You know that feeling when you’re trying to assemble IKEA furniture with instructions in three languages, none of which you fully understand? That’s kind of what going through a divorce as an immigrant feels like, except the stakes are way higher than a wobbly bookshelf.

Here’s the thing about divorce that nobody tells you until you’re in it: it’s complicated enough when both people grew up with the same legal system. But when you’re an immigrant? You’re navigating a legal process you might not fully understand, in a language that might not be your first, with cultural expectations that might clash with Canadian norms.

Cross-border divorces add layers of complexity that can make your head spin. Different countries have different laws about custody, property division, and support payments. Sometimes you’re dealing with two legal systems that don’t play nicely together.

Then there’s the isolation. When someone born in Canada goes through a divorce, there’s usually a network: parents nearby, siblings, childhood friends, decades of community. 

Immigrants often don’t have that luxury. They left their families behind to build a new life here. And when that life falls apart, who do you call? Your mom, who’s eight time zones away? Your best friend who can’t afford to fly over? The loneliness can be crushing.

I watched this play out with clients over the years. One woman told me she stayed in an unhealthy marriage far longer than she should have because the thought of being completely alone in Canada terrified her more than staying with someone who made her miserable. That’s not uncommon. When you don’t know where else to turn, sometimes you stay put, even when you shouldn’t.

Here’s something I didn’t expect to deal with: name changes. I had a client recently, an immigrant who wanted to change his last name after his divorce. For him, it wasn’t just about distancing himself from his ex. It was wrapped up in questions about identity, belonging, and what “home” even meant anymore.

I told him what I wish someone had told me during my divorces: don’t make big decisions when you’re in the thick of the emotional chaos. Your name connects you to your heritage, your family, your story. Yes, it might also remind you of your ex, but give yourself time before you cut that tie.

Cultural expectations complicate this too. In some countries, women don’t take their husband’s name at all. In others, it’s expected. Coming to Canada — and then going through a divorce — means figuring out not just what the law allows, but what feels right for you personally and culturally.

And then there’s the immigration status. If your status in Canada is tied to your spouse, divorce can genuinely threaten your future here. Imagine dealing with heartbreak while also wondering if you’ll be forced to leave the place you’ve been trying to build a life.

I’m not an immigration lawyer, so I always tell people to get proper legal advice on both the family law and immigration sides. These two areas of law intersect in ways that can blindside you if you’re not careful.

Here’s some advice:

First, get help. Find a divorce or immigration lawyer who can help with your situation. Don’t try to navigate this alone.

Second, find your people. Support groups, community organizations, cultural associations - whatever it takes to build a network. You need people who understand what you’re going through.

Third, be patient with yourself. You’re not just dealing with a divorce. You’re dealing with a divorce while being far from home, possibly in your second or third language, in a legal system that’s foreign to you. That’s moving mountains, as one person put it so perfectly.

And finally, remember that this too shall pass. I know that sounds like fortune cookie wisdom, but I’ve been through it twice. It does get better. The IKEA furniture eventually gets assembled, even if you have a few pieces left over that you’re not quite sure what to do with.