What it means to belong
I’m participating in a documentary on Third Culture Kids (TCKs), and the experience is prompting me to revisit questions I’ve been asking my whole life.
Where do I belong?
What does it mean to belong?
I’m a quintessential TCK: I was born in Hong Kong to a Kiwi father and Australian mother. Since then, I’ve lived in Hong Kong, Sydney, Tokyo and Singapore, with short stints in Shanghai, Antwerp and Bali. My mum is from Adelaide, South Australia, but I’ve never lived there. My dad is from Wellington, NZ, but I’ve never lived there, either.
When people ask me where I’m from… well, the answer is complicated. In a way, I’m from lots of places. I share cultural behaviours and perspectives with people from Hong Kong, Japan, Australia and New Zealand. I can fit in anywhere, and I’d be happy living most places in the world.
I love this, and the open-mindedness my life as a TCK has brought with it. I love the crazy experiences I’ve had.
Separation & disconnection
At times, though, I’ve felt disconnected. Other people seem to feel this innate sense of patriotism, and to have a homing beacon that calls them back to one physical place.
My experience is different. At times, I’ve felt like I was a jack of all trades, and master of none.
Why does belonging matter?
It matters because we’re social mammals – we’re tribal. We’re designed to be in community (even if we also need alone time). We thrive when we have a strong network of friends and loved ones. And instinctively, we seek out community. Our ancient, primal brains freak out at the prospect of being rejected from the tribe.
For our primitive ancestors, rejection from the tribe meant death: we would not survive on our own in the wilderness.
That fear of rejection from the tribe still lives on within us. It’s built into our DNA, and our brains. Our hindbrain – our primal, reptilian brain – is responsible for our survival. It is beyond words: its focus is instinct, and survival. When we feel our survival is threatened, this part of our brain kicks into action, and we go into fight-flight-freeze mode. It’s an ancient response, and an automatic one.
It leads us to all kinds of survival strategies, many of them unhealthy and immature. After all, the primal brain does not understand logic or reason. It developed long before logic and reason even came into the picture.
Is it any wonder, then, that our fear of not belonging creates such a visceral response within us? When rejection meant almost-certain death to our ancestors, is it any wonder that we care deeply about what others think of us? Is it any wonder that we care about belonging?
Trying to fit in
For me, that need to belong meant decades spent trying to shoehorn myself into belonging, decades of behaving in ways that were definitively out of alignment. Thankfully, time and experience have ushered in new perceptions, and new realities. Here’s what I now know:
I belong to me.
Home is wherever I am.
My body is my home for this lifetime.
This last one has reshaped my perspective on my body – big time. Instead of seeing it as something to be whipped into shape or controlled, I’m beginning to see it as something to be appreciated and loved, regardless of its size or strength. My body has held my soul and will hold it for this lifetime… and that is no mean feat.
Maya Angelou spoke about belonging in a 1973 interview, and her well-known quote from this interview resonates with my experience as a TCK, and it will likely resonate with anyone who feels like they don’t belong.
“You are only free when you realise you belong no place – you belong every place – no place at all. The price is high. The rewards are great.”
The rewards
There are many benefits to being a TCK, and to that experience of not belonging. It builds adaptability: that chameleon ability to fit in anywhere, to live anywhere, and to talk to anyone from any walk of life. And also open-mindedness. Not judging people by their creed, by their class, by how much money they have. I choose to listen instead to their stories, and their life experience. Being a TCK has given me that.
Resilience is another gift of the TCK experience: friends leave you to move elsewhere, so you learn to deal with loss and grief at an early age.
So if you have TCK kids, my invitation is this: don’t molly-coddle them. Don’t helicopter parent when they lose friends. Yes, make space for their pain and support them. But allow them to move through their grief and to self-soothe. Allow them to find their own solutions and adapt to their own reality. Trust them to do this. It will build skills they’ll have for life.