Why Immersing in the Culture Helped More Than I Expected

When I first moved to China, I didn’t arrive with a clear plan to “immerse myself”.

I learned a few basic phrases last minute on Duolingo and then hoped it would all work itself out!

I focused on the obvious things: settling into work, navigating the city, figuring out how daily life functioned. Immersion sounded like something abstract and slightly idealistic. Something you might aspire to once everything else felt stable.

In reality, it turned out to be one of the most stabilising things I did in the early months.

Staying on the surface is easier at first

It’s surprisingly easy to live in China while staying at a distance from it.

You can find familiar food, speak mostly English at work, rely on translation apps, and spend your time with other foreign teachers. There’s nothing wrong with that. In the early weeks especially, those spaces can feel like relief. Especially with how easy it is to order take away food in big cities like I was in.

However, I noticed that when I stayed too firmly in those familiar pockets, the strangeness of everything else felt sharper. The difference between “inside” and “outside” became more pronounced. Daily life felt like something I was observing rather than participating in. The signs around the city made no sense to me.

That distance made adjustment harder, not easier.

Small acts of engagement changed the tone

What helped was not dramatic cultural immersion, but small, deliberate acts of engagement.

Making an effort to learn basic Mandarin beyond survival phrases. This is a really good idea. Trying local food without defaulting to what felt comfortable. Accepting invitations, even when I wasn’t sure what to expect. Paying attention to how things were done rather than immediately comparing them to how they would be done at home.

None of this eliminated confusion. But it shifted my relationship to it.

Instead of feeling like I was constantly navigating around a foreign environment, I began to feel like I was slowly entering it.

Language as a bridge, not a barrier

Language was a major part of this shift.

Even limited attempts at speaking Mandarin changed interactions. Shopkeepers softened. Colleagues seemed more at ease. The students appreciated it. Strangers were often visibly appreciative of the effort. The security guards at my building were especially impressed.

I wasn’t suddenly fluent. This takes more time of course. Most conversations remained partial and imperfect. But the act of trying reduced the invisible wall that can form when you rely entirely on translation or others’ English ability.

In those early months, that made a significant difference to how isolated I felt.

If you’re still thinking through whether teaching abroad is right for you, the Start Here page outlines some of the broader patterns that shape those early experiences.

Participation builds orientation

Immersion also created orientation.

When I stayed within familiar routines, the city felt vast and way too big. When I began participating more directly, even in small ways, the environment became more legible.

Understanding how public transport worked. Recognising common phrases. Learning basic social norms. These were not dramatic milestones, but they accumulated.

Over time, China felt less like a backdrop and more like a place I was living within.

Immersion doesn’t mean losing yourself

There is sometimes an unspoken fear that immersing yourself in a different culture requires abandoning parts of who you are.

That wasn’t my experience. It elevated me.

Immersion, at least as I experienced it, was less about adopting everything and more about remaining open long enough to understand it. It didn’t require agreement with every norm or practice. It required attention.

That attention reduced friction. It didn’t remove difference, but it made difference easier to inhabit.

Why this matters in the early stages

In the first few months, it’s tempting to reduce discomfort by narrowing your world. Stick to what’s familiar. Avoid what feels effortful.

In the short term, that can feel protective. In the longer term, it can reinforce the sense of being separate from your surroundings.

Immersion does the opposite. It increases effort slightly, but reduces alienation over time.

For me, that trade-off was worth it.

A question of orientation

Looking back, immersing myself in China didn’t change the external realities of the experience. Work was still work. Language was still difficult. Cultural differences remained.

What changed was my orientation.

I moved from observing to participating, from comparing to learning, from resisting difference to inhabiting it more comfortably.

That shift didn’t happen overnight, and it didn’t feel dramatic. But it made the early months steadier than they might otherwise have been.

Other reflective pieces in the Explained section explore similar themes around adjustment and expectation from different angles.