countless rejections, and terrifying leaps of faith.

If you are reading this from that dark place, feeling like you’ve lost yourself after moving abroad, please hear this: You don’t need to have it all figured out today. You just need to take one small step. Go for a walk. Say no to the sugar rush. Send one more application. Say yes to one coffee date. The magic isn’t in a sudden transformation; it’s in the quiet, relentless decision to keep showing up for yourself, day after day. You’ve got this.

In my first posts, I shared the raw reality of my expat journey: the euphoric high followed by the crushing low, the breakdown of my relationship, and the relentless, daily fight to regain control. I told you about the discipline I enforced—the strict dietary overhaul, the painful start of my sports routine, and the terrifying leaps of faith into new friendships and, most importantly, into university in a foreign language. It was a period of intense action, an adrenaline-fueled battle against my own apathy and isolation.

I’m happy to tell you that the fight was successful. I am sitting in my own apartment, which I finally secured after countless disheartening rejections. I am healthy, active, and navigating the academic landscape of a degree that once seemed impossible. The immediate crisis is over. But that victory has brought me face-to-face with a different kind of challenge: the challenge of the “New Normal.”

The initial adrenaline has worn off. The desperate fight to survive has been replaced by the quiet, daily, unglamorous practice of maintenance and growth. And in this new phase, I’ve had to radically redefine my very idea of “success” and what it means to actually make it abroad.

When I first arrived, my vision of success was a perfect, fuzzy destination. I thought that if I could just check off the boxes—get the job, the apartment, learn the language, and be seamlessly integrated—I would be ‘successful.’ I was wrong. Expat success isn’t a destination, but it’s a sustainable series of small, hard-won victories. It’s not about being flawless, it’s about being resilient.

I learned this through the small steps I took to rebuild. When I cut out sweets and started working out, the initial goal was to lose the 15kg I had gained from stress-eating and regain energy. Those metrics matter, but they are not the only ones. The true success was the discipline itself. It was the moment I chose discipline over comfort. Every time I laced up my shoes when I wanted to crawl under the covers, I was succeeding. Every day I chose nourishing food over emotional comfort, I was succeeding. The numbers on the scale were just a reflection of that deeper, internal resilience.

Similarly, my first degree in this new language is a monumental risk, and I face potential failure and linguistic struggle every single day. But the old Ana, the one who planned everything perfectly and hid when Plan A failed, is gone. The new Ana knows that the real success is the attempt. Every morning I wake up and choose to study, despite the exhaustion and the fear of failure, I am succeeding. I am proving to myself that I can compete, learn, and grow, regardless of the fuzzy prospects.

The apartment hunt taught me a lesson in acceptance. After so many rejections, it would have been easy to spiral back into that dark place. But the discipline of my sports routine gave me the perspective that rejection is not a reflection of my worth; it’s just a data point. Success wasn’t the apartment itself; it was the ability to receive a hundred “no’s” and still have the strength to send out the next application, refined and ready.

Finding a community and forcing myself back into social situations was another lesson. I realized that my self-imposed isolation, driven by my insecurity about my looks, was just self-pity masquerading as a defense. Real success in expat life is not having a perfect body; it is having the courage to show up. It is the moment I said “yes” to a social event when my anxiety screamed “no.” Success isn’t about fitting into a pre-made social aesthetic; it’s about building genuine connections and allowing yourself to be seen.

This journey has been incredibly messy, and I have scars to show for it—physical, emotional, and social. But those scars are part of my new identity. I gain strength from acknowledging the 15kg I gained and subsequent loss, the bureaucracy stress that often felt like a personal attack, and the relationship that had to end. These were not setbacks or failures; they were part of the foundational steps of my new life.

Life in Switzerland today is not a flawless Instagram feed. My future prospects are still complex and fuzzy. I still have bad days, moments when the old pessimism tries to creep in. But the toolkit I built is ready. Depression isn’t cured; it is managed. Disappointment still stings, but it doesn’t crush. The difference is that I am no longer on “pause.” I am actively building.

I look in the mirror now, and the reflection is different. It is healthier, stronger, and most importantly, present. The girl who stared back in despair, overwhelmed and considering going home, is still there, but she is no longer alone. She is being guided by a woman who chose self-respect, discipline, and community over apathy.

If you are reading this from a dark room, feeling like you’ve failed because your expat journey isn’t perfect, please know this: it is never perfect. Success isn’t about checking boxes or reaching a destination. It is the relenting choice to take one more step. Go make that cup of tea. Send that application. Go for that walk. Your success isn’t waiting for you in the future; it is being forged in the messy reality of your present, with every small step you take to honor yourself. You’ve got this.

I was very positive, motivated, and a little excited before the move. I wanted to finally change my routine.

After the move, I didn’t immediately start feeling unwell and was euphoric and savoring every moment spent here, my eyes sparkled. I encountered my first difficulties when it was time to look for a job and a place of my own. Relationship complications arose, and when I began delving into the legalization process in this country, I realized it wasn’t all that simple. I needed to change my strategy, my usual rhythm of life, and learn new things (for example, what documents are needed to find housing, how to write motivation letters, and finding references here). With all the difficulties piled up, I felt like a failure, I was losing heart, and I often considered going back home, even though I had a job I loved, friends, and an apartment.

The biggest turning point for me was the end of my relationship, which is what prompted me to move here. I didn’t want to get up in the morning and barely found the strength to do routine tasks. I had no energy or strength to spend time with loved ones, and most importantly, I didn’t have a clear plan of action.

I’ve always been used to planning everything in my life and knowing that if Plan A doesn’t work, I’ll go with Plan B. Here, all prospects seemed fuzzy, and I began to view my surroundings pessimistically. I gained 15 kg and was stress-eating. At first, I put off meeting people because I didn’t have the resources, and then because I didn’t like the way I looked. I basically started putting my life on hold.

At one point, I clearly realized, looking at myself in the mirror and also watching stories of other successful people who motivated me, that I didn’t want to live like this anymore and wouldn’t, that it was time to pull myself together and take responsibility for my life, that I was wasting the best years of my life lying in bed and that it shouldn’t be like that.

This became a powerful impetus for changing myself.

These may be trivial points, but it took me a while to realize them. If you are going through a similar transition, here is what I learned:

Your comfort level will drop significantly at first. This doesn’t mean everything is going wrong; it’s completely normal.

Don’t consider yourself a failure if you don’t have anything yet. Sometimes we compare ourselves to the locals around us, thinking they have everything we want—a nice apartment, a stable job—but we forget that they have a massive head start. Building a life from scratch takes time and effort.

Feeling lonely and empty is normal. Leaving your comfort zone is always accompanied by all the stages of acceptance. Missing your old life and comparing it to your new one is just part of the process.

You are capable of more than you think you are. Look back at what you have already survived and achieved. If you could do that, you are capable of achieving this, too.

Meet people and socialize as much as possible. Networking is crucial everywhere. It’s vital to find someone close to share your interests with, or even just to go out for a coffee or a glass of wine.

Try new things and take risks. Say “yes” to new opportunities. If we don’t change, we don’t develop. Take it as a challenge!

Don’t underestimate your mental condition. Moving is a major life stressor. Be gentle with yourself and acknowledge how much energy it takes to adapt.

Give yourself time. It takes a while to truly understand if this new place is “your country.” Don’t rush the verdict.