Growing up in a Latino household, I saw my family struggle with mental health issues throughout my childhood and young adulthood. When I was 5 my uncle committed suicide after immigrating to the United States, after suffering from mental illness his whole life. Growing up in Uruguay during the 80s and 90s, mental health was not important to the community and country that was going through a political crisis. Ultimately, survival was more important than self-care. My family experienced trauma that they carried with them when coming to the United States. This impacted their (and my) daily life in unfathomable ways and that ultimately culminated in the completion of suicide by my uncle, Jorge.
I, myself, also struggled with depression and anxiety that impacted my daily life. I was surrounded by family that battled with addiction and depression, and didn't have neither the vocabulary nor resources to manage these illnesses. I often wondered and struggled with how to make it out of these conditions and to articulate to myself what was even going on. At 5 I didn't have the words and rationale for why my uncle died. Neither did my family. Growing up, it was easier to ignore and move forward than to address these issues.
As a child, I loved history and wanted to study history in college. I was not interested in mental health or psychology, I reeled from it because it threatened to dredge up the parts of my history I didn't want to face. In college, I conducted an ethnography and oral history of refugees in the New Sanctuary Movement in Ohio as part of my senior independent study. I had the privilege to speak with those seeking asylum by living in churches (or any other religious space protected informally from ICE) that offered sanctuary from immigration for extended periods of time. Some of my contributors lived in these churches for over a year, never leaving the actual building except to walk around the church parking lot or garden so as to not risk deportation. By this point I was a history and sociology major, and mental health or psychology were the furthest thing from my mind and interests. But speaking with my contributors, their support network, and other authorities in the subject, it became apparent that those in Sanctuary were experiencing devastating effects on their mental health. They reported anxiety, depression, and one woman even had an emotional support animal that now lived with her in Sanctuary.
My contributors told me about the stress of an ongoing battle with immigration, family separation, and isolation all compounded. It was difficult to not draw parallels to my own family, who immigrated to the United States in waves. My father left his family at 16 and came to the United States at 20 before his mother and brothers came nearly a decade later. My family missed Uruguay, and my family was mixed-status (meaning some members of my family were undocumented/"sin papels"). These experiences of immigration fascinated me, and as a historian and sociologist, I also saw the institutional factors that resulted in these experiences.
However, even at this point where I saw the clear connection between mental health, migration, race, and history, I was still not interested in pursuing a career in mental health. I took the GRE and was going to take a year off between graduating in 2020 to apply to programs and work. However, when Covid-19 happened I found my life and my plan uprooted. Work was difficult to find as a recent graduate, and I felt unimportant. My depression returned stronger than it had ever before, and I began to see my own therapist twice weekly to try and mitigate my symptoms. I was unsure where to turn and where to go next. The only job I got was as an early childhood educator in Southern Vermont. I packed up the car with my partner and moved to Vermont in the summer of 2020, which would change my life forever.
I didn't know this experience would solidify my goal of being a mental health professional. It was my first time in a classroom working with wonderful, unique children. At our first staff meeting, I learned about returning students and their unique circumstances. I was struck by the complexity and thoughtfulness we created in our classrooms through a trauma-informed approach.
I took professional development courses in early childhood development, identifying and preventing child sexual abuse, trauma-informed care, and creating a trauma-informed classroom. My coursework on TIC was especially illuminating as it helped me further contextualize and better understand my students, people I encountered in my everyday life, and myself as well. Taking the ACES test, I realized I had trauma that continued to impact my everyday life as an adult. I had several students experiencing family separation, exposure to addiction and drug use, and abuse. The foundation of my professional development and experience applying it to my classroom solidified my drive to work with children and their families in a direct capacity. In my career as a mental health counselor, I want to focus on working with children. I also hope to work with recent migrants to the United States to support those who may be coming from a culture or country that stigmatizes mental health like my own family's did.
Currently, I am working in the international development field. I knew I wanted to attend graduate school for clinical counseling, but being an educator I did not have the financial resources to do so. As an educator I gave 110% of my energy and time to my students in a field that is underpaid and undervalued.
While I love working in the international space, I miss working in a client-focused setting with children, adolescents, and families. I knew it was time to take the plunge and really apply for graduate school, I am currently a first year graduate student at George Washington University in DC going for my dream.