Cultural Identity and Insecurity

This last week, I faced a fear. Well, it’s not like a big fear but it did involve two areas that trigger my anxiety and most importantly, my insecurity. I hosted a networking event for Latinx therapists in the Valley.

Those two populations — Latinx and Therapists — elicit the same response from me, which is to shrink down in an attempt to be invisible. I plan to write about my feelings of Imposter Syndrome as a therapist in a separate blog post — so for now I’ll focus on my insecurity in regards to my cultural identity.

I am proud of my cultural background. I would identify as Chicana, although it’s probably not something I often verbalize — mostly because people don’t know what that means and no, it doesn’t mean you’re from Chicago. I was born in the United States and my family comes from Mexico.

I grew up in San Luis, AZ — basically within walking distance of the Mexican border. Spanish was my first language and while I don’t hold any memory of learning English, my family will tell you that I picked it up very quickly once I started daycare at four years old.

Growing up near the border, I never thought of myself as different. The kids in class all spoke English and Spanish, we played Tazos instead of Pogs, our Patty Cake game was in Spanish, and we told scary stories about La Llorona instead of the Boogeyman. Even when I started going to school in Yuma, where there was more diversity, I didn’t think too much about cultural differences. Culturally speaking, I was still part of the majority and all the kids got along well with one another. But moving to Scottsdale in time to start high school made me very aware of my status as a “minority.”

I have a clear memory of the Principal asking if I really wanted to be in whatever advanced math class I was supposed to be signed up for because I was from Yuma. I have another vivid memory of the school trying to force me take an ESL (English as a Second Language) test in order to register for classes, although I clearly was extremely fluent in the language and had test scores showing I was in the 99^th percentile in English. It took my White stepdad to come down and complain to the school for them to let me register without the test. Can we say, “institutional racism?”

Once I realized how different I was in comparison to my classmates, I also was made aware of how different I was from “my people.” It wasn’t until I moved to Scottsdale that I started to hear how I didn’t “look Mexican.”

What does that even mean??

Well, what they mean (conscious choice to use present tense here because I still get this stupid comment) was that I didn’t look Mexican because of my light skin and green eyes. But what it really means is that people don’t know what the fuck they are talking about. Surprise! It’s not a one size fits all when it comes to appearance.

To set me apart even more from my cultural background is that I purposefully stopped speaking Spanish at a young age. Again, I don’t have a clear memory of why I stopped — I’m guessing the teachers in school would yell at us about having to only speak English. By seven years old, I stopped responding to my family in Spanish and became very self-conscious any time I had to speak it after that.

So as I entered adulthood, I felt a strain in my relationship with my cultural background and identity. I began to feel like I couldn’t fit in with the Latinx community nor did I identify with the non-Latinx community.

What happens when you feel like you don’t fit in? You become insecure AF.

I quickly learned that speaking Spanish would get me farther in my career so despite my insecurity, I dusted off those language skills. I stumbled my way back to feeling fully fluent to the point of comfortably conducting therapy sessions in Spanish.

Back in 2017 when I was dealing with that constant anxiety, I decided to look toward my ancestors and took a solo trip to Mexico. Since then I have been more purposeful in connecting with my roots. I engaged in a bilingual writing workshop, where I worked on a story about my cultural background and experiences with my grandparents. Exactly a year ago, I was on an amazing trip to Puebla and Oaxaca with my aunt. I felt quite comfortable traveling with her around Puebla but that insecurity reared its ugly head, as we spent time with her friends in Oaxaca.

When I’m feeling insecure in those situations, I go practically silent. My brain feels like it stops working altogether and my usual funny, sarcastic personality is dimmed to the point of being nearly invisible. On our last night in Oaxaca, we had dinner with a large group of my aunt’s friends. At one point someone asked me about the work I do. I remember the silence that fell over the entire table as I spoke with confidence about the work I do in processing trauma with EMDR. It felt validating to grab their attention and know that my Spanish speaking skills weren’t as bad as I imagined and I actually sounded like I knew what I was talking about.

Since then, I have been leaning into my cultural identity a little bit more at a time. I was interviewed in Spanish as an expert for a story about phobias that aired on Telemundo Arizona. I became a mentor for the Los Diablos Scholarship program at Arizona State University. I make an effort to respond in Spanish versus English when my family speaks to me in Spanish. I text with my stepmom in order to practice writing in Spanish. If you pass by my office when I’m not in session, you’ll probably hear me listening to Carla Morrison. I continue to work with Spanish-speaking clients in my private practice. I didn’t shy away from attending a friend’s Día de Los Reyes party where I would only know him.

Most recently, I started to outreach other Spanish-speaking therapists to connect and refer to when I felt I didn’t match the client’s needs. In meeting with some of these women, I realized how there was a need in the mental health community for Latinx therapists to connect. It seemed like none of us really knew many other people we could refer to in order to meet the needs of our Latinx clients.

I decided to lean into the two populations that previously caused me to feel like I wasn’t good enough.

I hosted my first Latinx Therapist networking event. This event happened last Wednesday, held at Fair Trade Café — a Latina owned business, as I also want to be intentional with supporting the Latinx business community in these meetings. It was amazing! The response online validated my theory that people wanted to connect in this way. Five other amazing Latina women joined me, as we talked about our current work, interests, and future goals. I loved every minute of it. Although I had felt anxious driving to the event, I felt the most comfortable in my skin that I have felt in a long time as I sat there connecting with each person.

This first meeting inspired me, possibly in a life changing way. I am now interested in creating something great from this. I want to create a space for Latinx therapists to discuss the needs of our clients, consult on cases, refer to each other as experts, gain CEUs from each other’s knowledge, and normalize mental health in our cultural community.

I am realizing that the more I connect with the Latinx population, the more inspired I feel.

I recognize the privilege that my light skin, perfect English, and citizenship carry. Leaning into your cultural identity can feel like a scary thing to do during these turbulent times. It’s fear of the unknown, of the other, that creates the biggest divide between us. Perhaps the more we learn and embrace our cultural background, the more we can teach one another about it. The more we learn about each other, the more we can learn to love and accept one another — and maybe even inspire one another. I’m hopeful.