Growing up I had to pretend a lot. I had to pretend I liked every meal that was given to me, every gift and every event my family and I ever attended. When we moved from Mexico I had to pretend I was a white valley girl citizen, that I had papers, and that all was well in the world despite sleeping on a living room floor for a year with no privacy. Pretend: for various reasons, some due to our migratory status, and others due to our collectivistic culture.
To explain with more detail, latinos, as people of color, and collectivistic cultures, care too much about the bigger group, whether the family, the vecindad, or the community in general. My parents would always emphasize on que van a decir and you can fill in the blank on whomever would gossip and what it would be. I have met other families that pretend to be perfect and carry the weight of the world with no help until they crumble to the ground and people just stare for a second to get their drama doze for the day and then move on to the next big thing.
I don’t care.
I am lucky to be surrounded by strong women who share their raw content on social media in order to seek, share, and learn new ways to deal with their daily lives. I don’t remember the day when every other human in this world had to pause and take over the family. I have plans. I want to go to law school, get a new car, new job, and push forward full force with my career plans. I am on hold with DACA, my job, and my goals, because I have chosen to put on myself the responsibility of my household.
When is it fair to tell someone to not share so much? Does it make you uncomfortable? because last time I checked, I was paying the mortgage, the bills, making all the healthy meals at home, checking up on workers comp, lawyer, and still trying to keep some sanity for myself and self care, while I fight my father’s tantrums over him not liking vegetables. It’s real. It is fucken real and it is happening. There are good days and there are terrible moments. Sometimes terrible moments take over and make the rest of the day really heavy. I vent, I cry, and sometimes I really ponder on committing suicide because I get tired. I wouldn’t be the first person to over-share as people think, but at least I seek, I learn, and I keep pushing for answers. I have three tabs open on diabetic veggie smoothies, I am figuring out ABA food programs and carb addiction in order to help the man who has sworn to give up on vegetables. Meanwhile, I also have to figure out if I will have to move out, accept a possible job I could be given, and seek therapy after I feel like I abandoned my family in their worse position.
How many people in my two hundred followers have to think over this? How many people have willingly taken over the house duties, have a father who for the world seems perfect, and still has dreams they hope to achieve. I have a book to write. I have physical and mental health to continue improving, I have goals and aspirations for my podcast, for my education, and for the community. If you don’t like me oversharing on my life, me seeking information and help, and me screaming into the black web my frustrations and traumas mute my stories, but at least I am speaking up. I am still proactive. I am still moving forward. Maybe one day I will learn I should have kept things private, or maybe one day I’ll be grateful I found an outlet where otherwise I would have hit rock bottom and not gotten back up. I won’t know, but as long as I keep succeeding and moving forward, I will continue to share my story, because if you are in a dark place, I hope to be a reminder you’re not alone, and as long as you keep moving forward knowing there are people with tools and resources ready to help, you’ll be okay.
#monaliza0229 