When I moved to Finland, I was desperate and angry – then I realized the reason for it was something all immigrants experience

"I HOPE I don't wake up tomorrow so that I don't have to endure these boring people, this tasteless language, and this shitty weather."

At the risk of sounding ungrateful: this was my thought when my journey as an immigrant began five years ago.

I knew I was fortunate to replace my broken homeland for a fully functioning country. However I felt miserable and didn't know why.

I found the answer years later. The thing I was experiencing was migratory grief.

I stumbled upon the term on TikTok. The video explained that migratory grief is a complex psychological phenomenon. It represents a partial and recurring loss. It is grief that reminds one of the loss of homeland, friends, and family. A person must discard their own language and learn a new one. Social and professional positions may also undergo extreme changes. That all means the death of identity.

Migratory grief means mourning the parts of the past life still existing but out of reach, like in another universe. Nothing explicitly ends, like for example when a loved one dies, but the loss continues, repeats itself, and renews.

All immigrants experience migratory grief, but its severity depends on the reasons for leaving one's homeland. A refugee experiences a different kind of grief than a person who moves to another country voluntarily for work or love.

MY JOURNEY FROM VENEZUELA to Finland was pleasant, especially when compared to other Venezuelan immigrants. I wasn't among those crossing the dangerous Darien Gap in hopes of a better life in the United States.

The Darien Gap, located at the border between Colombia and Panama, is considered by the UN to be one of the world's most dangerous refugee routes. It's a vast area of tropical wilderness, steep mountains, and rivers. The crossing can take ten days, exposing travelers to natural hazards and criminal groups. It can involve violence, sexual violence, and robberies.

My journey began when my family waved goodbye at the airport. After two layovers and a 16-hour flight, I safely arrived in Finland.

The years 2014–2017 were difficult in Venezuela: The economy declined, queuing for flour took hours, crime increased, and citizens rebelled. I decided to go to Finland because I felt I had no future in my home country. I wasn't politically persecuted, and an official civil war hadn't started yet, but I felt unwanted. I felt fearful. I was a refugee without an official status.

When I arrived in Finland in 2018, I entered an utopia. In Finland, I experienced stability, order, and freedom. Still, I simply couldn't be happy.

I felt guilty about it. When I could buy something for myself, I thought about the needs of the ones I left behind. When I went out to eat, I wondered if I should send money home instead. Even a small sense of happiness triggered guilt and shame. I felt numb.

A YEAR LATER, the guilt turned into anger. I had a flu, and because I was paying taxes, I gave myself permission to call the public health services. I asked for treatment advice and sick leave note.

A nurse answered in Finnish. My language skills were weaker then than they are now. I said to the nurse in broken Finnish, could you speak English?

”I don't want to”, replied the nurse, whose name I don't know.

The call ended.

The situation infuriated me. I cursed the people in my home country who played a political game that destroyed my homeland. I wished three painful diseases would fall upon those who stole my future. And I decided not to be friends with rude nurses or anyone who denied me their help.

I didn't really want to die, but I didn't want to carry on living either. Even though I had suicidal thoughts, I was sure I wouldn't take my own life. They were thoughts of an exhausted mind. They were thoughts of a tired person fueled by wrong emotions.

I believe the isolation that COVID-19 brought was good for my mental health. It gave me the opportunity to put into perspective what I had gained, and quietly mourn what I had lost. Eventually, I saw that I wasn't alone.

I can't pinpoint exactly when the change in my thoughts happened. Ultimately, I had made peace with the fact that changes are necessary, and it's up to me to build my life with the cards that I have been dealt.

I WENT THROUGH all the stages of grief to come to terms with it: shock, denial, anger, bargaining, and acceptance. However, grief has no rules. Sometimes, professional help is needed to deal with it. Seeking help requires courage, but I believe everyone is capable of doing it.

To those experiencing migratory grief, I want to say: Bad feelings don't last forever if you learn to manage them. We can't change what has happened to us, but we can learn to live with it.

And finally, a reminder to those who will never experience the loss of their homeland: In 2023, at least 1052 refugees arrived in Finland. Let's be kind to them and empathize with their feelings. They didn't choose to be in their position and feel shame, confusion, guilt, and frustration.