this is it
A few years ago I started a blog with and for a friend. She and I were both at an interesting crossroad in search of our dream careers. She loved fashion and possessed an incredible aesthetic that could style a garbage bag for an award show if challenged. I was in the midst of exploring interior and event design. Though neither of our majors reflected our passions it was evident to us that our hearts were elsewhere. Both of us felt a sense of excitement when we talked about the potential of our dreams but neither of us were brave enough to push the boundaries, at least not at the time, so I suggested we collab on a blog. She agreed, albeit reluctantly. Two weeks and a logo later she backed out.
Disappointed but stubborn, I opted to rename the platform and make it my own. That blog unlocked my imagination in many ways but also gave way to a bigger storm brewing in my spirit as I sought affirmation. I toiled to scramble posts, recruited friends to capture pictures, and obsessed over followers and likes. The content also started to pivot in ways I wasn’t proud of, tethering between light-hearted fashion posts and deep reflections about my struggle with faith. I should also mention that at the time I was interning as a marketing and event planning assistant. Mixing hobby and career expectations further egged on the need to prove myself. Having no clear direction for the blog, its purpose, and persisting in inconsistent delivery tapped me out, so I ended it. My pride was crushed but my spirit let out a sigh of relief.
“I just ask that you bear with me as I figure things out and find myself...”
To my surprise, the stories and raw reflections I often shared on that blog never stopped writing themselves. They persisted and continued in my mind and heart. What I realized in my time of pause was that there was more to my stories and struggle that only writing could unlock. As a first generation raised in a home of immigrants, the love and lessons ran deep but the pressure to be or to succeed were even greater. I was expected to master the English language which was not spoken at home, graduate with honors, and thrive financially, all while never compromising or watering down my Dominican roots or upbringing. A demand very difficult to navigate when your customs derive from the island but your everyday living resides in the states. Let me tell you! It’s pretty difficult to stumble upon sand and waves in a city paved in concrete. Now imagine trying to live up to conflicting expectations.
The time of pause gave me perspective on the topics that mattered most to me. It gave way to discussions that were more in tune and at home with my personal experience and struggle. Topics related to identity, the search for belonging because I didn’t quite fit in with friends who resonated more with the Dominican experience or those with the American. Somehow, somewhere along the way I fell into a gap between the two that no one else seem to be struggling to get out of. That was until I started sharing my experiences with friends. It was then that I discovered I was far from alone.
“Somehow, somewhere along the way I fell into a gap between the two that no one else seem to be struggling to get out of.”
The experiences and opinions shared in each of these stories are my own. I’m sure some of you will relate and I look forward to hearing those. I just ask that you bear with me as I figure things out and find myself - my voice, confidence, and identity - between these two worlds.
