The unromantic, honest reasons I belong in France

People think that moving to France is about romance, social media-worthy moments, and living like you’re always on vacation. And sure, those things exist, but none of them are the real reasons I belong here. Let me start off by saying that France isn’t my “dream country.” Real life isn’t always a dream and dream countries don’t exist anyway. It’s something quieter and more grounded than that. At this point, it’s most certainly home.

I didn’t move to France because I was chasing a fantasy or looking for an escape. In fact, I first came here for a job. Does life here feel like a romantic fantasy? It sure can, but that’s not real life and the reality is different.

If anything, France has taught me how unromantic real life actually is… and somehow, that’s exactly why it fits.

France didn’t seduce me. It challenged me. And instead of running back home when it got hard, I’ve stuck it out. (which is interesting because it was never our plan to stay here longterm!) It even showed me things I didn’t know I was missing.

It sounds weird to say this, but France is where I’ve grown up. Yes, I moved here in my 20s, not as a kid, so I was grown-ish already in a lot of respects. But mentally and maturity wise, I’ve done a lot of growing up since 2012 as I’ve seen more, done more and just experienced life’s ups and downs. It was here where I learned about the depths of grief. Of loss. Of acceptance. Of moving forward with the pain we carry.

It’s the place where my personality, my values, and the way I want to live finally stopped feeling out of sync. Was it a coincidence that I just happened to be living in France when I felt the shift? Maybe, but I don’t think so!

Anyway, there are a lot of reasons why I feel I belong in France, so here goes…. 

I belong somewhere that doesn’t reward burnout

I’ve mentioned this one a lot over the years on the blog. I HAAAAATE rushing (and being late). I know people who constantly have to have something to do and they thrive in that environment of constantly pushing themselves to their limits. Their daily planner is overflowing with dates and appointments that schedule their life seemingly down to the minute.

I’m naturally someone who stresses if I have to rush or have too much going on, so France and I get along very well in this respect. 

In fact, it was one of the first things I noticed about France. Yes, I noticed the beauty and amazing food too, but a stark difference to me was the pace. Sure, maybe it was annoying at first with stores and business closing for lunch and sometimes being closed on Sundays and Mondays. But when you think about it, it’s about preserving one’s peace and the fact that capitalism isn’t the end-all-be-all of why we get up in the morning.

This more relaxed pace isn’t in a slow or lazy way, but intentional. Meals take time (and you don’t eat at your work desk while multitasking!). FYI, Tom still comes home for an hour or so every day for lunch. Stores close so employees can rest. Life doesn’t feel like a productivity contest where everyone’s pretending NOT to be exhausted.

If you’re American too, you come from a culture where being busy feels like a badge of honor and rest feels suspicious, like you’re doing something wrong. Or even worse, that you’re forced onto the hamster wheel of burnout just to keep your family’s health insurance, which is attached to your job.

France quietly nopes out of that narrative. FYI, health insurance in France is NOT linked to your employer, so you won’t lose coverage if you lose your job. (and medical care is pretty good here, but definitely not perfect).

Here, pausing isn’t something you have justify. Long lunches aren’t a personality flaw. Taking time off isn’t something to apologize for or be nervous about. And no one gives you a high five when you work yourself into the ground.

In France, five weeks of paid time off is required by law for all employees. It’s not a perk of working for a good employer. On top of that, many employees get more vacation time when you factor in holidays, RTT, and other benefits.

That alone told me something important: I don’t belong in a place that confuses exhaustion with ambition. France gets it right. (and a lot of other things!)

I take food seriously 

I don’t just like food. I care about it in a very French way now. The pleasure of going to le marché (ok but not after 8am, let’s be real, because spending 30 minutes in line isn’t fun at all), of prioritizing seasonal produce, and trying new recipes and ways of preparing dishes. In fact, there are a bunch of foods I never really had until I moved to France!

The idea that lunch deserves real plates is something I can get behind. I also love that bread isn’t an afterthought. Eating well doesn’t have to be fancy or expensive either, but it does deserve attention. The French respect their food enough to prepare it and eat it with care. 

France aligns with my belief that food is part of health, culture, and pleasure. It’s not something to rush through between emails or grab on the go (ok sometimes sure, but it’s not the norm).

