Living in Germany Is Soul Crushing

Germany is ranked one of the worst places for expats for a very good reason.

AI: Germans: Where’s my beer?

I’m in a hotel room, wondering how it came to this.

Before leaving, I hugged my 6-year-old boy tightly, burying his face on my chest as he cried. I said, “Mama needs some mama time. It’s not your fault. It’s not Papa’s fault. I’ll be back in 3 days.”

I held my husband’s cheek, and he didn’t respond. “Are you angry with me?” I asked. “What do you expect? You’re leaving. You expect me to jump with joy? He said.

Fair point.

Wanting to console him, I said, “I love you.”

But what I really wanted to say was: “Well, you’re not the one who uprooted for love to a country that is not right for you.”

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It all started in Croatia.

My husband, his mom, our son, and I were enjoying a two-week vacation. We had booked a charming stone house in the mountains with a private pool. The sun shone bright every day, and we soaked up the warmth like the desperate German tourists that we were. Well, more like they were.

I’m very much the cheery, friendly “American” who doesn’t quite belong in the stoic countryside of Northern Germany. I put American in quotes because my parents are Nepali, and we moved to Tokyo when I was two. I became American in my mid-20s. So I don’t quite know where I’m from.

But I know I’m not German, no, not at all.

Anyhow, we were strolling along the picturesque coastline of Croatia after a heartfelt dinner of pasta and pizzas. I was busy snapping photos of my son in front of the tropical pine trees that lined the streets when my husband announced that grandma needed to use the toilet for no. 2, meaning we needed to drive back to the Airbnb 15-20 minutes away.

Well, her pristine asshole became the very topic of our late-night argument with me yelling like a lunatic, cursing Germany, and demanding that we needed to leave this “god damn fucked up” country. Trust me, I was confused as much as he was why the her wanting to poop had anything to do with my dislike for Germany.

I expressed my disbelief: “It’s so selfish. Here we are enjoying a cool evening breeze, only to have to go back to cater to her. I would never do that. I would poo in one of the restaurant toilets. And it’s not like she has any health conditions or germ phobia!”

Yep, I had snapped because I had had enough of people doing things without any regard for how it may affect others. And like most arguments, it wasn’t really about the poo. It was about how isolated, lonely, and miserable I was living in Germany, which always leads to the very sensitive topic of why I was in Germany in the first place.

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Seven years ago, I was desperate to be with my now husband. The plan was for him to move to Myanmar. I set up an interview for him, and he went along for the ride. For months, I believed that he was going to be with me in Myanmar.

But one evening, he said he had actually secured a job back in Germany already, meaning he had lied the whole time, making me believe he was going to move for our relationship.

We fought, obviously, and you can guess the rest. I forgave him and moved to Germany instead. I didn’t want to lose him. Big regret because living here has taken my health, my soul, and my safety. I’ve had so many bad experiences here of people being downright mean, which is excused as “They’re just German.”

I’ve had an orthopedic doctor lecture my husband for translating for me. I’ve had a female doctor shame me for not speaking German. “You have to for your son,” she concluded. Receptionists snapping at me when I apologize for my weak German and asking them to repeat what they said.

At family gatherings, I’m that invisible girl in a sea of chatty people.

One time, my husband’s sister-in-law and his sister were chatting about Trump. I was sitting right next to them, an American, but they kept ignoring me. I politely let myself in by agreeing with them. For less than a minute, I felt I connected, and then they were back to ignoring me again. It happens every time. It’s like they hate me or something, and I have no idea why.

Some of the moms are nice, but, unluckily, my boy likes to play with a boy whose mom is not so pleasant. I’ve asked a question in German to be met with a cross, “What?!” or a shrug. Once, we were waiting for this mom to drop off her son at our house. There was a knock at our door, and I saw the little boy holding his knapsack with one hand and the mother driving away.

Stuffs like this erode my self-esteem and self-confidence, so I read. I try to figure out why. I’ve read extensively about German culture and what is needed to make friends or some kind of connection here.

I’ve read that Germans are slow to warm up. They don’t smile at people they don’t know. They pride themselves on being authentic and honest. They don’t make pleasantries. They find talking to strangers a waste of time. To become friends with a German takes months, if not years, but when you do, it’s for life (they say). And the golden rule: If you live here, assimilate and don’t expect them to meet you halfway.

So I joined a Qi Gong group. It’s all in German, but I don’t understand 90% of what is being said. Still, I kept going. Not one person came to talk to me. I went to talk to them. Not one person asked about my background. I asked them. No one seemed interested in forming any connection except staying in their circle. I ended up convulsing and crying in the car, the steering wheel soaked with my tears of desperation.

My husband is aware of my complaints so he suggested I ask the subreddit group /AskaGerman to get some advice on German etiquette (because he has no idea). I asked how I can get along with his family more and whether it’s customary for Germans to gather in the kitchen and talk among themselves, completely ignoring the hosts and other guests (because this happens almost every time when we invite his family over).

