In the summer of 2013, I moved from Shanghai, China to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, US. The plan to give my son a Western education had been years in the making. When my boyfriend at the time — husband now — moved back to the US and the timing finally aligned, I raised my hand and asked my company for a role. One happened to be open. I took it.
What the offer also said, quietly: I would go from Senior Manager to Manager. A 20% pay cut. In China, I had been identified as high potential — the kind of recognition that opened doors and made the future feel wide open. In Milwaukee, none of that came with me. I arrived as no one, starting over completely in a new world that had no way to read what I carried.
My son came with me. He had studied English for four years in a Chinese elementary school — enough to read a little, but not yet enough to form a well-structured sentence. I also navigated everything in my second language, around the clock: new city, new roads, new workplace, new rules for almost everything.
From the outside: successful relocation. Senior professional. Adjusted.
From the inside: 炼狱. Purgatory. The kind that doesn't show.