Why Going Back to Your Home Country Feels So Overwhelming

It kicks in the moment you start packing. You’re excited, maybe even a bit giddy to finally take a break and see your folks. But somewhere between folding that last outfit and double-checking your flight details, the nerves sneak in. Visiting your home country after living in the U.S., whether it’s been five years or fifteen, is never just a vacation. It’s personal. It’s layered. It’s beautiful and heavy all at once.

There’s a reason it feels like a rollercoaster. Because it is.

Why It’s Complicated

You love your family, but they might not fully get your life in the States. The job that keeps you tied up, the steep rent prices you’re up against, and juggling between different identities; it doesn’t always translate well. You might hear a quick “ya ni hablas español” (you don’t even speak Spanish anymore) or notice a pause when you talk about your work or your partner. It’s not always meant in a bad way, but it can sting.

You might also feel judged for being too “American.” For not calling enough, for not visiting sooner. You’re carrying the weight of your decisions and the guilt that comes with them. Then come the classic questions, the ones you never really know how to answer: “¿Cuándo te casas?” (When are you getting married?), “¿Te vas a quedar esta vez?” (Are you staying this time?), “¿Y el otro primo, ya lo viste?” (And the other cousin, have you seen him yet?)

Culture doesn’t stand still. While you’ve been building a life in the U.S., things back home have changed. The slang is different, the politics might make you uncomfortable and even the food spots you used to love have new names or new prices. And you? You’ve changed too.

The Magic Moments

But then it happens.

A familiar song comes on and suddenly you’re 10 years old again, riding in your tío’s car, windows down. You hear your abuela in the kitchen and before she says a word, she’s got your favorite dish on the table. You see your little cousins running around and think, “This is why I came.”

There are these tiny, perfect moments. When the humidity hits your skin and smells exactly like it did growing up. When a neighbor recognizes you and says, “Look who’s here!” and you smile, even if you don’t fully feel like you belong anymore. It doesn’t matter. Your presence still matters.

You laugh with family members you forgot you missed this much. You sit outside late, maybe with a beer or a little coffee, and realize this version of you, the one shaped by two worlds, is still whole.

How to Actually Enjoy the Trip

All that said, here are a few things to keep you grounded:

Journal: When it feels like too much, write it out. Don’t try to make it deep or poetic. Just get it out of your system.
Take Walks: Go out for walks by yourself, without any music. Just take a breath and observe your surroundings. You may not be a tourist, but you’re not exactly a local anymore, either. And that’s perfectly fine.
Schedule Down Time: You don’t need to visit every single cousin every day. Let go of the pressure to be everywhere and please everyone. Remember, you’re only human.
Don’t Force Nostalgia: If a place or moment doesn’t feel the same as it used to, don’t try to force it. You’re not failing; you’re growing.
Say No to Guilt Trips: Both the emotional ones and the additional plans that leave you exhausted. You don’t owe anyone your fatigue.
Reframe the Feeling: You’re not ‘less Latino’ for having lived abroad or for not fitting in perfectly anymore. Embrace being shaped by two cultures and take pride in that.

Coming home is hard, beautiful, and kind of weird. But each visit can still have meaning, even if it doesn’t feel perfect. Maybe that’s the truest kind of home you can have.