When Belonging Isn’t Simple: Raising Third-Culture Kids in Western “normal” Schools that aren’t in your home country

Every Monday morning, my twins try to be late for school. Not because they hate school—but because that’s when the Australian anthem is sung.

At first, they were into it. Learning the anthem felt like part of the cultural experience—something new, something fun. But week after week? They started rolling their eyes. Not because they don’t respect it, but because deep down, they know—it’s not theirs.

Instead, it lit a fire under them to learn our Dutch national anthem. And let me tell you, if you’ve ever dissected 16th-century lyrics with 9-year-olds, you’ll know it’s a wild ride. History lessons, awkward old-fashioned lines, and lots of “Mum, what does that even mean?”

That’s the life of third-culture kids. They don’t just absorb what’s around them. They compare. They question. They look for themselves in it—and half the time, they don’t find an easy answer.

The twins after a challenging day at school, a cup of Yo Chi has been our saving grace.

The Challenge of “Normal” Schools

Here’s the thing about Western schools: the hardest part isn’t the classes, the teachers, or the system itself. It’s that my kids are surrounded by children who belong.

And my girls feel they don’t. They’re very aware that their life here is temporary. Their classmates are digging roots, and mine are already halfway packed for the next chapter. That knowledge shadows every school event, every friendship, every anthem on a Monday morning.

When we first arrived in Sydney, I was genuinely excited about the “normal” school thing. I thought: how great, they’ll just be kids among kids, like my husband and I were growing up.

But I soon realized—what feels “normal” to me doesn’t feel normal to them.

They’ve already built resilience in ways most kids their age haven’t. They’ve said goodbye too many times. They know what it means to start over. And because of that, they’re more mature than their years—and more aware of life’s impermanence than any 9- or 10-year-old should have to be.

That maturity is a gift, yes. But it also makes them outsiders in a place where other kids have never had to think twice about staying put.

The Pros and Cons of International Schools

And this is why international schools can feel like a lifeline. In those classrooms, they’re not the “different” ones. They don’t have to explain why their grandparents live a 24-hour flight away, or why they’ve had three different homerooms in five years. Everyone just… gets it.

But let’s not sugar-coat it. International schools have their own heartbreak built in. The friendships are deep but short-lived. One year you’ve got your forever crew, and the next? Half of them are gone. The revolving door never stops.

And here’s something I see much more clearly now: IB and international schools are often deliberately neutral and yet deeply inclusive. That’s not an accident. It’s a design choice. When you’ve got a classroom full of kids from 30 nationalities, neutrality becomes the glue, and diversity is very much celebrated. It creates space where no one’s identity dominates, but everyone’s is respected. It’s not perfect, but there’s wisdom in that balance.

So yes—international schools mirror the third-culture kid lifestyle. But that mirror can be both comforting and brutal.

My Lesson

Raising third-culture kids in a Western country without the support of an international school doesn’t really work.For me, for my kids.

Sure, some kids adapt.My oldest has, she is loving Aussie High school and she has formed the most beautiful friendship with her bestie. But let’s be honest—adapting isn’t the same as belonging. And resilience? It’s not the same as thriving. Too many times we look at a child “coping” and convince ourselves they’re fine, although in her case, I think she is actually fine.

Over time, I’ve learned there’s an age window for expat life in Western countries. When they’re little, it can work. You’re still their world. Their social life is basically playdates you arrange and routines you keep.

But once peers become more important than parents? That’s when the cracks start showing. That’s when I’d say: either go home and let them have a stable, “normal” school experience in your home country—the place where your family is, where your cultural roots are, where their identity can connect—or lean all the way into the expat life with international schools, and embrace the transient community for what it is. I think temporary life in a normal school outside your country is hard if you are not intending to stay.

That’s my personal view. Other families will have very different stories, and that’s fine. But for me, the biggest mistake would be to ignore what my kids are actually living and try to force them into a life that doesn’t fit.

Where We’re At

For us, it’s been mixed. One child is thriving in the Western school system. The twins are still trying to find their footing.

And my role? It’s not to find the “perfect” answer. It’s to listen, to validate, and to make sure my kids feel seen—whether that’s in the friends they make, the rituals we keep at home, or the conversations we have about belonging and identity. But for me, it’s now about making a choice. I owe it to them to have a clear understanding of what they are and where they fit in.

Final Thoughts

Third-culture kids live between worlds. They carry the gifts of resilience, perspective, and adaptability. But they also carry the weight of identity struggles, loneliness, and constant goodbyes.

As parents, our job isn’t to make them “normal.” It’s to embrace who they are. To stop pretending a standard school system will give them what they need. To acknowledge the mess, the nuance, and yes—the beauty of raising children who belong everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Because they’re not “normal kids.” They’re third-culture kids. And that’s not a problem to fix—it’s a reality to honor.