Home Is a Moving Story

The first time my children asked, “Mumma, where do I belong - India? Australia?” I paused longer than I meant to. Not because I didn’t know the answer — but because I knew there wasn’t a simple one.

Growing up as a Third Culture Kid, I learned early that home isn’t just geography. It’s a story you tell yourself over and over, in new accents, across new landscapes, adjusting the ending each time life moves you again.

Now, as an adult raising children in a culture that isn’t dominant to mine, I find myself revisiting that question — not as confusion, but as an invitation.

How do we raise children who are rooted and open?

How do we help them belong without asking them to shrink or split who they are?

The gift and the grief of growing up between worlds

Being a Third Culture Kid meant growing up in the space between cultures. My passport said one thing, my schoolyard spoke another, and the rhythm at home was something else entirely.

I became fluent in difference long before I had words for it. I learned to read the room — the gestures, tones, invisible hierarchies — because survival depended on it. I could adjust, translate, adapt. I became the bridge without even trying.

There’s beauty in that kind of upbringing — the open-mindedness, the curiosity, the ease with which you can connect across divides.

But there’s also a quiet ache underneath it. The friendships that end with a move. The subtle disconnection of always being “from somewhere else.” The question, “Where do I actually belong?” — whispered in moments when you’re surrounded by people, yet feel strangely alone.

As a TCK, you become good at fitting in everywhere and rooted nowhere. You learn belonging as a skill, not a birthright.

Finding home in multiplicity

It took me years to realise that my fragmented identity wasn’t something to fix — it was something to embrace.

As an adult, I began to see how those years between worlds were quietly shaping my strengths: cross-cultural communication, empathy, adaptability, perspective-taking. What once felt like code-switching became cultural fluency.

In my work now — in leadership, coaching, and DEI — that same in-betweenness is my superpower. I can hold multiple truths at once. I can sense power dynamics across cultures. I can see what’s not being said. These aren’t things you learn in a classroom — they’re wired into you when you grow up straddling worlds.

So when someone asks, “Where are you from?”, I usually smile and say, “How much time do you have?”

Because for me, that question isn’t about place — it’s about story. It’s about the way identity stretches, shifts, and expands over time.

Raising children in a culture not my own

Now, as a parent, I watch my children build their own cultural maps — ones that don’t look like mine, or their grandparents’, or even each other’s. They are growing up in a country that doesn’t fully reflect my roots, surrounded by norms, histories, and worldviews that I had to learn later in life.

And sometimes, I feel that old tug — the worry that they might lose the threads of where we come from. That they’ll blend in too well, or that the languages and rituals of my upbringing will become exotic stories instead of living memory.

But then I catch moments that remind me: they’re doing exactly what I did, but with more awareness and support. They mix cultural cues seamlessly — a lunchbox that’s half traditional, half local; slang from two continents; a confidence in their right to belong, even when they’re different.

Still, parenting across cultures isn’t easy.

There’s the mental load of explaining nuance that others take for granted — why your name is pronounced differently, why certain holidays matter, why “fitting in” doesn’t always mean “belonging.”

There are days when I feel protective, wanting to shield them from the small misunderstandings or quiet exclusions that can pierce deeper than they should. And there are days I’m simply in awe — at how naturally they inhabit multiplicity that once confused me.

Belonging as practice

Over time, I’ve stopped chasing the idea of belonging to one place. Instead, I focus on belonging with people — people who value authenticity, kindness, justice, and purpose. That’s where home feels real.

I’ve learned that raising cross-cultural children isn’t about keeping them tied to the past or fully immersed in the present. It’s about teaching them the art of belonging — how to hold complexity with grace. How to be proud of where they come from, curious about where they are, and open to where they might go next.

Home, I’ve realised, isn’t a destination. It’s a living practice. It’s something we build in the small rituals — the food we cook, the stories we tell, the empathy we model, the courage we show when we don’t fully fit in but show up anyway.

So when my children ask, “Mumma, where do I belong - India? Australia?” , I answer gently:
“You’re from everywhere that has loved you — and everything that has shaped you. You carry all of it.”

That, to me, is the gift of growing up — and raising children — between worlds.

If you’ve ever felt like you belong everywhere and nowhere at once — you’re not alone.

My work with Unmuting You helps purpose-driven leaders, creatives, and parents find voice, clarity, and belonging across worlds. Find out how I can support you here .