I grew up in what 10-year-old Adalia considered a glorious 3-bedroom castle in the East Aldine District, a predominantly Spanish-speaking, low-income, working-class neighborhood in Houston, Texas. My mom never allowed me to leave without eating breakfast at 5:30 am, and I had to catch a 1-hour bus ride to attend a magnet school. Growing up, my dad worked in construction, and a few years of being in a new country, my mom became a medical assistant after mastering the English language.

A turning point in my immigrant turned naturalized parent’s life came when my dad developed larynx cancer. My dad had his voice box removed for any chance of survival; this meant that he would lose the ability to make his living in construction. Thus, my mom became the sole provider for our family of four, on a modest income.

Times were never easy for us, but my brother and I never went hungry or lacked our basic needs. We were raised to appreciate the shoes we had regardless of the brand, because we knew every sacrifice was for a better future. I intended to do whatever it took to make sure my parent’s sacrifices would never go to waste. In 2011, I received an acceptance letter to the most well-known university in Texas, the prestigious UT Austin. With full parental blessing, an abundance of ambition, and no road map, I had no choice but to navigate college. Like many of my first-generation peers, I did not grow up hearing stories about what residential halls were like or receive suggestions to study abroad or join a culturally-based organization. I managed through my freshman year as best I could.

Still, I always wonder if I had been paired with a mentor or met a faculty member with a passion for helping the Latinx community, what opportunities would I have been encouraged to pursue? I persevered and figured UT out on my own. I made incredible memories and developed useful skills that I would later apply in my life.

Determined to serve my community, I returned to my East Aldine district after graduation, this time as a bilingual math and science teacher. Then it dawned on me. Twelve years had passed from when I was in my 4th grader’s shoes, yet the needle had barely moved for kiddos like myself.

Inside, I knew that my students could grow up navigating elementary school through college without a road map either. I had a desire to do more to help college students figure out their road map. I decided to pursue a Master’s degree and a career in higher education. Similar to my experience navigating UT Austin, I was also under-resourced on how to navigate the graduate school process. I applied to one school, the University of Houston (UH), with little guidance on the process, I was admitted. However, I was facing a difficult decision to risk my job security, stable income, and insurance coverage or enter a field with no connections. Anxious about the outcome, my intuition was telling me I had to get my Master’s. I cleaned up my classroom one last time, sacrificed half of my income, applied for a part-time assistantship to begin graduate school full time, and entered a new field.

As a graduate student, I said yes to far too many tasks to optimize my chances for a full-time job down the road. One year of overextending and an internship later – I landed a full-time job offer as a career counselor and instructor at the UH and graduated with a Master’s degree in May 2019.

For anyone reading this now, I learned that there are opportunities and spaces that we, people of color, first-generation, from humble beginnings, need to be leading in. For too long, the needle has not moved for us, and we will not close that gap until we demand change. My advice is this: Continue speaking up, make your accomplishments known, go for the opportunities that scare you a bit, and empower your community while achieving greatness.

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Advice to younger self:

• • Establish boundaries earlier and drink more water, you overachieving yet dehydrated woman!