As I dug further, I came across the concept of unresolved grief among highly mobile people like me. At

Reading the articles gave me the validation I needed to feel like I wasn’t just being self-indulgent, wallowing in self-pity, but that I had a point. I could stop being so apologetic about my privilege, afraid of sounding like a brat—a “diplobrat” as we are sometimes called. What I was going through was real.

Another study published in the American Journal of Preventive Medicine tracked every single person born in Denmark between 1971 and 1997—1.4 million people—and found that people who lived in various places growing up had an increased risk of suicide, substance misuse and even early death (Webb, Pedersen & Mok 2016). The more frequent the move,

Introverts who had moved frequently as children were more likely to have died during the ten-year follow-up. That was me, a clear introvert, though one masquerading as an extrovert by necessity.

What people saw was our glamorous lifestyle: all the countries we’ve lived in, the places we’ve traveled to, the languages we speak. They imagine how luxurious it would be to have a chef, a cleaner and a driver. They see the benefits and privileges of a global upbringing, not the difficulties and challenges, and certainly not the idea that such pri

or unzip a pair of tight trousers. I could finally breathe again. The alcohol coursed through my brain, allowing the neurons to reconfigure and snap into place. Click. Then it pumped through my body, radiating into each limb. I could be me now, no inhibitions or social niceties, no norms or expectations.

gone to a kibbutz-style school, where she met her husband. They were happily married until he wanted children, and she started having nightmares about them. So they got divorced.

Their relationship reminded me of that between Ignatius and his mother in A Confederacy of Dunces.

Within the first week, though, groups were formed along ethnic lines, like oil and water forming two separate layers.