When Fantasy Meets Reality: My Third Year.

Moving to a new country is never simple. Three years into my Icelandic journey, I’m still navigating uncertainty, regret, resilience, and gratitude—and learning that belonging takes time.

These years have been filled with trial and error, fights and forgiveness, therapy, understanding, adjustments, joy, appreciation, and countless other emotions. Some days I want to pack up and move back to the U.S. More often, though, I just want things here to work. As many of you understand the world feels like a spinning orb of chaos and sometimes it’s hard to simply make a choice.

I often sit and ponder life in my empty house. Without a steady job, at times, I feel like I’ve stepped quietly into madness. I talk to myself, piecing together the story of how I got here. When I first moved I was in recovery and I was grieving the life I left behind. The farm gave us quiet, which we desperately needed. But it presented new and unforeseen challenges that have carved out a new journey. I didn’t know moving forward would take so much time. Truthfully, I'm still waiting for the fantasy. Wishing it would all go to plan.

I underestimated how much the language would shape my experience. “Everyone speaks English—you won’t have a problem,” people told me. That wasn’t exactly wrong, but it also wasn’t the whole truth. From the beginning, I should have prioritized fluency but at the same time, I wasn't ready for a new language. I’ve heard it all: “I’ll only speak Icelandic with you—you’ll learn,” “Your husband should have taught you,” “Next time I expect you to know Icelandic.” And they’re right—I did move to a country with its own language. It isn’t fair to expect others to accommodate me. But I can’t absorb Icelandic through osmosis. Sometimes it feels like Icelandic is an alien that forgot to take over my body and I feel like an empty host. I’ve taken classes, I’ve listened closely, and yet, it hasn’t clicked. My learning disabilities that I left behind years ago have come roaring back. I’m unpacking a lot of shame around this and trying to keep it from isolating me further. I'm 43 for Gods sake!

Talking to myself is helpful. I attempt to communicate with others, but the embarrassment of not knowing the language stops me from making connections or reaching out. I fear disappointing others and feeling inadequate. I don't feel like I belong here, which is unsettling. This has caused various issues, and I'm still figuring out how to handle these feelings. Language is a significant barrier, and I'm gradually working on it. I also can't fully utilize my training, which is very discouraging. I have a small practice, but mental health work isn't sustainable in a small community, as people are expected to improve and move on. My small client base has dwindled. My husband and I frequently discuss what is best for us and our children. It's challenging to make the right decision for everyone. So, when I talk to myself, I try to sort things out and navigate my thoughts. Yesterday, I asked myself the following questions.

Have I accomplished what I set out to do?

When we moved, I wanted to focus on my artwork and write more. I wanted to write and publish stories. I have written and created art, but not to the scale I imagined. I set expectations that weren’t grounded in context or reality. My vision of this life was more fantasy than fact, and that’s been hard on my self-esteem. Still, I have created, I've found amazing creatives in my community who also want to bring more color to the world. It's always nice to find like-minded people who want to highlight the importance of art and culture in all communities. It's been inspiring!

What have I gained by leaving my old life behind?

It’s easy to think, “I should have stayed.” But the move wasn’t impulsive—it was years in the making, built on what we knew at the time. Would I make different choices now? Absolutely. But I can’t change the past. What I have gained is clarity. I know myself more deeply than I did before. That clarity can feel heavy, but it’s also a gift. I’ve learned how much I need people and community in order to thrive. My needs are clearer now—even if I’m still figuring out how to meet them.

How do I move forward through uncertainty?

I remind myself that nothing is certain. I can’t control every variable. I can only work with the information I have today. Regret doesn’t help. Blame doesn’t help. What matters is that I’m here. I can choose to tear everything down and start over, or I can stay the course and see where it leads. Each choice carries both benefits and consequences. My depression always wants to run and tear things down. When it's triggered it wants to fight and it wants to punish. I have learned how to talk to that part of me and guide it through hard times. My healing journey has really covered some ground over the past year.

What am I thankful for?

I’m always learning about how to let go of things. A friend and I have been reading about Buddhism—particularly the ideas of attachment and suffering. Life won’t always go my way. I can hold on tightly and suffer, or I can let go and accept life’s ups and downs. Above all, I’m thankful that I have choices. I’m thankful for freedom, for the people around me, and for the chance to keep learning who I am.

So, as I enter year four, I’m even thankful for the struggles. They’ve been teachers, pointing me toward what really matters. Sometimes I go to dark places, but I usually emerge with a deeper appreciation. The next year, I hope to study, learn, carve new paths, and welcome opportunities that enrich both my life and the lives of those around me. I have to remind myself that I'm in control of the fantasy and if I want something I have the tools to make it happen. I just need the desire to make it real. And maybe—just maybe—the Icelandic alien will finally attach, and I’ll feel like I truly belong.

We’ll see.

Be well.