Our Stories

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My parents were immigrants from Mexico and they worked multiple jobs to support my family. We lived paycheck to paycheck. My schools were overcrowded, with outdated textbooks and not nearly enough teachers. Classes were more about crowd control than learning. I remember in elementary school, my fifth-grade class didn’t even have enough desks for every student. We rotated sitting on the floor or sharing chairs. In middle school, I was placed in an ESL program, even though I spoke fluent English. I wasn’t given the same opportunities as other students, simply because of my last name. And so I taught myself subjects that my school barely skimmed over. I knew I had to take control of my own education if I ever wanted to escape the limitations around me. 

In high school, I signed up for every advanced class I could, even though guidance counselors tried to steer me toward the “easier” courses. I had to constantly prove I was worthy of those AP classes and I often found myself as the only Hispanic student in the room. I tried to keep up with classmates who had tutors and didn’t need to work part-time jobs after school.

But I wasn’t just battling an underfunded education system; I was also fighting against stereotypes. Teachers and peers expected me to follow a certain path: graduate high school, get a job, and maybe, just maybe, attend community college if I was lucky.

College applications were another hurdle. I didn’t have family members who knew how to navigate the process. There were no alumni connections, no SAT prep courses, and no one to help me write essays. But I wasn’t about to let that stop me. I spent hours on the library computer after school, researching scholarships and college requirements. I asked teachers for recommendation letters, even when they seemed surprised that I was aiming for top-tier schools.

When I got accepted to an Ivy League university, it felt like a dream. I knew that getting in was just the beginning of the challenge. But the struggles of my upbringing had made me tough. I was an expert in dealing with hardship and I wasn’t afraid to work harder than anyone else. 

I grew up in a part of NYC where schools were more like prisons than academic havens. There were metal detectors at the entrance and teachers who were just trying to keep the peace. College felt like some far-off wish that only kids in the suburbs got to experience.

My mom was always on me about education. She knew it was the only way out, and she made sure I knew it too. Even though she worked two jobs to keep us afloat, she somehow found time to make sure I was on top of my homework. We didn’t have much, but we had a whole lot of determination. 

I had teachers who straight-up told me, “College isn’t for everyone,” which was code for “College isn’t for kids like you.” It lit a fire in me. I wasn’t about to let them decide my future.

I pushed myself onto the honors track but it was an uphill battle. The guidance counselors weren’t much help. They would point out local colleges but never the bigger names.

When I earned my acceptance letter to Harvard, it felt like everything I had worked for was finally paying off. I graduated, and now, when I look back, I realize that every single barrier I faced made me stronger. I didn’t have the advantages that others had but I had something more valuable: the ability to keep going, no matter how many times I was told no. 

As a woman of color in tech, I often felt like I had to prove myself in a male-dominated industry. The challenge of standing out while blending into the background was the norm for me.

After completing my degree in design, I dove headfirst into the startup world. I spent time at incubators and working with various tech companies. I acquired the ins and outs of product development and fine-tuned my skills in agile. Looking back, it seemed that I overprepared to compensate for my skin color – but it paid off. 

These skills allowed me to develop over 30 products. I launched them across the Americas, Europe, and Asia. My work on a cutting-edge app even earned a prestigious UX award.

Through these experiences, I found my voice as a designer and a leader. I now run my own software consultancies. I also coach fellow minorities on software product development. My journey has not been easy, but every barrier I’ve faced has made me stronger and more determined. Today, I am honored to help fellow minority-owned businesses scale their products efficiently while continuing to push the boundaries of what’s possible.

I grew up feeling the weight of both my family’s expectations and society’s doubts. As an underrepresented student, I defied all odds to forge my path to pursue an M.D.. After completing my residency and fellowship at a top 5 school, I joined its faculty. My work now focuses on leading clinical trials for patients with advanced chronic diseases. 

It hasn’t been an easy journey, but every step has reinforced my belief in the power of diversity representation in medicine. Today, I serve on a medical diversity committee to shape the future with an eye toward inclusivity. I’m also dedicated to mentoring the next generation of minority medical students. That way, I can ensure that they have the guidance and support that I didn’t always have.

I am the son of Puerto Rican parents who grew up deeply connected to the importance of family and dedication. My childhood was filled with the sacrifices that come with being part of a minority community. Opportunities often seemed limited by the circumstances of our heritage. In hindsight, I appreciate how the challenges of growing up in a system that didn’t always prioritize people like us were formative. From a young age, I witnessed the effects of inequality, not just in economic terms, but in the way our voices were often muted. My schools were underfunded and many teachers didn’t expect much from students like me. 

Instead of discouraging me, this realization strengthened my resolve to prove that our community could not only survive but thrive in spaces where we were often excluded. I spent countless nights studying and driven by a vision of something greater. By the time I graduated high school, I ranked at the top of my class.

At university, I also had to deal with the culture shock of being one of the few students of color. Still, I remained focused on my goal of becoming a lawyer. I was determined to use my education to fight for equality.

After earning my degree, I attended law school, where the challenges continued. The rigorous academic environment pushed me to my limits, but the struggles of my past had prepared me for the pressure. I excelled and was driven by a desire to create a path for others like me who aspired to succeed in a profession that historically lacked diversity.

Today, as a lawyer, I stand as proof that hard work can overcome even the most difficult circumstances. My journey from a struggling minority student to a successful attorney is a testament to the power of education and the strength of the human spirit. So, my advice to anyone who reads this is to always work diligently and believe in the power of your dreams.

