I moved from India to Canada for love. I felt like a trailing spouse, but 3 steps helped me rebuild my identity. [Business Insider]

By Ahmed Abed – News journalist

When I boarded that flight from Mumbai to Toronto, I thought I was writing the most romantic chapter of my life. I was moving for love—to join my partner, a Canadian citizen, after two years of long-distance relationship. I had quit a solid reporting job at a national daily, said goodbye to my parents, and packed two suitcases with dreams of a fresh start.

What I didn’t anticipate was how quickly that love story would turn into a quiet identity crisis. Within three months, I became what experts call a “trailing spouse”—the partner who relocates for someone else’s career, life, or dreams. I wasn’t just missing India. I was missing me.

This is not a sob story. It’s a practical guide. If you’ve moved for love and feel like your own life has shrunk to the size of a partner’s shadow, here are three steps that helped me claw my way back.

Step 1: Stop calling yourself a “trailing spouse”

Language shapes identity. Every time I introduced myself as “I moved here for my partner,” I felt a little smaller. That label—trailing spouse—carries passive weight. It implies you’re following, not leading. But here’s the truth: you made a conscious choice to move. That’s agency, not passivity.

I started rephrasing my story. Instead of “I moved for her,” I began saying, “I chose to relocate to Canada for a new chapter.” That shift sounds subtle, but it changed how I saw myself. I wasn’t a dependent. I was an immigrant with a purpose—rebuilding my career and life on my own terms.

Psychologists call this “narrative identity.” By rewriting your personal story, you reclaim ownership of your decisions. I also stopped comparing my journey to my partner’s. She had a job, a network, a familiar culture. I had… Google Maps and a lot of questions. That’s okay. Our paths were different, not unequal.

If you catch yourself using words like “just” or “only” to describe your situation—“I’m just here with him” or “I only do household stuff”—stop. Replace with “I am building my life here.” It feels awkward at first. But after a week, you’ll believe it.

Step 2: Build a solo routine before you build a social circle

Everyone told me to “make friends.” Join a gym, attend meetups, volunteer. But when you’re already exhausted by culture shock and visa paperwork, forced socializing feels like a chore. I failed at this miserably for two months. I attended one networking event where people talked about hockey—which I knew nothing about—and left feeling more isolated.

What worked was creating a routine that didn’t depend on anyone else. I started every morning with a 20-minute walk in my neighbourhood, listening to Indian news podcasts. I found a local library that let me borrow books on Canadian journalism. I signed up for a free online course on data journalism—something I’d always wanted to learn but never had time for in India.

These weren’t “social” activities. They were mine. They gave me structure, a sense of progress, and most importantly, a reminder that I had skills and interests outside of being a partner. After three weeks of this routine, I felt grounded enough to try one meetup—a writers’ group at the library. That led to a freelance assignment. But the key was that I didn’t need the meetup to feel okay. The routine was my anchor.

So if you’re struggling to make friends, pause that pressure. Focus on doing one thing daily that feels like you, not the “partner of.” Cook your comfort food. Read a book in your mother tongue. Take a walk without headphones and let yourself feel sad. That loneliness isn’t a failure—it’s a signal that you need to reconnect with yourself first.

Step 3: Find one thing that is yours—and make it professional

I love writing. But after moving, my writing became limited to emotional WhatsApp messages to my parents. I needed to re-professionalize my passion. That’s when I started a small newsletter about the immigrant experience in Canada. No grand ambitions—just me, a Substack account, and a promise to post twice a week.

It was terrifying. I had to research Canadian media ethics, learn SEO basics, and write about topics like “Why Indian chai doesn’t taste the same in Vancouver.” But within two months, I had 200 subscribers. One of them was a local editor who offered me a freelance gig. That gig turned into a part-time role.

This is the most crucial step: find a project that is yours and treat it like a job. Not a hobby. A job. Set deadlines. Create a workspace. Tell your partner, “From 10 to 12, I’m working on my thing.” It doesn’t have to be paid initially. It could be a blog, a volunteer position, a small business idea, or even a certificate course. The goal is to produce something that gives you a professional identity outside your relationship.

Why does this matter? Because when you’re a trailing spouse, your partner often has the “important” job. Your domestic work is invisible. A professional project makes you visible—to yourself, to your network, and to the job market. It also gives you something to talk about at dinner parties besides “I moved here for love.”

The bottom line: You are not a satellite

Moving for love is brave. But love alone doesn’t pay rent or build a life. Identity is built in the small decisions: the morning walk, the newsletter draft, the rephrased introduction. I’m not saying it’s easy. There were nights I cried over a bowl of instant noodles because everything tasted like homesickness. But step by step, I stopped being a trailing spouse and started being Ahmed—a journalist, a writer, a person who happens to live in Canada.

If you’re reading this and feeling lost, know this: you didn’t move just for someone else. You moved for the possibility of a new version of yourself. Go find her. He. Them. The work is hard, but it’s yours.

Ahmed Abed – News journalist