The Strength Behind My Story: A Mother’s Day Reflection

She never let it break her. Neither will I.

Dear Mom,

You were born in 1944 in Mexico, into a world that told girls what they could not do. But you laced up your sneakers anyway, tucking your basketball shorts under your skirt so your father wouldn’t know you were playing after school. Girls weren’t supposed to play sports. But you did.

You defied expectations quietly, persistently, long before anyone called it feminism. You didn’t have the privilege of dreaming loudly for yourself, so you dreamed loudly for me instead.

You told me I’d grow up to be a professional woman. You raised me with strength, dignity, and unwavering faith. You raised me Catholic. You raised me conservative. You raised me to work hard, keep my head high, and speak up, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.

We spent our early years in Reno, Nevada, but it was El Paso, Texas, where I was raised. It’s where I became who I am. It's where your quiet resilience became my inner fire. Every summer, we’d pile into the car and head back to Las Vegas with Dad. It was our ritual, our way of holding on to joy, to each other. 

You became a U.S. citizen. You married an American man who drove trucks cross country to build a life for us, and you believed, so fiercely, in the promise of this country. You were a housewife, by choice and circumstance. But when Dad passed away, everything changed. We faced the world on our own. We had no choice but to figure it out, together. And we did.

When I was in college, you went to work, for the first time in many years outside the home, because it was the only way we were going to afford my education at the University of Pennsylvania. You never told me just how hard the labor was. You just did it. It was your quiet way of telling me that my dreams mattered. 

But it was also our way out, the only way we were going to escape my stepfather. The only way forward. And you carried that burden without ever letting it break you. We survived the trauma of an abusive stepfather. We endured the heartbreak of watching someone we trusted slip into extremism under the influence of a radical evangelical pastor. But we got out. We broke the cycle. You, once again, were the one who showed me how.

Through it all, we evolved, together. In our politics, in our understanding of the world, and in our belief that compassion must always come before ideology.

That’s why, when I told you I was going to work in the Trump White House during the first administration, you were shocked. You didn’t hide it. But you looked at me and said, “You didn’t choose this career because it was easy.” And you were right. So off I went, to give it my all, to face whatever I had to face, in hopes of making a difference.

And I did. Until I couldn’t anymore.

Until every single part of my upbringing, everything you instilled in me, was being torn apart. Shredded. Bit by bit. So I quit.

It was hard. Some people told me I had betrayed everything I stood for. But the truth is, no, I was standing up for everything you raised me to believe in. I was standing with the values you taught me to hold. Because right is right. Even when it costs you. Even when you have to go against the grain.

That’s what you taught me.

And that’s why it hurts so much to watch what’s happening now.

I’m so sorry that after everything you’ve lived through, after all you’ve sacrificed and survived, you now have to watch this country regress. I’m sorry that immigrants like you are being demonized, targeted, and dehumanized. That the very same values you embraced when you stood to take your oath, freedom, equality, opportunity, are being twisted and weaponized against people who look like us.

I know your heart breaks every time you hear hateful rhetoric about the border. I know how hard it is for you to hear Spanish spoken with hesitation instead of celebration. I know how it stings when you see women told to be silent again.

But I want you to know this: You didn’t raise me to sit quietly.

You raised me to remember who I am. You raised me to be proud of my roots and unafraid of the road ahead. Every time I speak out, every time I fight for what's right, I carry your courage with me.

You are my example. My trailblazer. My champion in a skirt and basketball shorts.

This Mother's Day, I honor you not just for what you gave me, but for who you are, for all the battles you fought, both seen and unseen. For building a life from the ground up, and for never letting me forget that we belonged.

Gracias, Mamá. Te quiero con todo mi corazón.

And I promise, I'm still fighting for the dream you believed in.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there, and to the mom-like figures who shape our lives with love, strength, and quiet courage.

-Olivia