And she was right.
It wasn’t just my accent; it was something deeper. My voice now carried a rhythm that didn’t belong entirely to home… or here.
That’s what no one tells you about migration:
You don’t just cross borders; borders start living inside you.
Learning to Live In-Between
Every day feels like a gentle tug-of-war between two versions of me.
The woman who once called one country home, and the woman trying to build another from scratch.
Between “How are you?” and “How are your people?”
Between jollof rice on Sundays and roast chicken dinners with colleagues.
Between wanting to fit in and longing not to lose myself.
You start to realize that migration isn’t just movement…it’s transformation.
You begin translating yourself, not just your words, but your emotions, your dreams, your laughter.
You become fluent in resilience.
The Quiet Grief No One Talks About
There’s a quiet grief that comes with being an immigrant woman.
It’s the grief of fading smells, forgotten slang, missed birthdays, and loved ones you now only see through a screen.
Some days, you ache for the comfort of your mother’s cooking, or the laughter of friends who knew your name before life got heavy.
Other days, you surprise yourself; you make a new friend, find a rhythm, discover a joy that feels like growth.
Living between two worlds means carrying both gratitude and grief sometimes in the same breath.
Becoming More Than One Thing
I’ve come to see this balancing act not as confusion, but expansion.
We are not “half here, half there.”
We are fully both.
We are bridge builders connecting generations, languages, and dreams.
We carry the scent of our homelands in our food, the wisdom of our mothers in our voices, and the courage of pioneers in our walk.
And though the balance isn’t always perfect, it’s beautiful in its imperfection.
Maybe we weren’t meant to “fit in.”
Maybe we were meant to expand the world; to show what belonging looks like when it has more than one language.
To Every Woman Living In-Between
If you’ve ever felt caught between cultures, homes, or versions of yourself, this story is for you.
You are not lost; you are layered.
You are not displaced; you are becoming.
Your story, your accent, your journey ; they all matter here.
Welcome home to Her Immigrant Tales
a space where we turn moments into memories, and memories into movement.
Author’s Note Chidinma J. Ejom:
I started Her Immigrant Tales (HIT) to remind women like us that we are seen, we are enough, and we belong even when the world makes us feel otherwise. This space is for our stories, our healing, and our collective becoming.
Join the HIT Circle. Share your “in-between” story in the comments or tag @HerImmigrantTales on Instagram.
