What I'm Telling My Son About My DACA Status
Last year, when my husband and I decided to have a baby, I felt so grateful to have DACA because it meant I had access to quality healthcare for my prenatal and postnatal care. It meant I had 12 weeks of paid maternity leave from my employer. It meant I had access to a therapist to support me through postpartum anxiety, and it meant I could afford childcare when I returned to work. All of this should be the norm for every person living in this country, but it's not.
Coming Out Twice: Being Latinx, Undocumented, and Queer
Any queer child of immigrants can tell you that coming out twice as undocumented and then as queer is one of the hardest things you can do. Not only do you put yourself at risk in the world, but you can also put yourself at risk in your own family. There are undocumented folks around our country who are here because they were part of the LGBTQIA+ community and home was no longer home. It was no longer a safe space for them to merely exist.
The Reality of Being Black, Undocumented, and Never Qualifying For DACA
When I first learned what it meant to be undocumented, I remember the fear I felt just leaving my house to go to school. I remember the fear I felt just waiting for my mother to come back from work. I remember the fear being driven by the reality that as a Black woman, I could be stopped by police, which could lead to my deportation. A constant uncertainty regarding my well-being, as well as my family's, remains in my heart every day.
10 Years Later After DACA, I'm Fighting to Thrive
As I reminisce on 10 years of DACA, I am reminded of the young organizers who came before me who made this all possible. I celebrate them. They have shown us what is possible when we come together and have demanded what we deserve. But reminiscing on 10 years of DACA, I am also reminded that a decade (and more) of living your life in constant uncertainty is a pain no one should ever have to experience.