The Many Faces of Migratory Grief: Naming What We Carry When We Move
Photo by Jan-Niclas Aberle on Unsplash.
When we think about grief, we usually think about loss—of a person, a relationship, or a moment in time that can’t be recovered.
But there’s another kind of grief that often goes unnamed: the kind that comes with movement.
Like birds tracing ancient paths across the sky, many of us migrate for safety, opportunity, or belonging. We follow an inner compass toward what feels like possibility. Yet even in flight, we may look back—missing the landscape that once held us. This is migratory grief, and it shows up not only in the big changes we make, but in the small, everyday moments when our hearts remember home.
What Is Migratory Grief?
Migratory grief is the emotional process of leaving behind familiar people, places, and ways of being. It’s missing the smell of your favorite foods cooking in a family kitchen, the sound of a language that feels like music, or the rhythm of a life that once felt second nature.
It’s not just about where we were—it’s about who we were there. And even when the move is chosen, joyful, or necessary, the loss can still live quietly inside us.
The Impacts of Migratory Grief
Some effects are easier to see:
Loneliness and isolation when community feels harder to find.
Cultural disorientation, like you’re hovering between two worlds.
Loss of confidence or identity when familiar roles no longer fit.
Disconnection from roots, where the rituals that once grounded you feel far away.
And then there are the quieter ripples:
The sudden ache that rises with a familiar smell or song.
The guilt of adapting “too well,” as if thriving means forgetting.
The internal pressure to prove the journey was worth it.
The unspoken grief passed down from those who left before us.
How It Echoes Across Generations
Migration doesn’t end with one flight—it ripples through generations.
First generation: The carriers of loss
Those who left carry the weight of distance in their bones. They’ve given up landscapes, languages, and loved ones, often holding their sorrow close while they focus on survival. Like birds that travel long distances without rest, their endurance becomes the story—while the grief beneath it often goes unnamed.
Second generation: The in-betweeners
Children of immigrants often grow up between skies—torn between the homeland that lives in family stories and the culture that surrounds them. They may feel both gratitude and guilt, connection and displacement. Many become emotional translators, carrying their parents’ memories while trying to find their own direction.
Third generation and beyond: The seekers of story
Later generations may feel the call of return—the instinct to rediscover what was left behind. They sense the echoes of a home they’ve never seen, trying to piece together identity from fragments. This generation often begins to name what others carried in silence, transforming inherited ache into understanding.
When migratory grief is spoken rather than hidden, it stops being a weight we bear alone and becomes part of our shared story—one that holds both loss and renewal.
Honoring the Grief of Movement
Migratory grief doesn’t need to be solved—it needs to be honored. You might start by:
Recreating small rituals that remind you of where you came from.
Building new community that feels like home.
Letting both joy and longing coexist—they can share the same sky.
Naming what’s been lost, and what continues to live within you.
Healing begins when we realize that migration isn’t just about leaving—it’s about carrying.
A Gentle Reminder
Migration is more than a story of loss—it’s also a story of instinct, endurance, and return. Like birds who trace long, unseen routes, we, too, are guided by memory and hope. It’s okay to miss what once was and still love where you’ve landed.
Home doesn’t have to be a single place. It can live in our memories, our bodies, our communities—and in the courage it takes to keep moving toward belonging.
If this resonates, therapy can be a space to explore these layers—your story, your lineage, and the homes you’ve built along the way.
At Collaboration for Psychological Wellness, we hold space for stories of identity, belonging, and healing across generations.
About the Author
After spending years in a local community mental health setting and group practice in leadership positions, Tina D. Shah (PsyD, LP) decided to start Collaboration for Psychological Wellness, LLC to expand access and reduce barriers to services.