Jessica reflects on her 20-year journey since migrating from northern Mexico to Florida on July 4th, 2004 – a true symbol of an immigrant story.
This 4th of July marked 20 years since I migrated from the north of Mexico to Florida. As I try to think back to where it all started I imagine a timeline building up to current events, and it’s evident I couldn’t see where we would be as a society. But before I go down that heartbreaking reality I’ll stop myself and focus on the subject that has nothing to do with the recent national holiday, but at the same time couldn’t be more symbolic.
The Start of My Immigrant Story
On Sunday, July 4th, 2004, I arrived in central Florida and I was welcomed with all the fireworks and typical celebrations of the holiday thinking to myself: estos son los Estados Unidos, the land of opportunity, flashy things, and English. Little did I know that Florida would welcome me with four hurricanes that year, the first ones ever for this Norteña. My supportive stepmom, at that time, loved to share how I wrote “Help!” on the windows using tape, meanwhile, my loving and preocupona mom back in Mexico was praying extra hard, con el Jesus en la boca, all hurricane season. It’s impossible to stop my eyes from filling with tears as I think of it all. Right on cue comes the much-known feeling de un nudo en la garganta, porque soy llorona since I was little, nothing to hide here.
Memories flash through my mind thinking of the sacrificios of many, the struggles and challenges I went through in my journey, and the not-so-gentle reminder that, “I didn’t even have it bad.” But as I told my friend trying to minimize her suffering, we only carry our burdens, and we only truly know our feelings and the weight that comes from our lived experiences. So here is my reminder, no compares, sympathize, support others’ journeys, and strive to make a better world.
I was 14 years old entering my sophomore year of high school with close to zero English in my vocabulary when I came here. Talk about culture shock, moving to a new city with a new family, my dad who I had mostly seen during holidays and vacations for the last few years, and a whole life back in Chihuahua, Mexico. It was all new and different. I was, and still am, blessed to have a support system that guides and helps me through the journey. Not to mention having the opportunity to even come here thanks to the many challenges my dad must have faced moving here in the first place. The lessons that life would put in front of me to boost my growth were unexpected. With time, I’d come to know the new me, new to me, but she had been here all along.
I must have shared my immigrant story hundreds of times, in one-on-one settings or large audiences as part of my advocacy for immigrant families, but I never get tired of it. Porque recordar es volver a vivir and remembering also helps me see how far I’ve come we’ve come, because where I go my family comes and grows. When sharing, I’ve always emphasized the main goal of migrating was getting a better education, instilled in me by my mom who was a school teacher, but I also knew it was the opportunity to have the life mom wanted to give us. There were financial barriers to that life in Mexico, but I knew we were rich in love and a role model who did everything para sacar sus hijas adelante.
‘Ama, gracias a tu ejemplo sé como ser madre, y sigo aprendiendo como ser hija. Si de chiquita se me complicaba encontrar la forma de agradecerte por todo lo que nos dabas en amor y enseñanza, ahora de adulta tengo un mundo por agradecerte y reconocer los esfuerzos que sigues haciendo día con día, con el amor y generosidad que te caracteriza.
An Immigrant’s Transformation
I could share the logistical details of my move, feeling discriminated against, and tokenized. However, what’s more present for me right now is the transformation of who I became in my immigrant journey. I arrived in the United States as a shy, insecure, timid girl who was afraid to take up space, una niña que no rompe ni un plato, as we say. The only thing I held onto for years was being smart, book smart, but without knowing the language I realized I didn’t have many social skills. I knew I had to change as I continued to see more students who looked like me, were quiet like me, and were being passed over for opportunities needed to succeed.
So, I learned English, and I learned to speak up, to stand up for myself so that I could stand up for others and help them find their voice too. And I did, I did it! Especially being involved in grassroots organizing in the immigrant movement, a movement that welcomed me with open arms and gave me a second family when I was feeling far removed from my homeland. It also gave me the tools that I needed to make connections of my experience with others and feel less alone in a country that likes to deny us and pretend it wasn’t thanks to immigrants that we’re here. Being an immigrant is a shared experience with similar chapters in our lives, yet unique to each of us. If anyone ever shares their story with you I hope you treasure it and honor their journey by recognizing the network of opportunities that led them to that moment, but most importantly the challenges they overcame.
Letting Go Through Motherhood
While in high school I learned to uncover what was under a layer that I had built for myself. The first layer of many that I needed to shed, was to unlearn practices that no longer served me but rather halted my development and the education I came after. High school me didn’t know how much longer I had to go and I’m still working through finding myself. Fast forward to a special phase in my life, motherhood, where my fears were amplified as I projected them onto our firstborn. Thankfully, my high school sweetheart and father of our kids has been a great partner in my growth, therefore, our growth to find the best path forward to raise our kids.
As I kept learning more from myself, I understood specific moments in my life that made me who I was, which, let’s admit it, we always know of them, but I was still surprised as to how deep they ran and the influence they had on me. I had to let go of so much to move forward, accepting that I wasn’t as perfect as I wanted to be and that I have flaws and can embrace them to work through them. I understood that perfection is not attainable and that there were many labels given to me that I had accepted as my own, but I didn’t have to. I can confidently say that I am learning who I am and not who I had to become, or so I thought. And I’m a version of myself closest to who I want to be, although a bit more patience will be nice. We go through so much when becoming a mother, it’s a miracle if we get through the first years without losing ourselves, and I’m blessed to say it helped me to redefine myself. Just as mi amiga shared last month.
The Reality of What-Ifs
I can’t help but wonder what life I’d have if I had not moved. Would I have learned the same lessons? Would I have had the same experiences differently? I like to think my life would have been very different and it makes me treasure what I have even more. It’s wild to think that at every turn my path could have been different, and I wouldn’t be sharing this story now, with you. But I’m here, thankful for the life that I have con mi amor, our three precious boys, and for the family, community leaders, and friends I’ve found along the way.
In a life split between two countries, two different worlds that live within me, I get to pass them on to our boys to continue nurturing their sense of culture and learning on their path. Now, a 34-year-old Mexican-American, mother of three, director at a software company, and fully bilingual (pfff, this part still blows my mind), like mírame escribiendo y hablando en inglés, helloo?! We did good Jessiquita, y lo que nos falta!
If you have a story to share, I’d be grateful to hear it mija.
[…] I moved to the United States from Mexico I was blessed to be able to travel back during the holidays to spend them back home. It wasn’t […]