What to Do When You Have to Go Back: How Southeast Asians Abroad Can Protect Their Mental Health During Unexpected Goodbyes

Ritika Lashkari

Ever Googled: “I’m being forced to return home after studying abroad — what do I tell my family?”
If yes, you’re not alone.

For thousands of Southeast Asian students, work permit holders, and temporary foreign workers abroad, immigration isn’t just a system—it’s a deeply personal journey. And when policies change suddenly, the emotional toll is often heavier than the financial one.

Let’s talk about it. 

“My visa is ending. I have to go back. Did I let everyone down?”

You didn’t.
But we get why it feels that way.

You packed more than clothes when you left home.
You carried expectations, sacrifices, whispered dreams from parents who may never say, “We’re proud of you,” but feel it deeply.

In Southeast Asian families, success isn’t solo. It’s collective.
Your win is the family’s win. Your struggles? Often hidden.

Now, with immigration changes closing doors to permanent residency, many are facing an unwanted return—not because they failed, but because the system shifted.

“Why does going home feel like shame?”

Because in our cultures, duty often outweighs personal choice.

You might hear:

  • “What happened to your PR?”
  • “Didn’t you say you were settling there?”
  • “What about the money we spent?”

Even when family says none of this out loud, their faces, silence, and sacrifices speak volumes.

And that creates:

  • Guilt (“I didn’t do enough”)
  • Shame (“I disappointed them”)
  • Fear (“How will I face everyone?”)
  • Grief (“I was building a life abroad, and now it’s gone.”)

This isn’t failure.
It’s role strain—juggling multiple identities and emotional obligations in a system designed to overlook your story.


What to Do When You Have to Go Back

How does this pressure show up in real life?

Here’s what to look for:

  • Perfectionism: Feeling like mistakes aren’t allowed.
  • Exhaustion: You’re always “on”—for family, community, survival.
  • Loneliness: No one around you really gets this specific burden.
  • Burnout: Holding it together until something snaps.
  • Identity crisis: Who am I if I’m not the “successful one abroad”?

Now add sudden return, and it becomes:

  • Grieving a life you imagined
  • Fear of going back without answers
  • Silently wishing someone would say, “It’s okay.”


    How do I protect my mental health without disrespecting my roots?

    1. Name It Out Loud

    You can’t soften a burden you won’t name. Acknowledge what you are carrying — not just luggage or work experience, but emotional expectations.

    2. Redefine Success

    Shift your internal definition from “what will make them proud” to “what aligns with who I want to become.”
    Both can exist, but your well-being must matter too.

    3. Rehearse Hard Conversations

    If you’re returning home, plan ahead for how you’ll talk about it with loved ones. Practice self-compassion: you are not a failure. Policy changes are not personal.

    Remind yourself: I am going home because systems changed — not because I wasn’t good enough.

    4. Let Yourself Grieve

    It is okay to mourn the life you were building abroad. Give yourself space to feel this loss fully — so you can process it, not suppress it.

    5. Reconnect with Your Values

    Let this be a chance to realign with the parts of you that no policy can define. Who are you beyond immigration status, beyond work permits, beyond expectations?

    6. Build a Support Circle

    Find people who’ve lived it—diaspora groups on Facebook or meetup groups, mental health advocates, online spaces where you feel connected.

    7. Set Boundaries (Yes, Even with Family)

    You are allowed to thrive in a way that is sustainable, not performative.

    Concluding thoughts
    Going home doesn’t mean going backwards. You faced a system that wasn’t designed for your story—and you showed up anyway.
    You fought. You adapted. You learned. That is strength.

    If you’re going home, go with your head high—not because everything worked out, but because you showed up for yourself and your family in the hardest of times.

    Sometimes the greatest gift you can give your family is not the perfect resume — but the version of yourself that is alive, whole, and mentally well.