On a random Tuesday morning, my immigration lawyer called me with life-changing news — my petition for U.S. citizenship was finally approved after a distressing and emotional yearslong wait.
I can’t tell you how nervous I was during this time.
Similar to what many immigrants experience, the legalization process was daunting. A voice of doubt kept telling me I would not be approved for citizenship because of dumb mistakes on my forms. I tried to tell myself these were crazy thoughts, but it is hard living a normal life in America when your citizenship and future are uncertain.
One week after that call, I nervously made my way downtown to collect my citizenship certificate. I kept fidgeting with my jean jacket, hyper-focusing on the back of the head of the person in front of me.
Today I find myself just as nervous as the biggest Election Day in my lifetime approaches. Not only am I nervous about voting in my first presidential election, but there’s a huge weight on my shoulders to help my family members vote too. My two siblings will also be voting for the first time and it will be my mother’s second time voting in an election.
“At 23, and the eldest daughter in an immigrant family of voters, I am the one responsible for figuring things out—not just for myself, but for everyone else too.”
González
I know I’m not alone in this. There are plenty of other eldest daughters in Latino families facing the same pressures and responsibilities. Just like me, they were the ones called upon in their families to answer the phone when someone called because their parents didn’t speak English well enough.
We’ve played the role of interpreter and decision-maker when accompanying our parents to the dentist or doctor’s office. I can’t count how many times I’ve explained something to my parents that I could barely figure out myself, from a legal clause to a medical diagnosis.
The day I finally received the packet containing my citizenship certificate, an American flag, and a letter from President Joe Biden welcoming new citizens, a phrase stuck out to me: “As you embrace the rights and responsibilities of citizenship … I am honored to welcome you as a fellow American…”
I now realize I was managing the “responsibilities of citizenship” way before I gained citizenship. From helping my mom navigate paying taxes to helping her enroll my siblings and me in school. No task was too much for me.
Luataní Flores, a mental health therapist, refers to this as “bridging cultures,” which can involve the eldest daughter or son helping their parents navigate different cultures and languages from a young age.
“The eldest daughters are the bridge to different systems… Exposing the parents to all kinds of systems that they don’t have knowledge about, or even access to,”
Luataní Flores, mental health therapist
“Having to carry this on their own, could also lead to a sense of isolation or feeling alone, like no one really understands what it’s like to carry this load,” Flores said.
I remember that feeling of isolation in 2016 when explaining the general election ballot to my mom when I was just 15. That year was particularly tough for me as I was navigating high school, exploring my queer identity, and dealing with then-candidate Donald Trump’s hateful rhetoric targeting undocumented people like me. When he won, it felt like the world shifted.
Flores suggests not making conversations about elections a one-off thing. Constantly exposing our families to these topics makes them understand their importance. “It is helpful to explain a little bit of how the election works or what the Electoral College is. If you both aren’t really sure, look into it together. Like, how do we learn together?” she said.
That’s exactly what I did. I sat in the kitchen while my mom cooked or talked to her as she got ready for work, explaining the day’s news or translating ballot propositions. I quickly learned to take it slow, covering one issue at a time, so I didn’t overwhelm her. “Ya hiciste tu tarea?” she’d ask, signaling that she was ready to shift away from politics. I sat next to her dutifully as she filled in her mail-in ballot.
Next month I’ll have to do that again — not with one but with three members of my family. When that weight seems like too much to carry, I think about my grandmother in Sinaloa, Mexico, who worked as a poll worker in the 2012 election. Despite the 95-degree heat, she stood strong to help her neighbors vote. To me, she was a superhero, and I knew I would one day proudly vote too.
Now, that day is here, in L.A. instead of Sinaloa. No matter how hard voting feels, I can’t forget my grandmother’s selflessness—just as it’s now my duty to help my family vote.
