In terms of messing up and building room for error, I had some really good conversations with my family over the holidays. My mother in law, my nieces, my friend, and my mom. I cried a lot.
I’ve been trying to make sense of my immigrant story. Why we came here. What the plan was. Where it went wrong. I realized that we did the best we could, the best we knew.
You don’t know everything when you get here. You think supposedly, it’s better in the US, because there is more opportunity. Se supone. Kind of. Sort of. Depends who you are. Depends how you’re treated. Depends how much you know. How fast you catch on.
Sometimes you don’t know what you’re stepping into. The traps to look out for. The stuff that’s coming. Student loans. Alcoholism. Discrimination.
I’ve started to apply two concepts from business to the experience of immigration: psychological safety and growth mindset.
I noticed that I’m really hard on myself and my family. I value efficiency. I don’t like wasting food, time, or money. I try to get it right the first time. I don’t like to waste people’s time or resources.
When I mess up, it really bothers me. Worst of all, I treat my family the same way when they make mistakes. It’s not very kind. No room for error. That’s the opposite of psychological safety, which means feeling safe making mistakes, or asking for help.
In my experience, it’s hard to build that when you have no safety net. Nothing to fall back on. When you feel there is no room for error. As an immigrant, my safety net is in Mexico, not here. For many immigrants, they are the safety net, sending money back home when stuff goes wrong.
But in conversations with my family I started to apply the concept of growth mindset across generations.
In business, a growth mindset is the opposite of a fixed mindset. The idea that your abilities are not fixed or permanent but instead can grow over time. The idea that you grow from learning, and even from mistakes. That you don’t have all the answers at the beginning. That genius takes time. That learning takes time. That it’s ok to make mistakes, because it means you are trying.
Well, I always kick myself for majoring in Ethnic Studies. For taking out student loans. For not knowing what I was doing. For not knowing how financial aid worked. For not having the support of my stepdad. I felt dumb and ashamed.
In December, on a walk by the lake, I finally asked my mom why we came here. What was the plan? Was there a plan? Did she and my step-dad align on it? Did she know what she was getting into?
Not really.
She explained that she thought I’d qualify for merit-based scholarships. Like she had in Mexico. That had she known better, she would have encouraged me to go to community college first, and then transfer. Maybe even to major in something else. That she didn’t really know, and only focused on getting me into college. Not what to do once I got there.
For years I was so ashamed. Until I realized that we did the best we could. I did the best I could, when I was 17 and didn’t qualify for any aid. When my stepdad’s income put us over a thresh-hold, but he was unwilling to help me out.
As a mom now, I get it. She did the best she knew. The situation with my stepdad was chaotic. He wasn’t supportive of us moving here in the first place. But she found a way to make it happen. She made it happen. I’m here today because of her. Once he saw she was serious, he gave in. She wanted “more” for me. No one told her all the intricacies. But no one does.
There is no manual when you get here. People are your manual. Whomever you know and whatever they’ve learned. Community support, family support, that’s what you’re working with.
Reminds me of an episode of 90 Day Fiance, when Asuelu’s father-in-law tells him "Don't believe when they tell you that America is the land of milk and honey. They don't tell you the milk is expensive and the honey is not sweet."
It's so complex.
I noticed that a lot of times, immigrants brag or lie about how well they're doing here to their family back home, in part to justify their sacrifice, to not lose face, and to not worry them. But often times, it's not true.
Imagine that pressure.
I can relate to Luisa's character in Encanto, or Leslie Grace's character from In the Heights. You're the strong one. The smart one. The one that got into college. You're in the land of opportunity. Go get it! What are you waiting for?
Sometimes it can be too painful to admit that you left everything and everyone behind, your identity, your family, your relationships, your friends, and that this country wasn't everything it promised. It makes you wonder if you made a mistake. It may make you feel stupid. Embarrassed.
Talking to my mom and crying, lifted such a huge weight off my shoulders. I realized we’re doing the best we can.
And that maybe a growth mindset also applies to the immigrant experience. To the idea that you are still succeeding, if you are improving with every generation. Accepting you may not get it all right the first time. You may not accomplish everything you wanted in your lifetime, but you can still set up the next generation. You can know better when it's their turn. How to guide them. How to support them. Having a safety net. Having something for them to fall back on, in this country. Even if you don't achieve everything you thought you should have achieved by a certain age or timeline.
It reminds me of all the stuff I read in college about assimilation and segmented assimilation. That some groups are racialized and discriminated in this country: Black, Brown.
That when you come here, you become a member of racialized group, and fit into this country's racial hierarchy. Whether you want to or not. The idea that some groups are supported to integrate, advance, thrive. How European immigrants became White.
That some groups are less supported and on average will assimilate downwardly and experience all sorts of bullshit in school and at work. No matter how smart or hardworking they are. That navigating all that bullshit, takes a physical toll on your body. It makes you wonder if you're imagining things, or overreacting. But the body knows it's real. You're not crazy.
That it matters if your parents can advocate for you when you go enroll in school. Like my White stepdad did for me! Which is how I got into all AP classes, straight from Mexico. What would have happened if I had gone in with my mom? God only knows.
That it matters if they take your parents seriously. It matters if they can speak up for you, and teach you to take up space, and advocate for yourself.
I know so much more than I did when I first got here. And I know it will help immensely when my kid goes through all this crap. It's actually already happening.
Things are coming full circle now that I’ve put my kid in daycare.
I came to the US twice. At age 4, for 4 years, and at age 14, for good.
The first time I came to the US, on my mom’s student visa, I was 4. But you had to be 5 to enroll in kindergarten. But she couldn't afford daycare. So my mom had to lie and give me a fake birthdate, so I could pass as a 5-year old.
What a difficult choice.
A couple of years later, at 8, when I found out that my birthdate was a lie, I got mad at her. I couldn’t believe it.
Now I get it. How expensive it is. How parents make difficult choices given their options. Right now a typical daycare runs you $1,500 per month. I don't know what it cost in 1989. But I'm sure it was more than she could afford on a Mexican government scholarship. I don't know if she would have even qualified for Head Start, or if there were residency or immigrant restrictions. Who knows, right? Those are the questions I would ask now that I know how it works. Now that I've been here for a minute.
My daughter is 3. A couple of months ago we put her in preschool.
This is growth.
Her birthday is her actual birthday.
Now I know how expensive college is. How nothing is guaranteed. What not to do. Maybe I can give her some guidance. Or set an example. Or hook her up with an internship! Help her network. Help her strategize. A ver si me hace caso :)
This is growth. Over generations.
Not all at once, right away, the first time. On a fixed deadline. By age 30 or 35.
You might not get it right the first time. You might not know everything at first. You will learn more over time. You can tell your kids what you know. Then they will know more than you did. They will know sooner. And they can look out for traps. Y así sucesivamente. Hay que darle tiempo al tiempo. That is what immigration is. You may not buy a house in the first generation, maybe the 2nd, or 3rd. No sé. But it’s not all fast. Things take time.