Can you design belonging? Exploring interior design for expats in the Netherlands

Moving to another country changes more than your address. It changes routines, language, social codes and often the way you see yourself. Yet one part of relocation is rarely discussed: how long it can take for a house to actually feel like home.

I often meet internationals in the Netherlands who live in beautiful houses or apartments but still say the place does not really feel like theirs.

The interior may carry traces of a previous tenant, furniture chosen quickly after relocation, or rooms that never found their purpose. The home may be technically finished, yet emotionally it feels fragmented.

The emotional gap between having a house & feeling at home

I recognise that feeling myself. When I first moved to the Netherlands, I lived in an apartment my partner had furnished. It was comfortable, but it was his space.

That changed when we later bought a house and shaped it together. The environment reflected both of us, as the greenery and old trees reminded me of my childhood home.

For me, that is the difference between having a house and feeling at home: this is your base, where you can exhale and no longer need to perform or adapt.

How the nervous system adapts to unfamiliar spaces 

Belonging is not only emotional; it is embodied. After moving countries, much of what surrounds us is unfamiliar: not only language and culture, but also sounds, architecture, materials, light and the rhythms of daily life.

Our nervous system does not yet have a history with these cues. Familiarity develops through repetition. We learn the sounds of the neighbourhood, notice how daylight moves through the room, and begin to associate particular places with rest or connection.

Over time, routines form, memories accumulate and the environment becomes connected with our own life. Belonging cannot simply be installed on moving day - but it also does not require a major renovation. Sometimes it begins with one corner, a familiar object, a better layout or a ritual.

Looking beyond what a home looks like

Interior design has traditionally been highly visual. Colour, style, furniture and layout matter, but for me they are not where the process should begin.

I begin with two questions: How do you want to live here? How are your body and mind already responding to the space you have?

People are not always able to explain why a room makes them tense or uncomfortable. So I pay attention to where they settle, what they avoid and where they seem more at ease. This matters whether you are renovating, renting or simply trying to make one room work better.

Designing around the person, not the rule

One client made this particularly clear. She told me she hated wood, yet her ground floor had dark parquet. I did not ask her to justify it. If something makes someone deeply uncomfortable, I take that response seriously.

She also had a demanding job and found it difficult to relax at home. In her L-shaped living room, her husband and son naturally occupied the sofa and gaming area, while she had no place that felt like hers.

We reconsidered how the family occupied the room and created two connected zones. She gained a place to sit, look into the garden, and remain connected with the family while still having space of her own.

The lesson was not simply about buying different furniture. It was recognising that the room did not support everyone equally. Sometimes moving a chair, changing a layout or creating a small place to retreat can shift how a room feels.

Afterwards, she said the house finally felt like a home. It reinforced something important: our reactions to interiors should not automatically be reduced to taste. A material one person experiences as warm may mean something different to someone else.

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There is no formula for an expat home

The same applies in multicultural homes. What looks like a disagreement about style may reflect different ideas of privacy, order, hospitality or togetherness. One person may enjoy an open, lively room while another needs enclosure and quiet.

These differences do not come only from nationality. Personality, work, life experience and sensory needs also play a role. This is why I am wary of designing for categories. There is no single “expat interior”.

International life changes us. Some parts of our previous identity remain important, others fall away and new ones emerge. A home can hold those layers and support the person we are becoming.

So, can you design belonging?

Not directly. Belonging cannot be bought, styled or installed. But we can support some of the conditions that allow it to grow: safety, autonomy, familiarity, connection, sensory comfort and space for everyday rituals.

Sometimes that means a full redesign. Sometimes it means moving the sofa, changing the lighting, displaying something meaningful or creating a place to retreat.

And then we need to live there. Mornings at the kitchen counter, evenings on the sofa, family dinners and quiet moments alone gradually turn an environment into a place our body and mind recognise as part of our life.

Perhaps that is what belonging really is: a relationship between person and place that design can help support. So when creating a home abroad, ask more than: How should my home look? Also ask: How does this place make me feel, and what will help it become mine?