Living abroad is immersion therapy for perfectionism

Daycare drop-offs are another lesson in humility as an American mom in Paris

Neighborhood natural wine bar in Montmartre

Moving abroad is not for those with fragile egos and who like to have all the answers. Every aspect of life is just a little (or a lot) different, whether it is finding an apartment, opening a bank account, or, let’s say, daycare drop-offs. Moving to a country with a different language is also not for the easily embarrassed. It’s a daily lesson in humility, even without a four-year-old pointing and laughing at your butchery of the French language.

Well, as we’d have it, I’m one with a fragile ego.

I’m self-aware enough to know it. I like to have all the answers. I can get preemptively embarrassed over the mere theoretical possibility of looking like an idiot over language mixups or cultural faux pas. My preferred way to learn French is in a classroom environment with zero real-life consequences, well-prepared speeches, and a curated line of questions and answers.

Some days, it is easier to imagine the quick path to learning without the messy middle and looking like a fool whenever I open my mouth.

Let me have that fantasy.

Trust me, I’ve had my fair share of brilliant language and culture fails, but this one takes the cake. Last year, recently settled into Porto, I eagerly set out to test my limited Portuguese skills. At a new restaurant, I sat down, perused the menu, and confidently asked for pão (bread), as one does. I’ve never seen a waiter’s head snap around so quickly with a confused and concerned look on his face. I panicked and immediately pivoted to English, “uh, bread, please!” About a month later, a friend told me about her favorite mixups in the Portuguese language.

Douro riverfront in Porto

So, fun fact! It turns out that if you do not pronounce pão with sufficient nasal vowel sounds, you’re actually asking for pao, which, ahem…. is not bread… it’s stick… or in slang, 🍆!! You can imagine my retroactive mortification. I don’t think I ever had the guts to say bread again in Portuguese.

Learning a new language while living in a new country is the best exposure therapy for perfectionism.

I love to tell myself if I can only control and master all the elements, I’ll never fail. That storyline feels so good, right? I'll never fail if I am well-prepared, well-intentioned, and can anticipate every move. The false facade of confidence and safety that my favorite story brings.

Turns out reality won’t let you get away with that.

So, I’ll continue to muddle my way through with my infantile language skills. At crèche (daycare) dropoffs, I’ll remember how to tell his teachers in perfect French that he ate a big breakfast at eight this morning.

Then, I’ll inevitably panic. Between the door, wrestling a toddler out of winter gear, and the front door of his class, I’ll forget the well-rehearsed sentence I studied via Google Translate on my walk over. Instead of telling his teachers that he woke up at 7h30, I’ll mutter dodo (French slang for sleep) and mime eyes opening in hopes they understand.

Maybe, one day soon, I won’t dread daycare drop-offs.

🫶To all the lifelong learners and recovering perfectionists, what are your tips and tricks for getting through the messy middle of doing something new? Let’s chat in the comments!

I hope you all are having a magical holiday season — slowing down, leaving behind a little stress, and soaking up the joy whenever possible, even for a moment.

Until next time,

P.S. Do I have any Word of the Year fans out there? I’m just starting to think about my intentions for 2025. This year, it was all about Delight, a perfect fit for an unexpected move to France.

If you’re new to setting a one-word intention for the year, check out my post:

Discovering Delight