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Leaving home for college is supposed to feel exciting—a fresh start, new friends, big dreams waiting on the horizon.

There are always nerves, of course—that mix of fear and excitement every student feels stepping into the unkown.

But if you’re first-gen, you know there’s another side to it. Those nerves come with extra heavy weight.

It’s not only fear of the unkown (and that’s nervewrecking enough let’s be honest), it’s the guilt of leaving.

The “I feel bad for leaving” that sits in your chest even when you’re proud of yourself. An the pressure to make it all “worth it”.

I see you. I’ve felt it too. No te preocupes amiga, you’re not alone.

My Sister—Making History, Breaking Barriers (And Multiple Embassy Visits)

Recently, my younger sister did something no one in our family had ever done before: she’s going abroad for school.

When she got that acceptance, my heart swelled with pride… and ached at the same time.

She’s brave. Braver than she even realizes. This isn’t just an academic milestone, it’s courage on full display, she has made space where there wasn’t any before.

Because this isn’t just a trip—it’s a huge leap for a first-gen girl who grew up like us, navigating life with limited guidance and a lot of “we’ll just figure it out as we go.”

And believe me, figuring it out took on a whole new meaning during her visa process. I lost count of how many trips she had to make to the South Korean embassy—at one point, she was practically on a first-name basis with security. Then there was the day they asked her to print something out there… and the printer instructions were entirely in Korean.

Two years of Korean lessons, and that printer still humbled her instantly. We laughed about it later, but in that moment, she was just staring at the printer like it held the secrets of the universe.

My sister’s argument with a machine that clearly spoke a different version of Korean, made me think about our parents.

How many times did they face moments like this not for a study abroad dream but just to survive to navigate at doctors offices government buildings job interviews all in language is that weren’t theirs. They didn’t have the luxury of choice, they faced language barriers out of necessity, just trying to carve out a place for us.

To face language barriers in the pursuit of opportunity—that’s the sacrifice my parents made to open doors for us and that’s something I’ll never take for granted.

A joyful moment as a mother adjusts her daughter's graduation cap on a sunny day.

Dear First Gen Student—You’re Braver Than You Know

There’s a kind of bravery that doesn’t make headlines. It doesn’t get rewards goes unnoticed, but it deserves every ounce of recognition… the bravery of being first.

You are the first pack your bags and leave home. The first to sleep in a dorm far from your family. The first to walk through college hallways where there are very few that look like you.

When I started college, all I knew was that I wanted to work in mental health because of everything that I had to live through my childhood.

That was the only clear thing everything else a puzzle. It was like a model that I could see it in my head but I had no idea how to build.

Grad school applications, GRE exams, CPC, LCPC, licensure tests, internships, practicums, concentrations—all words I’d never heard growing up. They sounded like a foreign language.

I was so scared of looking dumb that whenever someone talked about comps or licensing, even if I didn’t understand I would smile nervously and nod along.

Then I would rush to Google and make sure if it was brought up again I was ready to prove my intelligence.

I had this internal fear of being exposed. Like if I didn’t understand what the other students understood I would be “caught”, it would prove that I was a fraud.

And every time I didn’t understand something, a tiny voice in my head whispered:

“Maybe you don’t belong here.”

“Maybe you’re not cut out for this.”

Those whispers didn’t stay quiet for long—they turned into screams that fed my imposter syndrome. And I know I’m not the only one. I’ve seen those same doubts hold back so many brilliant, hardworking Latina first-gens—second guessing their abilities, their intelligence, their right to even be in the room.

And for me, those voices only got louder when my path kept getting derailed. Mental health struggles and the war in my own mind forced me to step away from school more than once.

And now, as a mom of two balancing graduate school, my internship as a therapist, Florecer Latinx, and for the first time in my life, prioritizing my healing.

It hasn’t been easy watching others graduate many milestones that have taken me years to even get close to. There have been moments where comparison try to convince me I was falling behind.

But now as I near the end of my masters degree, I can confidently say that those whispers were wrong. I do belong here. I am capable. And every challenge I’ve faced along the way has only made me a better therapist, a more grounded person, and a first-gen who refuses to quit—no matter how many detours the road takes.

And here is what I wish someone had told me not knowing the rules doesn’t mean that you are not smart it doesn’t mean that you don’t belong.

You are building a seat at a table that was not meant for you and you should never be afraid or ashamed for asking questions, seeking resources or taking longer to figure it out.

(Trust me, even the know at all students are googling stuff too.)

And to my little sister—if you ever feel those same whispers creeping in while you’re out there chasing your own dreams, remember this: you are capable beyond measure. You were made for this. And every step you take—no matter how hard or how far from home—makes our whole family proud.