From Questioning to Belonging:
My Path to Educational Leadership

My Story Begins

I am a proud Chicana educator committed to creating inclusive, equitable learning environments for all students. Being adopted from foster care and raised in a Latinx community shaped my belief in education as a pathway to opportunity for students and for families like mine. These experiences drive my commitment to supporting all students and their families, just as my own family supported me in my journey.

Through my experiences in Catholic schools and public education, I have seen firsthand how schools can serve as spaces where students feel seen, supported, and empowered to overcome systemic barriers. I believe that the communities of my students are essential partners in their educational journey. By collaborating with families and drawing on community strengths, we can create meaningful, culturally responsive learning experiences that empower students to thrive.

From Mexico, With Love

My Pops, the eldest of eight children, grew up in poverty in Mexico. He and his siblings often heard stories of the U.S. as a land of endless opportunity, where money didn’t just grow on trees, it literally fell from them and scattered across the ground. That image stuck with them. Determined to help his family, who lived with dirt floors and walls reinforced with cardboard, he immigrated to the U.S. at 16, planning to return home after earning money. But he quickly realized how essential it was to send support back, so he stayed, hoping to build a better future for them.

Upon arriving, he lived with his uncle and his family. However, his uncle’s wife refused to let him sleep inside the house, wanting to keep him separate from their daughters. He was forced to sleep on the porch each night. Though he worked hard and sent money to Mexico, she also took a portion of his paycheck. All the while, my dad lived with the constant fear that 'La Migra' might show up and send him back, a fear that shaped his early experience in this country and deepened his sense of being othered.

As he sought better job opportunities, he was encouraged to change his name to “Joe” because it “sounded less Mexican.” That push to assimilate, so common among immigrants, was a clear reminder that even in a land promising opportunity, invisible barriers persisted. Stories like this remind me that our names carry our histories, and our students should never feel pressured to hide theirs.

Despite everything, my dad’s belief in hard work and his determination to create a better life for his family laid the foundation for the opportunities we have today. His story, marked by hardship and resilience, continues to inspire my own commitment to building pathways of opportunity through education.

His journey is etched into who I am. Every time I walk into a classroom, speak up for equity, or imagine a better future for all families, I carry his story with me.

Across Borders, Across Generations

My maternal grandparents left Mexico with their baby, the eldest of their six children, in search of a better life in the United States. They had little more than hope and faith, but they carried with them a deep commitment to love, family, and education. Even when money was tight, they worked hard to send all six of their children to Catholic school, believing that education would open doors they never had.

My Yeyo, my abuelito, was illiterate. Orphaned at age seven, he never returned to school after losing his mother. When he and my abuelita arrived in the United States, she became his teacher. With only a sixth-grade education herself, she taught him how to sign his name and read the words he needed to apply for residency. My grandma, my Sina, had always wanted to be a teacher. But in Mexico, becoming a teacher meant leaving her hometown to study, and her father would not allow it. Teaching my Yeyo became her chance to fulfill that dream. I imagine them sitting at the kitchen table, a pencil in his hand, and her gently encouraging him, step by step.

Later, my grandfather wanted to get his driver’s license. He needed to learn how to read road signs and pass the written exam. My grandma helped him study, using everything she knew, and with her support, he passed. It was more than just a license. It was independence, pride, and proof of what they could accomplish together.

My Yeyo eventually became a skilled metal polisher. His boss, recognizing how hard he worked to support his large family, helped him by dividing his paycheck among his sons so that the family would not have to pay as much in taxes. It was a quiet gesture of respect for the kind of man my grandfather was.

Their belief in the power of education never faded. All six of their children were expected to go to college. One eventually left school to join my grandfather in his trade, continuing the family work with pride. The other five earned their degrees, and one even became a fellow UCLA Bruin.

Their pride in education extended to us, their grandchildren. When my siblings and I brought home our report cards, my grandma would make my uncles go get our family’s favorite pizza from Petrillo’s to celebrate. If we told her we had a test or a presentation, she would promise to pray for us when she went to church. She made each of us feel that our hard work mattered and that our success belonged to all of us.

