Welcome to my thoughts section—the heart of always a gringa. This is where I share the messy, beautiful, and sometimes confusing realities of being an American woman living abroad. It's not always about the perfect sunset or the Instagram-worthy moment. It's about what happens in between, the quiet mornings when homesickness hits unexpectedly, or the afternoon when you finally understand a cultural nuance that had baffled you for months.
Moving to Mexico wasn't a decision I made lightly, and living here hasn't been a straightforward journey. I came with expectations shaped by travel blogs, Hollywood movies, and the romantic idea of starting fresh in a new country. What I've discovered instead is something far more complex and, honestly, far more rewarding. These pages are my attempt to document that journey—the victories and the struggles, the cultural revelations and the moments of profound loneliness.
Why I Started Writing This
When I first arrived in San Luis Potosí, I kept a journal. Not the kind you share with anyone—the kind where you write at midnight after a frustrating day of miscommunications and feeling utterly out of place. I wrote about missing my family's Sunday dinners, about the shame of not understanding a conversation happening right in front of me, about the unexpected joy of discovering a new favorite taco stand.
I realized that my experience as an expat—particularly as an American woman navigating life in Mexico—wasn't being represented in the travel content I was consuming. Most of what I read was either aggressively positive ("You'll love it here!") or aggressively negative ("Expat life is a scam!"). The truth, I found, lives somewhere in the middle. It's complicated. It's personal. And it deserves to be talked about honestly.
Culture Shock Is Real, and It's Not Linear
I used to think culture shock was something that happened in the first few weeks abroad. You arrive, everything feels strange, and then after a month or two, you adjust and life becomes normal. That's not how it works. Or at least, that's not how it's worked for me.
There are days when I've been here for over a year and something small—a phrase I don't understand, a social custom I misread, a moment where I realize my references don't land—will hit me like it's my first day. I'll feel like a complete outsider all over again. And then there are days when I feel so integrated that I forget I'm not Mexican, until someone asks me where I'm really from and I remember that I'll always be the gringa.
The lesson I've learned is that culture shock isn't something you overcome. It's something you learn to navigate. Some days are easier than others. Some days you laugh at the absurdity of it all. Some days you cry into your pillow because you miss your mom and nobody here makes coffee the way your family does.
Homesickness and Gratitude Can Coexist
One of the strangest parts of expat life is learning to hold two contradictory feelings at once. I can miss Michigan winters and my childhood friends desperately while simultaneously feeling grateful beyond measure for the life I'm building here. I can long for my family's kitchen and also feel completely at home in a small mercado in San Luis Potosí.
This contradiction used to confuse me. I thought it meant I wasn't fully committed to my new life, or that I didn't really belong here. But I've come to understand that it's actually the most honest expression of what it means to live between two worlds. You don't have to choose. You can love where you came from and love where you are now. The ache doesn't disappear, but it transforms into something you carry with you—a reminder of all the places and people that have shaped who you are.
What I've Learned About Myself
Living abroad has taught me things about myself that I'm not sure I could have learned any other way. I've discovered that I'm more resilient than I thought. I've learned that I'm capable of building a life from scratch, of making friends in Spanish, of navigating bureaucracy in a foreign country. I've also learned that I'm more vulnerable than I wanted to admit—that I need community, that I get lonely, that sometimes I'm not okay and that's allowed.
I've learned that cultural differences aren't obstacles to overcome. They're invitations to see the world differently. The way Mexicans prioritize family time, the way conversations meander and take their time, the way humor is used to build connection—these aren't quirks. They're different ways of being human, and they've softened me in ways I needed.
Perhaps most importantly, I've learned that being a gringa isn't something I need to apologize for or try to hide. It's part of my story. I'll always have an accent. I'll always get certain cultural references wrong. I'll always be the foreigner in some contexts. And that's okay. My perspective as an outsider is valuable. My questions, even the naive ones, matter. My journey of learning and growing in this country is legitimate.
Why These Thoughts Matter
If you're reading this and you're considering a move abroad, or you're already abroad and feeling lost, or you're living in your home country but dreaming of something different—I want you to know that what you're feeling is valid. The fear is real. The longing is real. The confusion is real. And so is the possibility of building something beautiful on the other side of it.
These reflections are my attempt to create space for honest conversations about expat life. Not the highlight reel. Not the carefully curated version. The real version—the one where you're learning, growing, stumbling, and discovering all at once. That's where the good stuff happens.