When France feels like home (and when it doesn’t)

People often ask me some version of, “So… does France feel like home now?”

It’s a simple question on the surface so to move the conversation along, I usually just say something like, “Yes, I’ve been there a decade so it’s home.” But when I think about it, the real answer isn’t so simple at all. Because the truth is, sometimes it does. And sometimes, it doesn’t.

Home isn’t just an address or a legal residency status. It’s a feeling — one that’s both elusive and deeply personal. And when you’re living abroad, that feeling can shift from one day to the next, so let’s talk about when France does and doesn’t feel like home. 

P.S. I’ve also been asked if I feel French….

When France has felt like home over the years:

–When I navigate a tricky conversation in French without missing a beat. There’s a little thrill when you first realize you no longer have to translate in your head.

–When I greet the baker by name and she does the same. She knows what I’m going to order before I even ask. These tiny rituals make me feel seen and appreciated.

–When I’m walking in the park on a sunny afternoon and the world smells like fresh bread and blooming flowers. Or that amazing chimney smell this time of year. It’s the sensory kind of home — the one you feel in your bones.

–When I instinctively know how to handle a cultural quirk — whether it’s how to navigate a long French dinner or how to order produce at the marché without making a cultural faux pas

In those moments, France isn’t just where I live. It’s where I belong.

When France doesn’t feel like home:

There are other days, though. Days when I feel the gap between “being here” and “being from here.”

— When my French still falters. A momentary brain freeze in the bank or a missed joke at a dinner party can make me feel like I’ve been yanked back to square one. It’s crazy how even still, missing a word or two can throw you off.

— When someone points out my accent and asks “Where are you from?”

— When cultural differences aren’t charming — they’re exhausting. The paperwork, the bureaucracy, the unspoken rules I still haven’t quite mastered.

— When I miss the ease of home-country friendships. Here, every relationship has to be built from scratch, without the shared references and shorthand I grew up with. Sure, we try to embrace the challenge of it but when there are so many other challenges, sometimes you just want things to feel easy.

— When I realize I’ll always carry a part of “otherness” here. No matter how well I integrate, I’m not French. And sometimes, that’s isolating. On good days, I really don’t care, but on hard days, it can feel kind of shitty.

These moments don’t make me love France any less, but they do remind me that “home” isn’t always a constant feeling — especially when you’ve chosen to live somewhere far from where you started.

Do you love “everything about France?” Then you’re not ready to move! >>

The beauty in the in-between

The longer I live here, the more I understand that home doesn’t have to be absolute. It can exist in layers.

I can feel deeply rooted here and still miss certain parts of my old life. I can feel like an insider at my neighborhood café but a total outsider in a government office. I can love living in France and know it was the right choice for me but still yearn for things back in the U.S. sometimes. That’s life.

Living in this in-between space has taught me something freeing: It’s OK if France never feels 100% like home. It means I’m human.

What home really means

I’ve stopped thinking of home as a fixed point. Instead, I think of it as a collection of people, routines, and places where I feel safe, known, and at ease. Some of those are here in France. Some are thousands of miles away. And some, I carry within me no matter where I go.

When France feels like home, I soak it up. When it doesn’t, I remind myself that belonging isn’t a static concept — it’s a relationship. Like any relationship, it has seasons of closeness and distance.

And maybe that’s the most honest answer I can give when people ask me, “Does France feel like home?” Yes. Sometimes. And that’s enough.

Maybe some of you out there get where I’m coming from…. Thanks for reading. 😉