I grew up surrounded by these stories and moments. They taught me about sacrifice, faith, and the quiet strength it takes to build something better for the next generation. Their love, resilience, and faith in education created a legacy, one that shaped not just their children and grandchildren, but the way I live, lead, and educate today.

Roots of Resilience

The stories of my father and abuelos are more than just family history, they are blueprints for resilience. Their sacrifices laid the groundwork for how I understand justice, leadership, and education. Growing up, I often heard their stories, tales of hardship, hope, and hard work, that shaped how I see the world. My father’s journey, shaped by the lessons passed down from his parents, taught me that education is not just about academics but about creating pathways to a better life. His tireless efforts to provide his children with what he never had continue to inspire my work as an educator and remind me of the strength that comes from love and perseverance.

Equally important, my grandparents instilled in me a deep belief in the transformative power of education. I remember how my grandma celebrated our report cards with our favorite pizza and how she prayed for us before tests. They made countless sacrifices to ensure their children received a Catholic education even when resources were scarce. Their unwavering commitment showed me that fostering encouragement, creating opportunities, and supporting student success truly matter. Together, the efforts of my father and my grandparents have shaped my understanding of education as a tool for empowerment that extends far beyond textbooks and classrooms. It is rooted deeply in resilience, sacrifice, and love.

I also recognize that receiving a higher education is not the “be-all and end-all.” However, for my family, it has been a crucial way to push forward, build knowledge, and open doors to greater economic stability and opportunity. Education became one of the few paths available to us to break cycles of hardship and create lasting change.

Searching for Belonging

As an adopted child, I was given the gift of love and opportunity, but my journey to understanding my place in the world has not always been straightforward. My biological mother was only fifteen when she had me, and I have an older brother whom I have never met. Since the age of 4, I have known I was adopted, and while I was raised in a loving home, I sometimes carried a quiet ache, a lingering feeling of being unwanted or not fully belonging. I struggled with that for a long time, and at times I still do.
This past May, I found paperwork my biological mother had left behind. In it, she wrote, "did not want to have her since knowledge of pregnancy, unable to get an abortion." Reading those words was painful. It confirmed a feeling I had carried deep inside for years. But as hard as it was to read, I also saw it with compassion. She was just a child herself, navigating something unimaginably difficult. I don’t know what support systems she had, but I can imagine the fear and uncertainty she must have felt. She also wrote that one of her goals was to go back to school and finish her education. That small detail, her hope for something better, stayed with me.
From a young age, my mom, the one who raised me and whom I proudly call Mom, taught me to hold my biological mother’s decision with empathy. She reminded me that placing me for adoption was incredibly hard and came from a place of sacrifice. I never held it against her. I was adopted at four months old, and although I am the only one in my family who was adopted, I grew up surrounded by love.
Still, it was not always easy. There were moments when I felt like there were pieces of my story that were missing. I knew there were connections out in the world that I did not understand, and maybe never would. At times, I was made to feel different. Certain members on my dad’s side would make comments that reminded me I was not biologically the same, and that stung more than I let on.
Along the way, I had teachers who gave me the space to explore these complicated parts of my identity, especially through writing. They encouraged me to express what I was feeling, even when I didn’t fully understand it myself. Through their support, I learned that my voice mattered. Those moments in the classroom helped me begin to make sense of my story and gave me the courage to own it. It is one of the many reasons I believe so deeply in the power of education, not just to teach, but to heal and affirm.
All of this, my adoption, my questions of identity and belonging, my complicated but loving journey, has shaped who I am. It has given me a deep empathy for students who carry invisible burdens, who wonder where they fit, or who are navigating paths that do not reflect the traditional mold. I know what it is like to question your place. That experience drives my work as an educator.
Education, for me, is not just about academics. It is about creating spaces of belonging. It is about making sure every student, especially those who feel different, left out, or othered, knows they are seen, valued, and deeply worthy of love and opportunity.

