From Crossing Borders to Building Bridges: My Immigrant Story

I was only two years old when my mother and I came to the United States. Too young to remember the journey, but old enough now to carry the story in my bones.

My mother often tells me about that night—how she carried me in her arms as we crossed from Tijuana to San Diego. We were part of a small group of immigrants moving through the night, crossing a body of water in silence and fear. She remembers the cold. The darkness. The weight of her love for me, heavier than any fear she felt in those moments.

That story has never left me. It lives in my heart as a quiet reminder of where I come from, and why the work I do matters so deeply.

Growing up as a child of an immigrant, I was surrounded by stories—stories of sacrifice, of starting over, of pain and perseverance. I bore witness to so many immigrant journeys. Some laced with trauma, abuse, and fear. Others illuminated by courage, joy, and hope. All of them shaped by love—love for family, love for survival, and love for a better future.

These stories deserve to be seen, heard, and honored. That’s why the work of healing, educating, and advocating within immigrant communities is so vital. Because behind every immigration status is a story. A life. A legacy.

As a bilingual, bicultural Latina therapist, I understand the unspoken grief of leaving a homeland, the pressure to succeed in a country that doesn’t always see your humanity, and the layers of trauma that many immigrants silently carry. I also know the resilience, brilliance, and beauty that lives in immigrant communities—because I come from one.

I may not remember crossing that border, but I carry that crossing within me every day. And I’m proud to stand on the shoulders of my mother—and all the mothers—who crossed rivers and oceans so their children could dream.

This is my story. One of many. And I will keep telling it—for us.