My story
*Disclaimer: Talks of suicide and abuse.
My childhood was formed off the back of an unstable partnership between my parents. The stress they endured as undocumented immigrants in a largely white and conservative state alongside raising five children must’ve been unbearable. My father has been an alcoholic for as long as I can remember. The man he became when he drank was scary and unstable. I would witness my father verbally and mentally abuse my mother and my sisters frequently. My mother also started to drink as their relationship grew increasingly violent and careless.
My siblings and I had to endure several separations where some of us stayed with my father and others with my mother. I remember having panic attacks and my sister consoling me while my parents were screaming in the other room. I remember my mother going into cardiac arrest after several hours of arguing. I remember performing CPR on my mother until the paramedics arrived. I remember walking in on my mother’s suicide attempts and frantically trying to revive her or stop her from killing herself.
I was born to two undocumented immigrants from Mexico who’d hoped they would prosper in the United States. To tell my story is to tell their story.
My mother grew up in a rural Mexican village and halted her educational journey after completing primary school to begin working as a laundry maid. She immigrated to the United States at the age of 20 and left her two firstborn children in Mexico. While pregnant, she crossed the US-Mexico border and endured incredibly stressful situations throughout her journey.
My father grew up in a middle-class Mexican family with dreams of moving to the US and finding better-paying work. When my parents met, my mom had already birthed my two older sisters, one of whom was born with a physical disability. Their relationship was tumultuous from the beginning, but they were inseparable when they had their first child, me.
The love I have for my mother is like no other. In the darkest moments of our lives we truly only had each other to rely on. I remember my mother running away from our home after a heated and drunken argument with my father. It was night time and no one else was around. I approached my mother and she screamed at me to go back home and to let her go. I retreated but kept looking back at her. As I approached my home I saw my mother collapse and she began to weep. I ran back to my mother and I told her that she must remain strong, she must endure for herself and her children. I told her that she was a strong woman and that she deserved to not be tormented by my father. She soon calmed down and we returned home
The connection I had with my mother made those arguments much more impactful for me, it hurt my soul and my heart. I believe that these experiences had significant effects on my outlook on life and my behavior in other parts of my life. I became a very socially distanced and shy child who was constantly anxious and afraid of other people’s reactions and behaviors. I felt like I could never escape my mind and could never truly be myself. Even today, I tend to avoid confrontation and overthink social interactions while feeling the same heartache I felt when my parents fought.
I felt a sense of escapism wherein I needed to concentrate my mind on the future to ensure I would escape my life for a more stable one. I found that school and education was the best way to get out. Why? It was the only place that allowed for an immediate release from the torment back home. The fact that I had a completely different and unique set of goals, experiences, and interactions at school made me feel secure and confident that it was the best way forward. I was lucky to have teachers and mentors around me who saw my potential and encouraged me to challenge myself.
In high school, I truly honed my academic prowess. I remember significantly outperforming my peers in my sophomore English arts class, and my teacher would constantly recognize me for my efforts. Her recognition turned into encouragement to challenge myself more. She wanted me to transfer from the standard English class to an advanced placement course. This was a pivotal moment in my educational career. I approached my soon-to-be advanced English teacher with my transfer paperwork and she told me that I’d have to read three books that the other students had already read throughout the semester. I would have to read these books over my two-week break and report back to her. This truly tested my commitment to education and forced me to focus on ensuring my placement in the class. Ultimately, I got through those two weeks and got an A by the end of the class term. From then on I committed to always challenging myself when I could in my classes. I always chose the more difficult courses and chose to get more involved with extracurriculars.
The overwhelming pressure from my family life led to my father’s deportation in my sophomore year of high school. As my family’s main source of income
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