By Xiomara Elena Gonzalez
I can’t remember how the Latina Healing Institute feed came across my FB screen but, when it did, I immediately felt a stirring in my emotional soul. Alani’s personal and professional testimony resonated with me. These women KNEW and UNDERSTOOD what it meant to be Latina, successful, and most importantly, what it felt like to question your worth in circles where you are different from others. By “different” I mean Latina + English language, Latina + color, Latina + male dominated careers, Latina + natural hair, Latina + [fill in the blank]. I emailed and texted the numbers listed and a week later, I was zoom chatting with Alani about what I could contribute. When Alani asked me something like, “How do you believe you can best serve this community?” I immediately replied, “I am a writer.” For the first time in a long time, I didn’t question if I was a writer. You see, with a name like Xiomara Elena Gonzalez, I’ve been overlooked for English writing positions because “you can’t possibly dominate the English language.” Alani said she would talk to Dr. Ana Sierra about me contributing to the blog and a day later, I was invited to be a guest blog writer for the Latina Healing Institute. So, I am a writer…and here’s part of my story.
Photo: “From the Outside Looking In” | Isabella Madrid
I grew up in the East Side Puerto Rican Enclave of Bridgeport, CT in the 80s and 90s in a very evangelical home. I always knew education would be a game changer, and I studied hard and graduated #2 of my high school class. I was proud of my accomplishments. In my circle, I was one of very few Latinas going on to college versus getting married to my high school sweetheart and starting a family (Marianismo). But, what was a good career? The only successful careers I knew were doctor, lawyer, police or fireman, and I had none in my immediate family. I had a cousin who was studying social work and another friend working as a teller at the bank. My career research tool was physically going to an inner city public library and using the materials there. This was way before things like cell phones, cable TV, remote controlled TV, microwaves, computers, Amazon, GPS, the internet, and social media. I made the decision to study English and possibly become a writer, because I loved reading and writing.
While I was recruited by good universities such as Harvard and Vassar, I couldn’t see myself leaving my then high school boyfriend and family (Marianismo). I decided to attend nearby Fairfield University in Fairfield, CT which was 10 miles from my home but socially and culturally, it was a million miles away. It was at Fairfield that I started losing my self-confidence. I learned what it was to be a minority. At the time, there were maybe 20 minorities outside of the sports teams. I dressed differently. I mean, I didn’t know LL Bean and “preppy” was the dress style of the anglo-wealthy. I came to school in my Cyndi Lauper/Madonna look. I spoke differently. And I don’t just mean accent, I mean I communicated differently. For example, when I heard some girls in the cafeteria talking about going to Cabo for Spring Break, I thought, “Where’s Cabo, and why aren’t they working during spring break to help pay for college?” Also, I initially stayed on campus to experience college life but, there too, I didn’t have the disposable income or developed social skills to live on campus and hang out with white, suburban girls and go out and eat or party. I just felt different. And in my case, the expression that came to define me was “I am less-than”. I was a natural-hair, brown Latina in a “foreign country”. I didn’t see my unicorn self as an asset. I saw it as a detriment. I self-isolated and eventually in my junior year ended up commuting from home, because I was emotionally exhausted. I struggled in my English classes, because professors would say things like, “You write differently” (not meant as a compliment). Or, “Are you thinking in Spanish and writing in English?” Or, “Your writing is too ethnic.” Again, this was the age of accepted hate speech such as, “You are in America; speak English.” Cultural shame began to define me.
After college, I didn’t have a job. I stupidly expected that upon graduation, the heavens would magically open up and job angels would come down and offer me a job. After all, it was the era of racial employment quotas, and I believed I was a good addition to any company looking to add minorities to their workforce. I didn’t know how to use the Alumni Association to network. Actually, I didn’t know what networking was. “Call someone and ask them about their jobs?” What? Who knew that was a thing? In my perception of things, I would be bothering these professionals in their very important jobs. So, I made my next drastic decision and joined the military to see if that would break my cycle of poverty. I enlisted in the Air Force with a college degree (again, no one in my family was in the military, and Connecticut does not have a big military presence except at the naval base in Groton.) The military opened doors to me that I could not open on my own. I met my husband and again, Marianismo kicked in, and I stepped away from my career for my husband to pursue his. I will share about those chapters at another time.
When I started writing this blog, I initially thought of writing about how wonderful my life is today and spouting out, “You can do it! Rah, Rah, Rah.” Writing platitudes would not reflect my true self journey. What no one sees is all the cracks in my emotional vase that professionals and friends have helped me patch to become the woman of strength I am today. We ARE as Alani said, the powerful unicorns. When you describe yourself, who ARE you at your core? What powerful adjective defines you? What success label have you hesitated calling yourself? You have worked for your accomplishments and you are worthy to not only sit at the table, but to speak up and be heard. I hope by sharing some of my 50+ years of life, I have connected with you. I hope something of my story resonated with your experiences. As Ana wrote in the February blog, “It’s no accident you are here. Hermanas, may our torch shine brightly and our voices be heard!” I count it an honor to walk alongside you and cannot wait to hear from your hearts. All of us have a story worth sharing.
Photo: Terushi Sho, January 8, 2021, BBC.com