I absolutely belong in a country where quality food is easy to find and celebrated.

I’m (more) comfortable with challenges

France is not simple.

Its systems, rules, language (even for native speakers), social codes, and unspoken expectations are layered and sometimes exhausting. Then add in all the logistical challenges of moving here as a foreigner.

France sure as hell toughened me up. I felt (and still feel sometimes) that moving here was like getting thrown into the deep end of the pool. Luckily, I know how to swim, but sometimes you’re just tired and have to tread water.

This was a slap in the face for someone who had things relatively easy growing up. All I had to do was show up to school and go to class, keep my head down, put in the work, and I’d be OK in the world. But all of that gets shaken up big time when you leave the comforts of home and embark on the biggest life change ever when you move abroad. I don’t regret any of it, though.

The lesson here is that I don’t need everything to be easy to feel like it was worth it. In fact, we never grow if we stay in our comfort zone, so I’d even say it feels MORE worth it BECAUSE of the challenges. But gosh, did this lesson take a LONG TIME to learn.

Along with that, living in France means regularly being reminded that YOU are not the default.

You adapt. You listen more. You learn how things are done before trying to change them. You accept that not everything revolves around your comfort. Yeah, it feels a bit prickly at first (and yeah if I’m honest it still does sometimes), but it’s a good thing, as I said before, to be thrown wayyyy outside of your comfort zone.

Also, France doesn’t bend over backward to validate everyone’s preferences, moods, or expectations (definitely not for foreigners either) and weirdly, I think that’s a good thing. Special accommodations aren’t always an option, you won’t be the exception to the rule, and the customer is definitely NOT always right. You as the individual don’t matter in the same way you might be used to back home.

I belong in a place that assumes adults can handle nuance and getting their feathers ruffled a bit. And damnnnn have my feathers been ruffled. It builds resilience and teaches you to adapt and grow. Easy? No. Worth it? Yes.

My job isn’t my identity or ALL of me

In France, who you are isn’t automatically defined by what you do for work. Something I noticed in France is that if you meet a doctor out socially, they’re introduced by their first name without the doctor prefix. As it turns out, my in-laws’ neighbor was a doctor. I just knew him as Jean.

I feel like in the U.S., if you’re a doctor of any type, you’re always introduced as such, as if your identity wouldn’t exist if you weren’t a doctor first and foremost. It’s just a different way of seeing things.

People ask what you do in France, yes, but it doesn’t carry the same weight. It’s more about curiosity and less about defining you. Your worth doesn’t rise and fall with your productivity, income, or ambition (or lack thereof).

I belong somewhere that leaves space for being a person outside of output. Your job doesn’t define your worth.

Along with that, there’s comfort in living somewhere that doesn’t require constant enthusiasm, forced positivity, or performative friendliness and smiling.

It’s enough to just be.

I don’t need constant entertainment

I’m a homebody through and through, yet I’m someone who is never bored. There’s always something to do or think about or be a part of. France doesn’t spoon-feed stimulation and I love that. Maybe it’s just me, but I seem to see fewer kids glued to their tablets when out to dinner in France.

Anyway, you’ll notice there’s stillness here. Quiet Sundays. Long meals. Evenings without plans. And instead of filling every gap, people let themselves breathe. And I’ve always felt like the calmest version of myself when I’m not constantly moving.

I belong in a place that trusts you to sit with yourself. And I do that a lot.

***

So what does all this mean? It means I’m more resilient than I thought.

No clue if we’ll always live in France, but I think this means I’m confident in knowing I’ll be OK anywhere. I don’t think it means I could never feel at home elsewhere, but I guess I’ve acclimated to the French way of doing things. (maybe too much? :-)). So yeah, I’ve grown up in France in a sense. Choosing to live here was the most adult decision I’ve ever made.

What about you?

P.S. If you’re curious about whether or not I think life in France is as good as it looks, I have a nuanced perspective here.

P.P.S. I linked to a bunch of my archive posts throughout this article because its’ 2026, and I have a TON of content that has a lot more to say. I’ve been at it since 2012! So I hope you click around and stay for a while.