Leaving Germany Was The Right Decision — And That Was Sad

Why going back to Germany gave me the closure I didn’t know I needed.

Photo by Tobias Reich on Unsplash

I was walking through my old neighborhood in Frankfurt — the city I called home for almost ten years. I had left Germany about eighteen months earlier, and this was my first time back.

People were out having drinks, talking, laughing. The city felt more alive and vibrant than ever before.

Suddenly, I was hit by a wave of sadness. Why didn’t it feel this way when I lived here? Why didn’t things work out?

It made me wonder why I wasn’t able to enjoy that version of Frankfurt when I lived there. Was Frankfurt really different back then? Or did I just feel too lonely and vulnerable, without my support system, to let myself fully embrace it?

And then I realized something unexpected: Frankfurt did not feel like home anymore.

I had imagined that going back to Frankfurt would feel familiar, like a great, happy reunion with an old version of my life.

Instead, it felt cold. The city I had lived in for almost ten years, where I had built a career, made friends and become an adult, now felt foreign.

I was walking the same streets I used to walk, but this time I felt like a tourist.

I met up with old friends. They told me about their new jobs, new partners, new colleagues. It made me realize how much their lives had changed without me in it.

For a moment, I felt like I had been forgotten.

It made me wonder if all of it had been worth it.

Did I spend ten years trying to force a life that was never really meant for me?

Should I have left sooner?

Did I mistake resilience for belonging?

It was heartbreaking.

And at the same time, it was a relief.

Going back confirmed that leaving was the right decision. Not because moving to Germany was a mistake, but because it made me see that the person I am today no longer belongs there — and perhaps never did.

For years, I believed that if I just tried harder, integrated better or stayed a little longer, Germany would eventually become home. Looking back, I don’t think the problem was Frankfurt, and neither was I. My home was simply somewhere else.

Going back to Germany meant grieving the life abroad I had once dreamed of. But it also meant closure.

Although living in Germany was difficult at times, all those years abroad made me the person I am today.

And at the end of that trip, I wasn’t nostalgic anymore.

I wasn’t wondering if I should have done things differently, or what my life in Germany could have been.

I realized that I had not gone back to Germany to meet an old version of myself.

I had gone back to say goodbye.

This time, without fear or regret.

Just peace.

Author’s note: I write about expat life, identity, belonging and the emotional journey of returning home after living abroad. If this story resonates with you, you may enjoy my other essays on repatriation and identity.

If you want to share about your own experience living abroad, feel free to leave a comment or email me at aphagedorn@gmail.com.