Expat Life: First 3 months in Denmark: My Glamorous Life in Europe (All but the glamorous part)

Next week marks the one year anniversary of my moving to the middle of Jutland in Denmark. I wrote the rest of this post after living in Denmark only 3 months. I didn’t post it then, because I didn’t want my family to worry about me. I also was hoping that things would get better. I’m happy to say that they have, and that the post you see below is just a stepping stone to where I am now. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. I’m posting it now, because I hope it helps others who are new to Denmark know that things will get better.

What is it really like living abroad?

What did you think, when I told you I was moving to Denmark? It was probably more along the lines of “where is that exactly?”, but I bet there was a part of you thinking that I was sitting on JayZ’s yacht, sipping champagne with Beyoncé. Ok, so that might be a bit stretched, since I’m not really that type of music fan or have those types of connections, but I have to say, that is what I might have thought. As Americans, we think of Europe as this place that is much more sophisticated with tons more culture and filled with rich people.

But the truth is less interesting, that Europe is filled with the same things that America is filled with: snobs, hard-workers, people down on their luck, foreigners, but also unemployment, disease, births, amusement parks, schools, etc. Everything we have in the US is found in Europe. …even peanut butter. So why is it so hard for me here?

Hard Truth after 3 Months Living Abroad

It has been a little over three months since I have made the peninsula of Denmark, or Jutland as it is normally called, my home, but I don’t feel that I belong here. It might have something to do with the fact that I don’t have a visa to live here yet or the ever spectacular yellow card, which is a person’s chain connecting him/her to everything from health care to bank accounts to jobs, etc. Without the yellow card, you pretty much don’t exist in Denmark, which is exactly how I feel. Champagne on JayZ’s yacht it isn’t. At least, it isn’t for me!

I don’t want to come off as some type of Debbie Downer or Sad Sally, but fitting into life in DK is tough. I am constantly reminded that I’m not in the US anymore (Toto) when I smile and greet someone as I walk down a street or say “bless you/Gesundheit” to someone after they sneeze. There are no responses to these actions of mine. As if I didn’t even say them in the first place. As if I’m invisible. We can chuck it up to cultural differences, which I’m sure you don’t experience off the coast of the French Riviera on your yacht, but you do feel them in a small town in Denmark.

It isn’t bad.

The Danes aren’t rude people, but I have to admit, that it feels a bit disconcerting when you don’t get the response you are used to. That leads me to believe that I need to change my approach, but how and to what? I’ve been to a couple of different seminars/meetings about fitting in with the Danes, but even if I attended a thousand, I don’t think they could make me adjusted to Danish life overnight. Nothing can make you feel that you belong 100%, especially after 3 months.

Overcoming the Lag of Living Abroad

So what do I do? Lock myself away in my apartment until I come around to being comfortable with being invisible or the feeling that I don’t fit in? I simply can’t do that. It’s just not my style. No matter the challenge, I have always been one to rise to whatever expectations lie in front of me. I worked in public schools in the US for over 13 years. Hiding away isn’t something I know how to do or want to do. I want to be out there living, which is what I’m trying to do.

Being new to the area, I have tried to do my best to meet people. I joined a club, made friends at my language school, struck up conversations with the neighbors and even connected with other international mothers in my area. There is no other time in my history on this planet that I have made friends so fast. I’ve never been the outgoing type, and I still don’t see myself that way; I’m trying to be more of that girl, though. I think I need to be. Add on top of that the foreign surroundings with the foreign language, which is very hard to learn, by the way. Try learning all the letter sounds in Danish and then have the teacher say, “okay, don’t pronounce half of the letters.” Um…what?

It takes a Dane to learn Danish, meaning you really need to live here to know what is going on with the language. I guess I’m lucky, since I live here now. I feel that I am much more social in DK than I ever was in the US, which might not be completely true, but I almost feel that I’m living a completely different life. Who is this social flower? Where did she come from? Is this one of the classic examples of social Darwinism, the survival of the fittest? If so, then I have Darwin fooled. I’m a fraud!

