Biculturalism

Mientras vivas en esta casa, se hace lo que yo digo.

It’s always been a struggle, right? Growing up, you were always caught between the two worlds, fighting to find a place to fit in.

At home, your mother would repeatedly remind you about your heritage. “¡Habla Español,” she would say.

You roll your eyes and return to your first language, the words forming effortlessly while also feeling foreign because the sounds of English words and phrases surround so much of your day.

Te muerdes la lengua.

At school, the fight continued. Classmates ask questions about “where you came from” and “why you talk that way.”

It would be hard not to yell back – “I was born here!” and “It’s an accent – you have one, too!”

But you knew being disruptive at school would result in a phone call to your parents, colliding your two worlds, seemingly not holding a space for you.

¡Algún día me lo agradecerás!

It was so tempting to daydream about a different path – one where a kid gets to be a kid, and there is no pressure to translate intense conversations between adults.

Being on a path where someone wasn’t expecting you to carry some torch into the unknown would be a welcome change.

It would be nice to have a space for your footprints to march forward without so many expectations all the time.

You want to be on a path where you can speak up, have wants/needs, and not have an expectation of growing up so damn fast.

La ropa sucia se lava en casa.

While it was clear that no single space understood you, understanding your challenges was even worse.

Your parents repeatedly said that family was the only place to be open, but what happens when they can’t help – not in the way you need it?

Rather than being open, you keep stuffing how you feel down a little more and face the day alone.

Echar agua al mar.

Eventually, you did it. You graduated from high school, went to college, and landed the job – all firsts for your family.

And it felt good, but why did it not feel good enough? It was like the constant chase to find your place in the world didn’t entirely end in childhood – it carried on. And you’re tired.

“Sana sana colita de rana, si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.”

Tender words sung from Mamá don’t seem to hold the same balm they once did. This hurt is not healing.

Day after day, the pain grows and cuts deeper. No one seems to understand how lost you feel and how close you feel to giving up.

Darle la vuelta a la tortilla.

It’s time to feel seen for who you are – the beauty of a bicultural American, someone who has a depth and richness to their experience and is all too familiar with the need to “hold both.”

You want to be someone who knows what it’s like to exist just outside the margins of familiarity while also carving out a path into identity.

You are brave and strong. And I’m honored to help you find your way to seeing those things within yourself. Call me today.