The Danish dream for me started almost five years ago.
I moved here for love, a Dane brought me here. In my suitcase, I carried hope, work experience, and dreams.
It wasn’t my first time living abroad. I had adapted to new cultures before. I’m originally from Mozambique but spent most of my life in Portugal. Prior to Denmark, I lived in Brussels for three years. I’ve always been open, curious, and willing to grow. I thought Denmark would be another version of that. And this time, I even had a Danish partner.
But as soon as I arrived, the challenges revealed themselves. Something was different, very different. Not all at once, but slowly, things took a turn. It happened in moments: in conversations with SIRI, in job rejections with no feedback, in the silence at social gatherings. It was the subtle, constant feeling of being on the outside. Polite, tolerated, but not truly welcomed.
I don’t write this with bitterness. I write it with honesty. Because this is my story.
What hurts most is not the practical stuff. It’s that over time, you start to internalize the rejection. You begin to wonder: Is it me? Am I doing something wrong? Am I not trying hard enough? And eventually, after enough experiences like that, you begin to wonder if you belong anywhere at all. Who am I? Where can I find myself again?
A few days ago, I came across a headline from The Copenhagen Post: “More internationals are leaving Denmark, and retention rates are declining” and something shifted in me. I was done hiding. I was tired. And I felt the need to speak.
So I dared to tell my truth, through a Linkedin post. I needed someone to see me, to make me feel less alone, and less crazy. I had already lost so much that I did not care anymore.
And then something extraordinary happened.
The post I wrote about my pain, about the human experience of being an immigrant in Denmark, began to spread. People from Sweden, Finland, the Netherlands, Germany, Spain, Belgium, and Brazil reached out. They said, “That’s how I feel too.” They said, “Thank you for putting into words what I have been feeling.”
Even Danes wrote to me, said they had faced something similar after returning from time abroad, that the doors were closed even to them, for daring to grow beyond the system. Some offered to meet up. Others offered opportunities. Many simply said, “I see you.”
And that’s all I wanted: to be seen. To say out loud that not everything is okay. That many of us are doing our best and still feel invisible.
The bigger picture is not just about Denmark. It’s about how difficult it is to feel like you belong anywhere when you’re different. When your background, your name, your accent, or your energy doesn’t fit the mold. When you constantly feel like you have to prove your worth but you can never shine too brightly.
It’s about what happens when you love a place but feel like it doesn’t quite love you back.
And yet, I’m still here. Not because it’s easy, but because my son is here. My partner is here. And deep down, I still believe something better is possible, not just for me, but for all the people who come here with open hearts and full intentions.
Over the past five years, I’ve met many people like me mostly in private spaces. People who are working hard, showing up, and struggling silently.
What I’ve learned is this: vulnerability can be powerful. Authenticity can trigger real conversation. When we tell the truth even when it’s messy or uncertain, we give others permission to do the same. That’s what happened with my post. Not because it was perfect, but because it was real.
I’m still unemployed. I still have difficult days. I still don’t have all the answers. But I have hope. And now, I have more people around me, people who understand, who want to listen, and who believe we can create a society where belonging isn’t something you have to fight for.
So if you’ve ever felt like an outsider, I see you. If you’ve tried and tried and still felt like it wasn’t enough, I see you. And if you’ve ever wondered whether sharing your truth is worth it? it is.
Sometimes, the post you write just for yourself becomes the one that speaks to thousands.
And sometimes, in sharing what feels like your weakness, you discover your greatest strength.
Dare to be yourself.
