As both of my sons would probably say, “First world problems.” I am quite sure that would be their reaction after reading this piece. They never miss an opportunity to tease me whenever they get the chance.

Still, I find this strangely fascinating to think about. Earlier today, I read an article, which I’m linking here, about how people can shift personalities when speaking another language, and about the subtle emotional nuances involved in returning to one’s mother tongue. I have reflected on this for years, always assuming it was simply one of my private oddities. Apparently, there are entire studies devoted to it.

Sometimes writing in your native language feels more difficult. I experience that often, and perhaps that is why so much of what I write ends up being in English. Somehow, it feels lighter to me, more accessible, almost less exposed. I suspect Hemingway would have had little patience for such a confession.

But perhaps the heart of the matter is identity. Or maybe intimacy. Language has a curious way of reshaping the self we present to the world while also revealing parts of us we did not know were waiting beneath the surface.

I speak three languages fluently: Portuguese, English, and Spanish. In a way, each of them feels like a different instrument playing the same melody, with a distinct timbre. Portuguese carries the emotional weight of home, family, and cultural texture, the kind of intimacy that can feel both rich and exposing. English often behaves more like a lighter operating system: more direct, less ceremonious, sometimes more analytical, sometimes more playful. Spanish sits somewhere in between for me, though interestingly it also comes with a small, irrational sense of impostor syndrome, as if I were slightly “fake” in it, almost as if I were betraying Portuguese, which is absurd, but persistent enough to notice with a smile.

Beyond that, I can navigate French with what I like to call “survival proficiency,” enough to avoid starvation and possibly ask where cam I have a beer. I am also learning Korean, which carries a deeply important meaning in my life and seems to be becoming something more intimate over time, though that belongs to another story. If you are curious, I wrote a little about it in my post Life at 55 and the Korean Language.

None of this is only poetic; there is real research behind it. Studies in bilingualism and psychology, often grouped under “language and emotion” or “bilingual identity” suggest that people can shift aspects of their self-perception depending on the language they are using. Some report feeling more assertive in a second language, others more emotionally distant. The mother tongue tends to remain more tightly bound to early memory, family dynamics, and raw affect, while additional languages can introduce a kind of psychological distance that changes how thoughts and feelings are processed and expressed..

Sometimes I wonder whether each language holds a slightly different version of who we are. Not a false self, but a variation of the same soul. In one language we may sound softer; in another, more rational, more distant, more courageous, or perhaps more vulnerable. Maybe fluency is not only about mastering vocabulary or grammar. Maybe it is also about discovering the emotional architecture hidden inside ourselves.

Image: Personal Archive 2026 | Moncton New Brunswick