I wasn’t prepared for what came next.

A barrage of comments shaming and blaming me for only speaking at the A2 level after 7 years of living here, even after I explained that I was pregnant, had complications after birth, got a chronic illness, and continue to live with it, etc. I thought explaining would garner some understanding, but no. The conclusion was that I should have gathered around the kitchen with them (even though I wouldn’t understand what they were saying) and that in German culture, it’s rude when a person keeps speaking English after living here for that long (although I do try speaking in German).

Wow, icy cold.

No wonder expats ranked Germany one of the worst countries for expats (ranked 50 out of 53 countries) when it comes to these categories: ease of settling, making connections and building a social circle, difficulty making local friends, trying to adapt to cultural differences while not feeling welcomed, and finding it hard to get used to local culture.

I can understand German to a degree now. I’ve spent a lot of money trying to learn the language, but it’s hard to learn a language when you feel like people are constantly judging you. I used to be able to speak more fluently, but now, I stutter and freeze.

In every country that I have lived —Nepal, Thailand, and Myanmar— the locals were understanding. I learned those languages to be able to talk to the locals. I wanted to learn more because the interaction was pleasant, and they supported me. Here, it’s like I have a gun pointed at me. I’m that girl in high school who is a reject and made to feel like it’s her fault for being a reject.

I thought it was because I live in the countryside of Germany, but no. I’m taking an online German course with a group of expats living in Berlin. They say the same, unfortunately. There is even a term called Berliner Schnauze or “attitude of the inhabitants of Berlin, characterized as being outspoken, lacking politeness, and using coarse humour.”

There is no spirit of helping if you aren’t friends enough, and it’s the kind of culture I’ll never get used to. If I smile, it’s wrong. If I ask too many questions, it’s wrong. If I show too much interest, it’s wrong. If I small talk, I have to do it a certain way, not the “American” way. So many damn rules; it’s exhausing.

The more aloof, unempathetic, and logical you are, the more respect you get. Basically, being me is not okay here.

If you travel around Europe, you will see that most tourist destinations cater to Germans. The receptionist will be able to speak German but not English. Basically, German is the universal language in most of Europe. That might be why when I travleled to Turkey and Greece, random German tourists would address me in German.

In other words, Germans don’t need to cater to other cultures or they’re educated not to do so, perhaps. Surprising when German is desperately in need of migrants to fill up key positions like doctors—one in six doctors are foreign citizens. But, again, one in four migrants want to leave for the reasons I’ve cited above, but instead of fixing their own broken system, the German government wants to make it mandatory for doctors who study in Germany to work in Germany for at least five years to make them “repay the costs of this first-class education.”

I say, fix your country, first. Make it more habitable for foreigners and they will flock here, guaranteed.

Here’s a undeniable fact: I have never lived in a country that is so unfriendly to immigrants, including those who are contributing to the economy. I can’t begin to think how it must be for migrants escaping their country and trying to build a stable life for their family here.

Sure, Americans can be unfriendly to immigrants, too. But if you go to the United States, I’ll guarantee you’ll make some connections in a week or a month tops, and they will be interested in your culture and why you live there.

But if you say that to a German, most likely, you’ll get the response: “But it’s so fake.” Well, I’d rather take fake any day of the week than what I’m getting here.

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So, ever since Croatia, my husband and I have been arguing. Most of the grievances are about moving countries. I’ve been researching where to go that is best for my son.

Malaysia, Portugal, Spain, Malta—those are the options now. Carrying the burden of having to uproot my son and my husband is overwhelming. I feel anxious when I think about the what-ifs: what if my husband doesn’t like it, what if my son gets hurt, what if we can’t make ends meet, etc.

So, back to this hotel. I landed here after a huge argument where I tore my husband apart: insulted him, cursed him, and downright made him so upset that he yelled back and shut the door in my face. He’s never done that before.

My attitude is killing our relationship. This place is making me someone I’m not or am I making myself someone I’m not? I used to be upbeat, cheerful, and confident. Now, I’m just another expat in Germany, counting the days when I can leave. For now, this hotel room is my home, or it has been for the last three days. I don’t want to leave, but I must face myself and return to being a mom and a wife again. My six-year-old is missing me. He has messaged me several times already.

I have been dreaming of the hopeful sun of Croatia: the old man selling big, juicy cherries who summoned me to try some, the smiley receptionist at the archaeology museum, the neighborhood grandma gifting fresh eggs from her chickens.

I must remember these moments. Like a tattoo, I must have it engraved in my heart. Moments that say, “Hey June, there are people like you.” “There is a place that will embrace you.” “There is a home away from home.”

A place where your heart is lighter, your shoulders softer, where you can breathe with ease.

For now, I can only dream.