What It Means To Grow Up Abroad

A Texan Reflects on 23 Years in Norway

Photo of author in Norway

When I was twelve in 2002, a court appointed social service worker gave me a choice after a drawn-out custody conflict between in parents. My choices were: remain in Texas with my dad, where I was born and raised — or move to Norway and join my mom and new stepdad for a life abroad.

I chose the latter and that changed everything.

Now, twenty-three years later at thirty-five, I realize how heavy of a decision and monumental of a change that was to place on a sixth grader’s shoulders, a kid who barely understood what it meant to be a person and was deathly afraid of anyone finding out she still secretly played with Barbies.

So, what prompted me to say goodbye to everything I had ever known and hop on a plane to the Arctic Circle?

Well, for one, I leapt at the chance to start anew and be the cool American kid at a new school, thus ensuring my place at the top of the middle school food chain — or so I thought.

Two, I realized a girl on the brink of adolescence needed her mom, and my mom happened to be remarried to a Norwegian man who lived in Norway with my new step-siblings.

And lastly, my sixth grade crush had just rejected me and the world as I knew it was ending.