The Psychology of Not-Belonging

A guide to honouring your roots while making space for growth.

I am the granddaughter of a double refugee.

A child of two immigrants, forcibly displaced from Tanzania and Uganda.

A Sikh, from a warrior lineage that survived a state-sponsored genocide.

My roots burrow deep in Punjab's soil, but my branches unfurl cautiously in foreign winds.

I was raised on stories of loss and resilience, though no one ever called them that. They were simply "what God wanted".

Four languages filled our home – English, Punjabi, Swahili, and Hindi, though none fully belonged to me. English sat sharp on my tongue, crisp and practiced. Punjabi lived in my throat, thick with longing. The others drifted at the edges.

I remember one afternoon at Punjabi school, getting scolded for arguing with my teacher about the translation of 'banana'. I insisted that ndizi (Swahili) was the right word, and not kēhlā (Punjabi). How was I supposed to know where one tongue stopped and the other began? It was the first time I truly felt frustrated by having too much culture within me.

Inside the house, I was a kid who changed the channel to Cartoon Network at every opportunity, only to have it swiftly turned back to Zee TV (a staple channel in every Indian household) when a senior walked into the room.

Outside the house, I became someone else. I softened the edges of my name to make it easier to pronounce. I pretended not to hear jokes about my masala-scented sandwiches.

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In fact, I am a series of contradictions:

I watched iconic Indian epics like Mahabharat with my grandparents, then flicked over to MTV Base to learn hip-hop moves from Usher.

I ran my hands over embroidered, mirrored, and sequined fabrics in Southall's bazaars, but felt embarrassed to wear a salwar kameez in front of my friends.

I knew the shabads written by Nanak by heart, but only hymns praising Jesus left my mouth every morning in school assembly.

I learned that in order to be accepted in the world, I would have to leave parts of myself behind. I learned early how to culture-shift.

I could be "either/or" but not "both/and."

But at 34, I realised I was wrong.

ROOTKEEPERS

is my effort to unlearn.

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The Rootkeeper's Dance

So, how do we honour our roots while still allowing ourselves to blossom in new directions? How do we navigate the space between authenticity and adaptability without feeling like we're betraying either?

After years of stumbling through this territory, I've come up with what I'm calling “The Rootkeeper's Dance” (for now).

GROUND

Start by rooting yourself in what matters most to you – your core values, nourishing traditions, and the stories that shaped you. These aren't chains that constrict you, but anchors that ground you.

EMBODY

Recognise that true authenticity isn't about staying the same. It's about evolving without losing who you are at your core. The most authentic self is one that grows, learns, and adapts – while staying true to its roots.

DISCERN

Just as gardeners prune roots to allow for healthier growth, get curious about which parts of your culture nourish your soul and which might be stifling your evolution. Not every tradition needs to be preserved.

EXPERIMENT

Try new ways of being without the pressure of permanent adoption. Allow yourself to explore different expressions and environments without judgment or commitment.

INTEGRATE

Notice where new growth complements rather than contradicts your grounding. The most sustainable expansions aren't rejections of your foundation but extensions of it.

I invite you to claim your identity as a Rootkeeper and step into this dance, recognising that the roots of a tree both anchor it in the soil and carry the nutrients it needs to grow its fruit. Origins and growth are not in conflict, but interdependent.

I am both

The truth is, this balancing act isn't easy. Most days, it feels like I'm pulled in different directions, as if authenticity and adaptability are opposing forces rather than parts of the same story.

But I've learned that "Rootkeeping" isn't about shrinking to fit someone else's idea of comfort. It's about rooting deeper in who I am, unapologetically, while reaching taller for what lies ahead. I don't have to choose between where I've been and where I'm going. I am both.

And so are you.

Whether you're balancing multiple cultures or untangling parts of yourself caught in others' expectations, remember this: the struggle itself is where wisdom resides.

True belonging isn’t about choosing sides but embracing that complexity. Even at the pinnacle of power, he refused to be reduced to a single narrative and challenged the system from within.

What parts of yourself have you set aside to fit in? And what would it look like to bring them forward?

In reclamation
—

Anoopreet