The Expat Mum Who Can’t Go Home: 10 Hard Truths About Divorce Abroad

I received my divorce papers by mail. He had already moved on; the documents simply made it official. Suddenly I had two impossible options: stay in Singapore, a place I could barely afford on my own, or return to Europe — a continent I was raised in, but after sixteen years abroad, no longer felt like mine.

I’m part of that early-2000s expat wave — the real heyday. Back then, moving abroad at 28 felt safe, cool, and endlessly free. I thought it was just an adventure. I didn’t realize that decision would shape the rest of my life in ways I couldn’t have imagined.

People assume that when a marriage ends abroad, you “go home.”

But what if you no longer have a home to return to?

And what if, legally, you’re not even allowed to leave the country with your child?

Many expat mothers only learn this when it’s already too late.

You don’t meet many women living this version of expat life — we stay quiet — but once in a while you recognize the same story. Divorce hurts anywhere, but abroad it doesn’t just end a relationship. It can dismantle your entire foundation: your finances, your visa, your community, even your sense of who you are and where you belong.

Here are ten hard truths divorced expat women rarely say out loud.

1. He moves on faster — and no one is surprised

Western men often receive a kind of attention in Asia they never had at home. Some adapt to it instantly. In Phuket years ago, an English teacher arrived with his wife; within a month he’d left her for a woman he met in a bar. No one was shocked. Stories like this are everywhere.

2. You start again at 47 while he continues the life he already built

He keeps his income and momentum. You rebuild from scratch — retraining, updating your CV, and paying S$23,000 for a degree just to re-enter the workforce. You weren’t “just a homemaker.” You were the stabilizer that held the overseas life together.

3. Expat friendships disappear quickly

People move on two- or three-year cycles. COVID sped everything up; half the people I knew left within months. After divorce, the silence feels sharper because the friendships were real — but temporary from the start.

4. Loneliness becomes part of daily life

At 47, you’re not chasing social circles built around job perks or weekend adventures. You want depth, not endless introductions. And that’s far harder to find in transient expat cities.

5. Therapy exists — but rarely for your budget

International clinics charge international prices. Insurance barely covers mental health. Single mothers abroad carry everything alone: the logistics, the finances, the uncertainty, the grief.

6. The law can trap you

Under the Hague Convention, you cannot relocate your child without the other parent’s consent. Even if going “home” would give you stability or support, one “no” keeps you exactly where you are.

7. You still have to co-parent with the person who contributed to the chaos

Divorce doesn’t change someone’s personality. It just reveals it more clearly. Co-parenting becomes a long-term emotional job with no option to resign.

8. Midlife dating abroad is almost impossible

Western men are often here for temporary chapters. Asian men may feel culturally distant in ways that matter more as you get older. And somewhere in between, the midlife divorcée is expected to be quiet and respectable — definitely not download Tinder.I did anyway.That’s another article.

9. Your future becomes something you wait for

You wait until your child turns 18. Only then can you decide where to live again. Until then, you work, save, and rebuild — hoping life will still allow choices later.

10. You belong everywhere and nowhere

After sixteen years abroad, you’re not Dutch in the way Dutch people expect — and you’re not Singaporean either. You live in-between. When people ask, “Why don’t you just go back to Europe?” they don’t realise Europe isn’t home anymore, and Asia isn’t fully home either.

Some women stay married long after the relationship ends — not out of weakness, but because they understand the cost of living abroad. And for those of us who do leave, the reality is rarely glamorous. I live in a single master bedroom, and when my daughter stays over, she pulls a blanket over herself just to create a corner of privacy. It’s a small moment, but it says everything.

How I make it work

My life became smaller and steadier. I drifted toward a Stoic way of living because there were no other options left. Eventually I had to ask myself two questions:

What do I actually want? And what is realistically within my reach?

The answers were simple: time with my daughter, a routine I could sustain, and a future I could build slowly. I let go of meetups. I let go of dating apps. I learned to sit with myself without feeling like something was missing.

Somewhere in that process, I began training as a counsellor — knowing that one day, women living this same quiet in-between will sit across from me, looking for someone who understands the terrain.

If you’re living this version of expat life after divorce, you’re not alone. You’re not behind. You’re letting go of a life you once imagined and learning to build a new one from the inside out.

And for now — that’s enough.