I never thought I would feel nervous walking into Stauffer on a Monday afternoon.
Recently, I returned to Kingston after a semester-long exchange in Pamplona, Spain. I made lifelong friends and immersed myself in European life. However, since returning to Queen’s, I’ve found myself experiencing reverse culture shock.
Though new to me, reverse culture shock is a well-established experience among those returning home after extended periods overseas.
Queen’s University’s International Programs Office acknowledges this occurrence, providing information and resources for students returning from exchange. They speak of how easy it is to forget about the anxieties of your life at home while on exchange, and how re-entry can be difficult, even in a place that was once familiar.
I arrogantly thought this somehow wouldn’t apply to me. After growing up in New Zealand and only moving to Canada last year, I was confident my experience moving countries and adapting to new cultures would somehow render me invincible to the blows of reverse culture shock.
I was wrong.
My first week back at Queen’s was riddled with stress. Though my exchange stimulated me both educationally and socially, I was terrified to be back in a Queen’s classroom.
My semester back at Queen’s loomed over me, with three fourth-year seminars in my program—a prospect which chilled me after a semester that felt somewhat carefree. As a once-confident speaker who, if anything, spoke too much in class, I felt incredibly nervous. My heart pounded and my hands shook as I dared to answer a question for participation marks. I damned my body for its betrayal—I had no idea why this was happening to me.
I knew these upper-year classes would be challenging, and this was something I would’ve normally taken in stride. However, the additional factor of reorienting myself back to Canadian life added pressure to my academic performance.
In his book, The Art of Coming Home, Craig Sorti lists several potential side effects that mirror those of culture shock when moving to a new country. These mental and emotional side effects range from feeling marginalized to overexertion, exhaustion, withdrawal, self-doubt, and depression. While I didn’t experience all of these side effects, seeing them listed on paper was sobering. Perhaps I wasn’t as stoic as I imagined myself to be.
Many things in my life at Queen’s differ from my Spanish getaway. I’ve traded eating dinner at 10 p.m. for a 6 p.m. meal, and instead of having a casual drink or two with friends most days, I cash them all in on the weekend.
I’m grateful I had the opportunity to go on exchange, and I learned a lot from my time abroad. I extended myself academically, made friends from all over the world, travelled around Europe with ease, and went from a nonexistent ability to speak Spanish to speaking confidently with friends and strangers at an intermediate level.
I also did many things in Spain I found scary. I ed the women’s rugby team in my city—when I ed, I’d never played rugby before, nor spoken Spanish. The irony of a New Zealander picking up a ion for rugby in Spain wasn’t lost on me or my family, but that made the experience all the more rewarding.
As I nurse myself through the throes of reverse culture shock, I’ll try to incorporate some of the bravery I held overseas. The struggle to find a seat in Stauffer isn’t so scary, after all.
Reverse culture shock is real, and while it’s tough, it’s not forever. Perhaps the answer for me is simple: time to utilize some of my newly acquired Spanish rugby skills and tackle these challenges head on.
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