Learning from the Inside

That understanding started to take shape long before I ever entered a classroom as a teacher. As a child, I spent my summers helping my mom prepare her classroom. We’d set up bulletin boards, organize supplies, and carefully arrange each student’s desk. At the time, it felt like simple tasks, but looking back, those moments gave me an early glimpse into what it means to create a space where students feel welcome and cared for.

I remember my mom talking about her students with such love and pride. She would write heartfelt letters for graduating students and tell stories about the kids who stopped by years later just to say thank you. One student, in particular, stood out to me. He was in her second-grade class and only spoke Cantonese. Neither my mom nor the other teachers spoke the language, but she found ways to connect with him and support his learning, long before tools like Google Translate existed! Years later, when he ran into her, he was already in medical school. He told her she was the reason for his path and success.

Watching my mom taught me that teaching is deeply relational. It was never just about delivering lessons. It was about knowing your students, making them feel safe, and celebrating who they were. She created a classroom where students felt like they belonged, and I remember the way kids would light up when they saw her. She made learning feel joyful and personal.

Her example shaped how I view education, not just as a vehicle for academic success, but as a space for connection, affirmation, and community. It’s about creating a space where every student feels seen, heard, and valued, especially those who, like me, may have wrestled with where they fit in. That belief lives in my classroom today, and it will continue to guide me as I grow into leadership. The heart of education, I’ve learned, is in the everyday actions that make students feel like they matter, because they do. These early experiences planted the seeds for the kind of leader I hope to be, one who sees and values every student.

Lessons from My Education

Attending Catholic schools in low-to-middle-class Latinx communities, I experienced education as both an opportunity and a challenge. While these schools offered a strong sense of community, financial barriers were always present. My parents made personal sacrifices to ensure I had what I needed, but no child should have to rely on that kind of sacrifice for a quality education. Families in similar communities face the same financial strain, limiting access to important resources like extracurricular activities, academic support, and even basic supplies.

This experience shaped my understanding that equitable access to education goes beyond academics. It includes the resources and support necessary for students to truly grow. A good education should never come with a financial burden, and every student, no matter their background, deserves a real chance to succeed.

In community college, I met students from many different backgrounds who faced systemic inequities such as underfunded schools, biases, and barriers that affected their ability to thrive. I realized that simply providing access is not enough. We must address the root causes of these inequities, such as funding disparities and institutional biases. Only by removing these systemic barriers can we ensure every student has an equal opportunity to reach their full potential.

These experiences guide my work in the classroom today. I strive not only to make education accessible but also to challenge the systems that allow inequality to persist. I am committed to creating an environment where every student feels supported, valued, and empowered to succeed and to feel they truly belong.

The Heart of Public Education: Why it Matters

Transitioning from teaching in Catholic schools to public education transformed my understanding of education's role in shaping communities. While private schools may have access to greater resources, my time in public education has deepened my appreciation for how public schools serve as a critical lifeline, providing essential resources and support to a diverse and often underserved student body, and providing all students, regardless of background, the tools they need to thrive.

In public schools, I’ve witnessed firsthand how education can bridge gaps, create opportunities, and foster a sense of belonging for students who might otherwise be left behind. Public education is not just about academics. It’s about advocating for equity, ensuring every child, regardless of socioeconomic status or background, has the tools they need to succeed. Teaching in this setting has solidified my commitment to fighting for an inclusive, supportive environment that upholds the values of justice and opportunity for all.

This experience has made me realize that public education is uniquely positioned to create real change in communities by addressing systemic inequities and ensuring that resources are distributed equitably. It’s not just about teaching, it's about shaping a future where all students can thrive.

Bridging Communities Through Leadership

My background has given me a deep understanding of many students' and families' challenges. I’ve seen how important it is to prioritize representation, culturally responsive teaching, and strong school-community relationships.

As a future school leader, I believe that bridging the gap between schools and communities isn’t just a goal; it’s a responsibility. I am committed to creating inclusive, supportive learning environments where all students feel valued and families are integral partners in their children’s education. By bridging communities and schools, we can create spaces where students succeed academically and feel a strong sense of belonging and pride in who they are. In helping others find belonging, I continue to deepen my own.

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