Love letter to myself and to all my selves, and to all those who have loved me to graduate school
Here’s a piece of strangely happy news amidst so much despair: last night (at an ungodly hour, in true grad student form), I accepted an offer of admission to Boston College’s Mental Health Counseling Masters program with a Merit Scholarship
One year ago I was sunk into my couch, depressed and uncertain, having had to leave my job suddenly after yet another #MeToo incident in a restaurant.
Seven years ago I graduated from college, broke and with no home to return to, sleeping on a thin pillow over a wooden pallet in a shared room and applying to jobs left and right while working doubles waiting tables.
Fourteen years ago I left home on a stretcher, banned from returning, not knowing that the rest of my life was about to begin, not knowing anything but the desperation of that moment.
This isn’t a story of “I was there then, and I’m here now.” This is a story of someone who is still all those people: the one sunk into the couch as much as the one with acceptances to one PhD and two Masters programs. And all the many parts of me that exist beyond those two tiny bones in me. I carry all those girls that I was inside me like Russian dolls, my current self another layer grown on top of them. I am all of them at all times, and just as I deserve this now, so too do all of they.
This I have learned: many of the steps that get you there don’t look like it in the moment. When I was sunken into my couch after leaving my bad restaurant job: I chose to leave, and to stick with that choice. To cast a vote of faith in my own deservingness for better. When I took 5 years to graduate from college, with a GPA well below the average for Psychology grad students: I grew up in trauma and refused to quit on myself. When I left home on a stretcher, kicked out of high school: I got myself out the only way I could. I gave myself a chance at the rest of my life.
I am none of this now without those girls that I was then, and the grown woman’s decisions they had to make. I look back to them from here, and bow to them in gratitude.
This win belongs to them, to me, and to so very many people. Another thing I know in my bones: we never do anything alone. When we arrive at victory it is on the shoulders of all who supported and nurtured us; when we lose, it is the failure of so many who did not hold us. Now, more than ever, this reality is plain to see.
One intangibly beautiful thing I have gotten from this past year is the visceral sensation of being held in community: of so many people rooting for me, wanting success for me, doing what they could to help enable it. This win belongs to my brother and sister-in-law, who gave me housing in NYC and reminded me what it feels like to belong somewhere, be from somewhere, make sense somewhere. They enabled me to leave Philly, and if I’d stayed, I couldn’t have done this. It belongs to my other brother who helped me get a job so I could leave restaurants when I was ready.
It belongs to Kyle Coombs, who tutored me in statistics, edited my papers for class, cheered me on, advised me, and constantly reminded me that I am so much more than what I came from and the challenges I face.
It belongs to Malaika Schwartz (and Connor Lee for putting me in touch with her!), who answered endless research questions from a total stranger for no compensation, and did it all so cheerfully, earnestly, and with warmth.
It belongs to Rocío León and Felipe Muñoz and リベラ 進, who planted the seed of my faith in me with theirs. Goethe writes, “treat people as if they were what they ought to be, and you help them become what they are capable of becoming,” and while that’s arguably paternalistic phrasing, these folks insisted I belonged in spaces where I could not imagine myself; their confidence in me is what made me start to belong.
It belongs to ML Ray and Katelyn Hufe and Yoshiaki Yamasaki and Jenny Fischer (and all those I worked with and studied alongside with each of them). I’ve reached out to you all individually; here I’ll just say — none of this would be possible without you.
And (while certain I have forgotten and will forget many people), it belongs to all those who, over the years and at so many steps along the way, have helped to hold my heart — have been my family and helped me grow and be better, and whose presence in my life reminds me that I was born worthy: that we all are. That our birthright is never pain and isolation, but everything good and right and honest that brings us closer to truth and closer to each other. To
Steve Mejia-Menendez, Itzel Mejía-Menendez, Jasmina Makota, Raquel Farah, Rose Schlecker Shamah, Rachel Deitch, נח יעל, Angus Rohan, Anne Schaufele, Carson Marie, Aisha Ching, EC Sánchez, Micha Esperanza, Yadira Mena Alvarez, Immaculata Ricci Fatubun, Catherine Deasis, Julia Nakad, Kat Leonetti, Caitlin O’Brien, Kate Adamy, Lace Miller, Whitney Alyse, Ammar Abbas, Rob’n Laurelli, Lene St. Leger, Christina Wilson, Becca Bendaj, Joseph Quintela, Jocelyn Campbell, Isela Pena-gonzalez, Phoebe Topakian Flaherty, Wes Ruiz, Jennifer Rahman, David Wise, Roxanne Grossman, Kazim Panjwani, Reyes Manuel Castro, Irma Zamora, Lisa Pozzi
(fb has cut me off from tagging, lolz). For me, it is not that I’ve cast the net wide here as much as the net IS wide. What you are born without, you go in search of, and I have found it in abundance everywhere I have gone.
This is all your win, because all of you have carried me to this finish line and across it. Tomorrow is another beast. Today, I celebrate with you
