The Reality of International Marriage Part 2: Parenting in the UK and the Quiet Drift Between Us
- Locus of Life
- Oct 17, 2025
- 8 min read
Updated: Apr 30
International Marriage and the Beginning of Parenting Abroad
Eight years after we married, I was finally blessed with our long-awaited son.
The birth of my son brought enormous joy into my life.
But at the same time, this was also when our relationship as a couple began to shift, little by little.
Around the time he was born, Japan Airlines was offering a voluntary early retirement scheme. Realising that it would be difficult to continue flying while caring for a young child, I applied for the scheme and chose to focus on raising our son.
At about the same time, my husband had started working at a Japanese bank, so I felt reassured that we would have less to worry about financially.
But back then, I had not yet truly understood how lonely and fragile it can feel to raise a child for the first time in a foreign country.
I had hardly any friends nearby.
My parents were in Japan.
The only person I could rely on was my husband.
Beginning parenthood in such an environment turned out to be far more difficult than I had imagined.
The Loneliness I Felt While Parenting in the UK
Before our son was born, our life as a couple felt quite manageable.
There were not many occasions when I needed to visit a hospital, and when I did, my husband would often come with me.
But once our son arrived, the number of medical visits increased dramatically. Vaccinations, illnesses, concerns about his development.
Each time, I had to listen to explanations in English and make decisions within an unfamiliar healthcare system.
The Quiet Anxiety of Having No One Close By
If I had been in Japan, I might have been able to talk things over with my mother or my family.
I might have been able to ask a friend, “Is this normal?”
But while parenting in the UK, I did not have someone close by with whom I could easily share the small worries of everyday life.
The night feeds.
The exhaustion of holding a baby who would not stop crying.
The fear that something might be wrong with his health.
The paperwork for hospitals and nurseries.
Each of these may be experiences that many parents go through.
But facing them in a foreign country, in a different language, and without family support, placed a great weight on my heart.
The Healthcare System and the Language Barrier
The healthcare system in the UK is very different from the one in Japan.
Even when things were explained to me using medical terms, I would sometimes leave thinking I had understood, only to come home and feel uneasy, wondering, “What did that actually mean?”
Sometimes, my husband would be frustrated with me, and I would feel acutely powerless.
It was not that I could not understand English at all.
But understanding and making decisions about my child’s health in a second language carried a kind of pressure that was very different from everyday conversation.
I have to be a good mother.
But there is so much I do not understand.
Those thoughts gradually began to weigh on my heart.
How Parenting Slowly Changed Our Relationship
Exhausted in body and mind from caring for our son, I began to avoid the long, gentle conversations in English that I used to have with my husband.
I had less and less emotional space to consider his feelings.
Looking back, I think he too may have felt unhappy with the way I was changing.
Different Values Around Work and Motherhood
When our son turned three and began nursery, my husband told me he wanted me to go back to work.
But for me at that time, my deepest priority was to raise our son properly.
I believed that while my child was still young, it was important for me to be near him.
Looking back now, this was where the difference in our cultures and values quietly emerged.
In the UK, it is relatively common for mothers to work outside the home.
In the Japan I grew up in, especially for my generation, the idea that mothers stayed at home to care for the family while children were small was still strongly present.
It was not a question of who was right or wrong.
But at the time, we did not have the emotional space as a couple to truly understand each other’s perspectives.
Small Disagreements Around Sleep and Meals
There were also differences in our ideas about parenting.
When our son was still a baby, my husband said, “It’s about time he slept on his own in his own room.”
But I felt strongly hesitant to leave such a young child to sleep alone.
Later, when our son started primary school, we also began to disagree about meals.
My husband felt, “He eats at school, so a light meal in the evening is enough.”
But because I could not be sure how much he was actually eating during the day, I wanted to prepare a proper, balanced dinner for him.
These may seem like small differences.
But when exhaustion and loneliness pile up during the early years of parenting, even small differences can grow into significant tension between a couple.
The Pain of Talking and Still Not Being Understood
From the very beginning of our marriage, we had agreed:
“Because we come from different cultures and backgrounds, we will talk about everything.”
But once parenting began, our conversations were no longer the same as they had been.
I was utterly exhausted, and I no longer had the inner space to express my feelings calmly.
My husband, too, was carrying his own frustrations.
“I left Japan and have been doing my best in this country. Why does he keep asking me to do more?”
“He is in his own country, surrounded by his family and friends, living in his own language. Why can he not see how lonely I feel?”
These thoughts grew quietly, and steadily, within me.
Looking back, I can see now that, although I had chosen to come to the UK myself, I may have been turning the burden of that loneliness onto him.
Looking back, I also wonder whether I may have been close to postnatal depression at the time.
But back then, I was not even able to recognise how exhausted I had become.
Beneath the surface of our seemingly peaceful days, our relationship may have been quietly unravelling, far more than I had realised.
A Sudden Turning Point and a Deepening Sense of Loneliness
Around this time, my husband had once suggested that we go to couples counselling together.
But at that point, I did not believe in counselling.
I thought, “Rather than relying on someone else, we should solve this between ourselves.”
Looking back, I now realise that the very idea of seeking psychological support was something I had not yet been able to imagine.
The fact that I declined that suggestion was later used in court to portray me as someone who had no intention of repairing the relationship.
Then, in 2016, a stranger arrived at our home one day and handed me a Prohibited Steps Order and a Divorce Petition.
For me, it felt like a complete bolt from the blue.
My husband had never once spoken the word “divorce” to me directly.
That is why, when this reality was suddenly placed in front of me as a legal procedure, it was incredibly difficult to understand or accept.
In addition, at the hearing, not only my son’s passport but also my own passport had to be handed over.
At that time, I did not fully understand the legal process. I was already overwhelmed simply trying to absorb what was happening to me.
Regarding my son’s passport, perhaps the court was considering questions of safety around a child’s movement.
But the fact that even my own passport had to leave my hands brought a deep sense of shock and disorientation.
Afterwards, I lived for a long while unable to travel freely back to Japan.
This was not simply a restriction on movement. It was an experience that quietly shook my sense of freedom and dignity.
It felt as though I was being treated as someone who had done something wrong, and I was gradually enveloped by a deep sense of powerlessness and loneliness.
In a foreign country, with limited understanding of the legal system and the language, I did not know how to protect myself.
I did not know whom I could trust.
The loneliness of that period is so deep that, even now, looking back, it is not easy to put into words.
To Those Trying Their Best in International Marriage and Parenting Abroad
Parenting in a foreign country carries far more weight than is often visible from the outside.
The language barrier.
The unfamiliar systems.
The absence of family.
Different values between partners.
And the silent pressure of, “Because I chose this, I have to keep going.”
Becoming exhausted under such circumstances is never a sign of weakness.
Because you love your child, you become anxious.
Because you want to protect your family, you give everything you have.
Because you are quietly trying so hard in a foreign country, your heart, too, can sometimes reach its limits.
If you are now feeling overwhelmed by parenting or by your international marriage, please try not to be too hard on yourself.
There are real reasons behind the loneliness and unease you are feeling.
You are doing so well today, even if no one else seems to notice.
The quiet effort you carry, day after day, is truly significant.
In Part 3, I will share the reality of the divorce proceedings that followed, how I slowly made my way through that difficult chapter, and the lessons that have now become the foundation of who I am today.
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In the midst of parenting and international marriage abroad, it is easy to find yourself quietly tightening, day after day, without even realising it.
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