One of the hardest parts of raising children overseas is realizing they may end up belonging somewhere different from you.
Not because they’ve rejected where you came from.
Not because they’ve forgotten their roots.
But because their life happened somewhere else.
After eight years in America, I’ve started to realize that’s exactly what’s happened with my daughters.
And strangely enough, it happened without me noticing.
What Raising Children Overseas Taught Me
When we moved from Australia to America, I expected my life to change.
I expected new roads.
New customs.
New ways of doing things.
I expected to spend years learning the differences between the two countries.
What I didn’t fully understand was that moving countries wouldn’t just change me.
It would shape my children’s entire childhood.
The friendships they would form.
The confidence they would develop.
The place they would eventually call home.
Recently, that reality hit me harder than it ever has before.
The Week That Made Me Notice
We’d just come back from Daytona Beach.
Like most dance trips, it was a blur of hotel rooms, elevators, airports, restaurants, competition schedules and far too little sleep.
Parents were surviving on caffeine.
Kids were surviving on excitement.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, I found myself paying attention to my daughters in a different way.
Not just watching them.
Actually noticing them.
The way they spoke to people.
How they handled themselves.
The way they moved through unfamiliar situations.
And I kept finding myself thinking the same thing.
I was never like that at their age.
The Kid Behind The Couch
When I was young, I was painfully shy.
Visitors would come to our house and I’d disappear.
Sometimes behind the couch.
Sometimes into my bedroom.
Anywhere that allowed me to avoid being noticed.
Adults intimidated me.
Groups overwhelmed me.
Confidence wasn’t something that came naturally.
It wasn’t until much later in life that I learned how to navigate those situations comfortably.
Which is probably why my daughters stand out so much to me now.
Because neither of them are that child.
Watching Them Move Through The World
Brianna will happily talk to almost anyone.
She orders her own food.
Asks questions.
Investigates things she probably shouldn’t.
She approaches the world as if it’s open until someone proves otherwise.
Georgia is different.
She’s quieter.
More thoughtful.
More sensitive.
But she has her own confidence.
She’ll walk up to a flight attendant and ask for help.
Navigate an airport.
Handle situations on her own.
She’s not loud.
She’s not pushy.
Just simply capable.
And that’s what struck me.
Both of them are.
In completely different ways.
America Shaped Them Too
When people move overseas, they expect the new country to shape them.
You learn different customs.
Different expressions.
Different social rules.
You learn that biscuits aren’t biscuits.
That football sometimes involves very little foot.
You learn that Americans consider a three-hour drive “close.”
But eventually I realized something else.
America wasn’t only shaping me.
It was shaping my daughters too.
Georgia Carries Two Homes
Georgia was born in Australia.
She still feels connected to that part of her story.
She knows where she was born.
Knows where her parents came from.
She still spells “Mum” correctly, which I consider one of my greatest parenting achievements.
But she has grown up here.
Her school is here.
Her friends are here.
Dance life is here.
And recently she started talking about her dream college.
USC.
The University of South Carolina.
She’s only ten years old, so there is every chance she’ll change her mind another twenty times.
But that’s not really the point.
When she imagines her future, she imagines it here.
Brianna Doesn’t Have The Same Question
Brianna was born in America.
And in many ways, America simply feels like home.
Recently we watched Australia versus the USA on TV at the 2026 World Cup.
When the Australian anthem played, Georgia and I stood up and sang along, hand over our hearts.
When the American anthem played we did too, but Brianna absolutely lit up.
She sang every word.
Then started chanting “USA! USA!”
Meanwhile I stood there having the complicated emotional experience of an Australian father watching his daughter enthusiastically support the opposition.
That was probably the moment I should have figured it out.
Going Back Changed Something
Last year we took the girls back to Australia.
For Georgia especially, I think that trip changed something.
She saw old friends.
Old places.
Parts of her earlier life.
But she also discovered something many adults discover when they move away.
Life doesn’t pause while you’re gone.
People move on.
Friendships evolve.
Places change.
And sometimes you realize the version of home you carried in your head no longer exists exactly the way you remember it.
I think that trip made America feel even more like home for her.
Not because Australia stopped mattering.
But because she realized where her actual life was happening.
The Quiet Realization
As much as Nikki’s parents probably won’t enjoy reading this, I don’t think either of my daughters will move back to Australia.
That feels strange to say out loud.
It’s not sadness exactly.
But it’s not nothing either.
It’s pride mixed with a little grief.
Because if you’re an immigrant parent, you want your children to belong.
And then one day you realize they do.
Just not necessarily in the place you expected.
We Didn’t Raise Copies Of Ourselves
Nikki and I have always tried to let the girls become themselves.
Not smaller versions of us.
Not copies of our childhood.
Their own people.
Georgia’s dance dreams belong to her.
Brianna’s interests belong to her.
Our job isn’t to own those things.
Our job is to support them.
Guide them.
Protect them.
And occasionally pay ridiculous amounts of money for costumes covered in rhinestones.
What America Gave Them
America isn’t perfect.
No country is.
But one thing I’ve noticed is that American culture often encourages children to participate.
To ask questions.
Speak up.
To feel like they belong in the room.
And I think my daughters have absorbed some of that.
Georgia absorbed it quietly.
Brianna absorbed it like a bald eagle wearing glitter shoes.
But they both absorbed it.
And honestly, I’m grateful for that.
Home Is More Complicated Than It Used To Be
One daughter carries Australia within her identity.
The other is deeply, proudly American.
So how exactly am I supposed to turn that into a competition?
I can’t.
And I don’t want to.
Australia shaped me.
America shaped them.
Both countries matter because both countries shaped the people I love most.
Recommended Reading
- The Small Things Australians Miss After Moving to America
- Why Americans Say “You’re Welcome” So Often
- Australia’s Housing Crisis: Why Moving Home Isn’t So Simple
- Why Living Overseas Changes How You Hear Accents
Home Isn’t Always One Place
The biggest thing I’ve learned since moving overseas is that home isn’t always a country.
Sometimes it’s a couch you used to hide behind.
Sometimes it’s an airport gate.
Maybe a dance studio.
Or your daughter confidently ordering her own meal.
Sometimes it’s hearing an anthem that isn’t yours somehow become part of your family story.
And sometimes it’s standing there watching your children move through the world with a confidence you never had at their age.
That’s what happened to me in Daytona.
Not in one dramatic moment.
Not during some life-changing conversation.
Just in a hundred little moments.
Georgia asking questions.
Brianna talking to strangers.
Both of them moving through the world with ease.
And me finally realizing something I probably should have understood years ago.
They’re not growing up overseas.
They’re growing up at home.
Some Great Reading About Home & Identity
- Third Culture Kids: Growing up among worlds
- Raising a Family Overseas: Building Connection With Your Family
- Nourished: Third Culture Kids and the Village They Need
