Male Loneliness After Emigration: Why Men Who Have Left Stay Silent About Their Struggles

He moved abroad two years ago. He rented an apartment, found a job, pays his taxes on time, and seems to have “gotten back on his feet.” When asked how he is doing, he says, “Fine.” But in the evenings, he sits alone, scrolls through his feed, calls friends who have long since stopped being nearby, and cannot put into words exactly what is wrong. Seeing a therapist feels embarrassing. He does not want to burden his partner with it. There is no point posting in the diaspora chat—everyone there only talks about politics anyway. In the end, there is only silence.

This is not an isolated story, but an all-too-familiar scenario. And while Russian-language media write fairly often about expat anxiety, homesickness, and “expat depression,” men’s experience of loneliness is almost always left out—as though men are simply expected to cope in silence by default.

One emigration, different coping strategies

Psychologists who work with people who have relocated agree on one thing: emigration itself is not a gendered process, but the strategies for coping with it very much are. From childhood, women are taught to talk about their feelings, seek support, and build new social circles. Men are taught to keep up appearances and not show that they are struggling. In emigration, this difference becomes a trap.

One revealing study was conducted by Belarusian psychologist Ivan Vasilyuk, who surveyed 160 men aged 18 to 60 in Lithuania, Poland, Georgia, and other countries. He found that the typical scenario looks like this: a man relocates for work or safety reasons, provides for his family financially—and his role seems to end there. While his partner sets up the household, learns the language, and makes new connections, the man remains in a “work bubble,” mostly interacting with the same colleagues he had before the move. A couple of years later, it turns out that he still has not learned the language and does not know where the nearest hospital is—but his anxiety and irritability have been building up.

The age when it is hardest

According to the same study, the most vulnerable group is men aged 30–45. This is typically the age when social expectations peak: owning a home and a car, having status and stability. If all of this had already been achieved back home, only for the move to mean starting over—with a rented apartment and a career reset—the blow to self-esteem is especially severe. According to the psychologist, older men cope with emigration more easily: they no longer feel they have anything to prove to anyone.

Another issue is the erosion of identity. When a dream that took years to achieve—such as owning a home or gaining professional recognition—loses its meaning after the move, while a new dream has yet to take shape, a person is left in limbo: they do not know what to dream about now and feel ashamed of wanting something “small.” Add an involuntary career change—a teacher working as a taxi driver or an engineer as a courier—and you have the classic story of a loss of male identity, something men almost never talk about openly.

A diaspora where you cannot talk about everyday things

Another issue, one that is especially familiar to the post-Soviet Russian-speaking diaspora, is the nature of communication within the community itself. The men surveyed by Vasilyuk noted: you come to a diaspora community looking for genuine human connection, but all anyone talks about is politics and political prisoners. It is almost impossible to discuss everyday matters, sports, or ordinary life—the very things people actually miss. As a result, a space that should theoretically offer support leaves people feeling just as lonely, only now among “their own.”

This is especially relevant now, as the rules are tightening for anti-war Russians and Belarusians in the EU, while the issues of politics and legal status already weigh heavily on them. Diaspora spaces risk becoming places of anxiety rather than support once and for all—unless a deliberate effort is made to create room in them for conversations not only about survival, but also about life.

Stereotypes that hurt men more than you might think

One of the most dangerous stereotypes is the belief that a man must be strong and cope on his own. It acts as a barrier even when help is readily available: people are afraid to admit not only to a psychologist but even to their own partner or a friend that they are struggling. Another, less obvious effect is that men who are doing well after emigrating often keep quiet about it too: in the community, saying “I’m doing fine” is frowned upon and perceived almost as a challenge to the prevailing mood.

Added to this is the fear of entering into a relationship: when someone is convinced that “only a successful man can start a relationship,” while his own status has declined since moving, he may resort to avoidance—either rejecting intimacy altogether or limiting it to no-strings-attached encounters. The result is the same: growing isolation.

What happens to families

For couples who move together, the dynamic shifts as well. While the other partner—often through language classes, working with local colleagues, or the children’s school—integrates into the new environment more quickly, the man remains on the sidelines, performing a single function: earning money. His other roles—husband, father, friend—gradually fall away from this narrow identity. This leads to routine conflicts that may appear to be about everyday matters (“after two years in the country, he still doesn’t know how to make a doctor’s appointment for the child”) but in fact signal a deeper disconnect.

The reverse scenario is also possible: if the other partner does not work and is completely absorbed in running the household, while the man enters local social circles, he finds it easier to adapt—but then other problems emerge. The roles within the couple may shift to the point where the other partner is seen more as a “child” who needs looking after than as an equal.

The body as the last line of defense

Another typically male trait is the strategy of “not seeing a doctor until there is no other choice.” In a new country, where the healthcare system is unfamiliar and explaining symptoms in a foreign language does not come naturally, this tendency only grows stronger. Physical health is neglected alongside mental health, and the two processes reinforce each other: pent-up anxiety and irritability often manifest not as fatigue but as aggression—including within the family.

What really helps

Professionals working in this area agree on several practical points—not universal solutions, but useful guidelines:

• Do not try to keep up with someone else’s pace. Everyone adapts at a different pace, and that is normal—even if fully settling into a new life takes years rather than months.
• Seek support before things become overwhelming. Therapy is not an admission of weakness, but a tool that often pays off even financially: less procrastination, more energy for work and relationships.
• Look for a community based on shared interests, not language. Socializing exclusively with Russian- or Belarusian-speaking people often reproduces old patterns of avoidance rather than helping you integrate into your new life.
• Do not reduce your entire life to a single role. Earning money is not your only purpose; relationships, friendships, hobbies, and physical activity are equally important for resilience.
• Bring movement back to the body—and structure back to your thoughts. Regular physical activity and the simple habit of expressing how you feel—out loud, in a journal, or to anyone at all—are not a panacea, but they have been shown to reduce anxiety.

Why it is especially important to talk about this now

Emigration from Russia and Belarus in recent years is looking less and less like “a startup visa for an IT professional” and more and more like a long process with no clear end: immigration requirements are becoming stricter, scrutiny of Russian and Belarusian citizens is increasing in countries such as Lithuania, and conversations within the diaspora still revolve around politics, leaving no room for a simple “I'm struggling.” Under these conditions, men's silence is not an individual personality trait but a systemic effect: a combination of migration stress, stereotypes about masculinity, and a lack of spaces where people can talk not only about the war and political prisoners, but also about themselves.

A single article cannot change this. But it can at least name the problem—and let those who now spend their evenings sitting silently with their phones in a new rental apartment know that this is not a unique weakness, but a predictable part of a process that many people go through. And the very fact that it can be talked about openly is already a step toward making things easier.