I feel that any minute, someone will come along and take off the mask, will reveal my true self to the whole country of Denmark. And then what? What am I so afraid of? That this is my one chance to fit in, and I’m faking it through? “Don’t put your heart in and you won’t get hurt.” Isn’t that more-or-less what you hear in the sappy love stories? This isn’t that type of story. When have I ever been afraid of getting hurt or afraid of anything for that matter? Maybe it is hard being in a new place and feeling the ground beneath your feet. I have my husband to support me emotionally here, but why isn’t that grounding me? Why can’t it be enough? Could it be that the loss is greater than the gain?

It sounds kind of bad to say that out loud. My family and friends aren’t here with me, but I feel how far away they are, as if they were the strings holding down my balloon. Now those strings have been clipped and I’m floating around with three strings left: the strings of my husband and sons. Though they are still connected, they don’t stop my from being blown all over in the wind. Instead, they helplessly cling to me for every gentle breeze, ever rain-soaked day, for whatever storm lie ahead.

It is not to say that I don’t value the love and support I get from my three fellas or the friendships I have made here. They are getting me through this thing called life (Thank you, Prince!), but I can’t help but wonder if my family is lacking the real me and if my new friends really know me or the Mr. Hyde part of me. Not that I have a scary side (Wink wink to those who know me well.), but I’m seeing a new side of me. Maybe I’m growing up in the public eye. Maybe this is a good thing, but as most people know, change is scary. The Dr. Jekyll side of me hides away in a deep corner of myself and just wishes that it all works out. That this other side of me doesn’t lead me to a weird place where I can’t find my way back again. I’m still here. I go along for the ride, but I’m not the one driving anymore.

Unexpected Hurdles in my New Country

Back to the “no yellow card thing”. I went to sign my son up for school, which doesn’t start for a few months. The office let me fill out part of the paperwork, but they wanted my husband to fill out the rest. Since I didn’t have a yellow card, they weren’t really sure I was who I said I was. My son, however, had a yellow card, so in my mind, that was all that mattered. It just felt like a punch to the face, as if I had no business signing up this boy for school. As if I wasn’t even his mother. Yes, yes, I’m taking things too personally. My husband likes to point that out when he reassures me that things will be fine. I can tell you this one thing, though. Being a teacher, I get excited about school. The thought of my son starting school is exciting to me as well, but this school took that away from me. I tried to ignore it, but the feeling came back when I sent my husband to the parent orientation night alone.

I was worried that I wouldn’t understand what they were saying and that I would just get frustrated. I felt so bad about not going to this, like I was a bad mom or that I didn’t care about what kind of school my son will go to. I do care. I care a lot actually…probably more than most of the other parents. I hated that I didn’t get someone to watch the kids and go to this, but I chose to stay home. I told myself that it was alright, but I knew I was sad about not being there. When my husband came home, he told me that they had a translator there. That’s when I finally let the tears flow, which had been filling me up inside for a while.

What was I doing here? Why was it so hard for me to live my USA life in Denmark? I was still a wife and a mother… wasn’t I?

The conversations in the home were similar to when we lived in the US. Someone couldn’t find a shoe, someone didn’t want to take a bath, someone took his brother’s toy… But when I went out to do the same things in society as I had commonly done before, the doors here would be shut in my face. Could I have done something differently?

3 Months Abroad and Time to Take a Look Inside

We came to Denmark to be more together as a family. The laid-back attitude of the country would carry over into our family, and things would be good. Not that they were bad before, but my husband might be home more. On this specific occasion with the school, I didn’t feel more connected to my family. I felt like the lady who was dating a man with children. I stayed with them while he went to the meeting, since it clearly didn’t involve me. I lived in his apartment, drove his car and spent his money. If I felt the need to leave it all behind, I could go and no one would even notice I was gone.

No, I don’t believe that my husband and children would be oblivious to my disappearance, but that was how I felt about being in Denmark.

My name wasn’t on the mailbox, the bank account, the apartment contract or the car papers. I wasn’t at the school meeting to instruct me on how to function as a parent of a soon-to-be pupil in a Danish school. I felt that Denmark was fazing out my existence and I wasn’t really who I thought I was, but I wasn’t completely gone… was I?

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