When my therapist asked me about the source of my resilience, I was caught off guard and unsure of the answer. How do I keep going, often with a smile on my face, while facing the daily challenges of being an immigrant, a woman, and a professional in the United States? After reflecting on it, my therapist helped me realize that the source of my resilience is rooted in anger. I agreed; this anger has become a driving force, pushing me to prove myself in a world that seems determined to overlook me.
The last four years have continuously shaped my identity while navigating a new life. Being an immigrant means being caught between two worlds: adapting to a new culture while preserving the core of who I am. Much of what I am is perceived as only a stereotype, reducing me to isolated layers instead of acknowledging the integration of all my experiences. I wish it weren’t true that I feel forced to prove myself as a woman, a professional, and a person with melanin. They don’t want me to be silent because that wouldn’t align with the “spicy” stereotype, but if I’m too “spicy,” I come off as too strong. I shouldn’t thrive too much at work because I might overshadow others, yet I’m expected to work hard, preferably in silence. For some, I have too much melanin; for others, not enough. What else do you want from me today?
During my time living here, only one person has ever asked how I cope with being constantly reminded that my life experiences and skills are undervalued, not for their quality, but for where they come from. I developed my own mantra: I’m the bigger person, I know better, I’m smarter, and my internal world is richer. I’m not going to change people’s limited narrow views of the world.
I can’t ask you to step into my shoes or even try. I can’t ask you to understand how my life turned upside down four years ago. I can’t ask you to see me as Juliana. It’s me who has to adapt to you and your world and figure out how to “bandolear el toro.” I wonder, will this ever get easier? Part of me wants to ignore this question, but the other part demands an explanation. Is it because I’m an immigrant? Because I’m brown? Because I’m a woman? Or because I’m a beautiful, smart woman who refuses to be anything less than who I am? Is it life?
Refusing to conform to others’ expectations has earned me the label of “aggressive.” This label hurts because it oversimplifies my struggle to survive in a world that’s trying to push me down without even knowing me or intending to get to know me better. Do people realize their actions have planted and cultivated this aggression? Does their ignorance blind them to the harm they cause, or is it their ignorance that drives them to harm others?
This newfound feeling is what pushes me to keep moving. Now, when someone calls me aggressive, my response is, “Thank you for noticing.” I’m not ashamed of my feelings anymore because it’s a testament to my resilience. It has become the fuel that propels me forward, allowing me to navigate a world that often seems determined to hold me back. I’m not going to change those around me; I’ve changed my response to them. My skin has toughened at the cost of my innocence and my ability to feel pain in the same way = Resilience.
Overthinking 