Con Cariño: The Story Behind the Space

Spanish was my first language, and as a first-generation Latina—the first in my family to graduate college and pursue a master’s degree—I was also the bridge. From a young age, I was the one bouncing between worlds, translating documents, emotions, and systems no one had taught us how to navigate.

It always felt like a privilege to hear of families where parents could guide their children through things like college applications, financial aid, or basic financial literacy. That wasn’t my story. Instead, I grew up learning by doing—and often, by struggling.

What I didn’t expect were the deeper layers: navigating not just systems, but also the generational trauma my parents carried. I tried to hold compassion for their pain while still reaching for more. They did the best they could with what was taught to them—but I needed more than survival. I needed healing.

For a time, I fell into the same cycles: I dropped out of college. I battled imposter syndrome. I entered a difficult marriage. I became a young mom at 20. Then came the divorce. Then came single motherhood. I kept falling into the statistics that I had once promised myself I’d rise above.

Mental health wasn’t discussed in my household. It was one of those things you were expected to endure quietly. Writing became my only outlet—my escape, my refuge. In the absence of safe spaces, I made my own on paper.

I often wished for a mentor, a room, a circle where I could speak freely about my challenges and be met with someone who just got it. Because as much as our cultura holds beauty, tradition, and pride—it also holds weight.

Being a first-gen Latina means navigating so much alone. It means unlearning while still honoring. It means figuring things out while paving a way for those who come next. And through all of it, I’ve realized: just because we didn’t have the support doesn’t mean we can’t create it.