Culture Shock: A Lived Experience

Mental health experts have identified a cycle of emotions undergone by ex-patriots – those who spend the first part of their lives in one part of the world, and, for whatever reason, decide to reside in a different part of the world for an extended period of time. This cycle, somewhat dramatically, goes by the name “culture shock.”

Literature on the infamous cycle lists some trendy subtitles to organize the phases of the cycle. According to their taxonomy, during the first few weeks, ex-patriots experience a Honeymoon phase, during which most aspects of the new culture are met with feelings of romanticism and exoticism. There is a sense of fascination and a desire to please all locals encountered, as well as daily discoveries that bring great excitement. After some time has passed, usually 3-6 months, the individual will begin to regard the new culture with increasing anxiety, frustration, even offense. The language barrier becomes more formidable, and excitement turns to disappointment. This stage is known as Culture Shock, or Negotiation. But, after some time, between 6 and 12 months, Reintegration or Adjustment occurs, as one grows accustomed to the new culture and develops routines, conditioning oneself to know what to expect in situations. The new culture is neither romanticized nor dreaded; things feel more “normal”.

The experts have done a knock-out job with their nomenclature, so much so that you’ll hear ambitious young international volunteers walk around their new environments in the first few months proclaiming, “I really am honeymooning!” And on a bad day, you’ll hear murmurs of, “This is definitely culture shock.” But claiming culture shock on a difficult day in a new environment is like claiming clinical depression anytime you feel the slightest hint of sadness.

In addition to their classifications, the experts have created a cozy recipe of distinct time frames for all ex-patriots to follow, promising the desired product, reintegration, in the end. Are you honeymooning? Well, enjoy it while it lasts, because it’s already Month Two, and give it thirty more days until you’ll be knocked down a few rungs. Experiencing culture shock? No worries, you’re in month 7! In 5 months or less, you’ll be home free! Hang in there!

I know my cynicism is somewhat misdirected, and my close friends with psychology degrees may have some words for me upon reading this. The creators of culture shock are only trying to help folks who undergo an abundance of emotions when thrown into a new environment. But I do wonder if these types of analyses go misinterpreted by those to whom they most aptly apply, as in the aforementioned examples.

So what is culture shock? Do you know if you’re in it? Will we only realize it years from now, when our hindsight is 20/20?

In my experience thus far, to use the experts’ taxonomy, “culture shock” can happen on Monday, and you can go back to “honeymooning” on Tuesday. On Wednesday, “reintegration” occurs, but on Thursday, you’re “honeymooning” again. Then on Friday, lo and behold, “culture shock” sets in again. My point? Time frames are irrelevant.

As for how it feels, I’m not sure I agree with the use of “anxiety” in most of the literature. It’s more numbing than the images conjured up by the word “anxiety”. It’s a weariness. All the ways in which you were previously enamored with this new culture, this new people, this new language, have become jaded. It’s the feeling of no longer wanting to make an effort – of wanting your interactions with the people around you to be seamless, uncomplicated, and, if it’s not so much to ask, not so emotionally and intellectually arduous. If it were a physical manifestation, it would be on the verge of tears, or even screaming at the top of one’s lungs. It’s a frustration, an exhaustion, the source of which you can’t quite determine, but it’s there, hovering like a cloud blocking the sun.

It’s the little things.

It’s the belittlement you feel when spoken to in the local language by someone you know is fully capable of speaking English. When you give a helpless look, they laugh without translating what they have said, and you feel as though they’re making a less-than-gentle joke of your inability to speak their language.

It’s the exasperation you feel when you pass by someone you know, by face at least, someone who would normally smile in that charming way people here used to do, but today they give a hurried glance before looking away. Though this happens every day where you’re originally from, it is especially hurtful here, and you wonder if all the smiles before were ever genuine at all.

It’s the fatigue you feel when, out of guilt and obligation, you take on another project somewhere in your life, not because you want to but simply because no one else volunteers, and the heroic pride you used to have in your ability to multitask is replaced with feelings of betrayal – don’t they know how much you have on your plate? Can’t someone else do this one thing?

It’s the bewilderment you feel when you treat yourself to one of the only restaurants on this island, where you spend an hour and a half waiting for your food, and finally threaten to leave, only to be given, instead of an apology, the suggestion that you should still pay for your meal. What happened to “the customer is always right”? Can I speak to your customer service representative?

It’s the exasperation you feel when you spend every minute of your free time one day calling three different numbers and being put on hold eight times before finally reaching a representative of the bank. Read that again - I said the bank, as in the institution with hundreds of thousands of dollars entrusted in its hands. You think to yourself, this would never happen at home.

Such petty problems! But not for you. You have been socialized differently, with grand notions of common courtesy, customer service, professionalism, manners, competitive spirit, and specific social norms. And here you are, at age 22, being asked to relearn every bit of it. To witness. To be affected objectively, superficially, when you can’t imagine anything more personal.

So what is culture shock? It’s all these emotions, all these questions, and so much more, and simply nowhere to put them all – no one to talk with who you feel would adequately understand your position; no flat-rate box in which to pack them and ship them back home; no shelf upon which to place them until your contract here is up. They’re here, right now, and they’ve nowhere to go. And so, they reside exactly where they originated – in your spirit – and that spirit comes to feel heavier and heavier.

Forget about them for a few days, sure, maybe even a week, and call it honeymooning. But they’ll return. And you won’t be “shocked”, not in the least. You’ll have come to expect them, and perhaps have set up elaborate defense systems against them. But they’ll work their way in, and you’ll just have to learn to cope. And when you figure out how, I supposed you could call it reintegration.