I was underestimated from birth. My life began with a deep understanding of the complexities of being Hispanic. Resources were scarce and the expectations for kids like me were minimal. It was common to hear that success was something reserved for others – those with wealth, privilege, and a name that wasn’t a constant reminder of their heritage. I saw it in the way teachers treated us, the lack of extracurricular opportunities, and the way our stories were often ignored or erased in classrooms that didn’t reflect our experiences. My parents didn’t have the privilege of higher education or well-connected networks. Nevertheless, they instilled in me a sense of pride in who we were.

The challenges of my upbringing extended far beyond economic hardship. As a minority, I also dealt with the quiet, everyday struggles of feeling invisible or, worse, being singled out for reasons beyond my control. I remember the moments when teachers assumed I wouldn’t do well because of where I came from or when classmates made casual comments that reminded me I didn’t fit the mold. There was always this underlying pressure to show everyone that I was more than the stereotypes placed upon me.

There were many times when I questioned whether the barriers were too high. But each time I hit a roadblock, I reminded myself of where I came from and who I was fighting for. My community was filled with hardworking, intelligent people who simply hadn’t been given the same opportunities as others. I knew that if I succeeded, it wasn’t just for me, but for everyone who had been underestimated. When I was accepted to an Ivy League school, it was a victory for every minority child who had been told their dreams were too big.

I grew up in public housing. A home wasn’t just about having a roof over our heads, it was about fighting for dignity and for a place that felt safe. My community was more than just a neighborhood; it was a battleground for housing justice and I knew I had to be a part of that fight.

When I began my career in this arena, I saw firsthand the ways that racism affected housing rights. My experiences cemented my belief that housing is a human right. Over the years, I’ve become deeply involved in the Housing Justice Movement, organizing residents, testifying about this issue, and even meeting with government officials to address related issues that disproportionately affect low-income minority communities. 

The fight for housing is far from over but every victory we win brings us closer to ensuring that everyone has a place to call home. For anyone reading this, please join this battle through community organizing and meeting with your local minority tenants rights association. Together, we can usher in a world of change.

My family couldn’t afford much in our small South American town, but we always made sure there was a working computer in the house. That computer became my portal to the world. I spent months learning to code. It is clear that I was driven by the belief that technology could change lives.

After moving to the US, I pursued my passion for software engineering. I used this knowledge to help small businesses that struggle with scaling customer service. 

But my work wasn’t just about building a product. It was about building communities of support for minorities like myself. Throughout all of my professional endeavors, I try to help foster technology-driven startup ecosystems for marginalized people. By empowering local leadership and fostering an entrepreneurial culture similar to Silicon Valley, I’ve seen firsthand how tech can uplift communities.

My background shows that innovation can come from anywhere. Most importantly, overlooked communities can use technology to transform their lives.

I remember sitting in my law school classroom and looking around at the faces of my peers. It was hard not to feel like an outsider. Coming from a family of immigrants, English was my second language. I had never imagined that I would end up at Law School! 

Growing up, I knew that education was my ticket out, but it always felt out of reach. My parents worked tirelessly to support me, but they couldn’t guide me through the maze of higher education. I had to figure it out on my own. And I did, piece by piece, opportunity by opportunity.

Yes, I faced microaggressions that chipped away at my confidence. Still, I pushed forward. I used my degree to inform my social justice nonprofit work. I could then advocate for people who faced significant barriers like myself. I understand their struggles because I’ve lived them. And I know, firsthand, how important it is to have someone in your corner who believes in you when the world seems like it’s against you. 

I am truly grateful for the fact that you are sharing this with your community. I sincerely hope that it provides them with the fire they need to succeed.

As a young girl, the streets of New York felt like a different planet compared to my small village back in Central America. My mother would often tell me I would achieve great things, but how could I believe her when everything felt so foreign? I was an outsider in every sense of the word. I didn’t just have to learn a new language. I had to learn how to survive in an entirely new world.

College was the turning point for me. Getting into a top-ranked university was a dream that my parents never could have imagined for themselves, but they encouraged me. Once there, I didn’t blend in. I stood out in the best and worst ways. While my classmates bonded over vacations to Europe, I was working overtime in a work-study job. While they discussed the latest political theories, I was focused on trying to keep my family back home afloat. But this struggle became my strength. I poured everything into my education, determined to show the world that an immigrant could excel in spaces that weren’t made for her.

After graduating, I built a career in the public domain. My story is one of resilience and defiance against a system that wasn’t built for me. 

The hustle never stops. From bartending to developing business strategies, I’ve learned that life doesn’t always go in a straight line. But you know what? That’s okay. As a person of color, I’ve always had to carve out my own path. I was never handed opportunities. I had to chase them down, fight for them, and make sure they knew my name by the end of the day. And that’s exactly what I did.

At college, I wasn’t just another student. I pushed myself to do everything and anything I could because I knew that if I didn’t stand out, no one was going to give me a second look. But the truth is, my motivation wasn’t just about proving myself to others. It was about proving myself to me. I wanted to know that I could rise above the expectations that society had for someone like me. I am now working on my second master’s degree and mentoring others who are just getting started on this journey. I wish everyone who reads this the very best of luck. You are not alone.

When you live in a household where survival is the focus, dreaming big feels like a luxury. Every day is about getting through: through school, through the day, through the next obstacle. My family worked hard and I helped wherever I could, whether it was at home or at the family business. As an LGBTQ person of color, I knew that I’d have to work twice as hard to even get half the recognition. But that only gave me more inspiration to use education as my way out of a life that felt so limiting.

Going to a competitive university wasn’t just a goal; it was a necessity. I knew that if I made it, I could break the cycle. The odds were stacked against me. I wasn’t just fighting for myself; I was fighting for my entire family’s future. I graduated with honors and went on to earn my advanced degree to create real change.

My story isn’t just about success; it’s about survival, resilience, and redefining what it means to achieve the American Dream.