The other day, my family was sitting around my parents’ living room, waiting for dinner to finish cooking. My mother, father, sister, brother-in-law, and myself, all in the same room for a meal — a rare occasion for a family with adult children in the 21st century. Looking around, the thought struck me: At 22 (the same age I just turned), my mother had a husband, two kids, and a dog. Not to mention, my grandmother was married by the time she was 15 and had three children by her early 20s. I, however, am living independently (with roommates though, because who can actually afford to live by themselves right now?), and although I cannot escape the dreaded “so, where’s the boyfriend?” question at any family function, I don’t feel the same pressure to settle down as the women in my family before me did. Instead, I’m prioritizing my education and career — which, of course, comes with its own set of pressures.
My parents raised me to always do what I thought was best for me, taught me to question the world, urged me into activities that pushed me out of my comfort zone, and encouraged me to do well in school so I could get into a good college. I was also lucky enough to grow up with role models for women in careers that I wanted — local newsanchors and fictional characters like Betty Suarez and Andrea Sachs; they showed me women can be in powerful positions, be smart and unabashedly good at what they love to do. Female teachers inspired me to take up writing and creatively expressing myself through high school. All these things instilled a strong foundation for me to become a journalist, a career that I can put everything into, because starting a family is just not a priority for me right now.
My mom was studying to go into pediatrics when she got married to my dad, and she had my sister shortly after. She’d been encouraged to pursue marriage as she came of age, which isn’t uncommon for Mexican women or those who grew up in the South. (Yes, she had the double whammy of growing up in two strong, fairly family-centric cultures.) I’d never asked her outright about how she feels about her situation, or how it differs from mine, and despite feeling nervous to bring it up, this night with my family made me realize I wanted to know. Her answer, it turns out, was simple: She’s perfectly content with her life, but she wouldn’t want that for me unless I wanted it. She and my dad would support my sister and me in whatever we wanted to do simply because we wanted it.
My sister chose to have a family earlier in her life. But the keyword here is chose. She’s only two years older than me, so we grew up together. (Although she will always argue that my parents had gone soft with me, but what older sister doesn’t think that?) She met a very nice man and started a life with him. Now, she has a career in law, a house, plus two kiddos. And I… well, I call and beg for their HBO Max password to watch Sex and the City again, by myself, in my pjs.
But I’m hitting my own milestones in my life: I have a credit card and a car payment all by myself (Hiliary Clinton didn’t even have that at my age, because women couldn’t have their own line of credit until 1974, BTW). I am about to be the first woman on my mom’s side to graduate college. I have my own apartment away from my hometown, complete with an annoyingly lovable dog (which is my version of my own little family, at least for now).
I feel the weight of my choices — to be the first woman in my family to decide starting a family can wait, to put my career (and myself) first. Skipping a lecture or not doing my absolute best on an assignment are normal parts of the college experience, but when I remember the women in my family who were never afforded the opportunity, the guilt I feel is debilitating.
As a graduating senior, I’d actually rather my family ask me about my love life than to talk about what happens after college. I’m so grateful to them for their support, but what if I do all this and it amounts to nothing? I feel like I’m walking through life with generations of women watching my every move, waiting to see if my choices pay off.
Yet, it’s inspiring too. I am so lucky to have generations of scholars and activists who came before me and provided frameworks for my journey. Gloria Anzaldúa, Kimberlé Crenshaw, Moya Bailey, bell hooks, and so many others have spent their entire lives processing and deconstructing the oppression women (and really anyone who isn’t a cishet white man) across the world have experienced. Now, I’m part of a whole generation of women who are continuing their fight.
So yes, I feel the internal demand to succeed — not just for me, but for my family and so many others not allowed the same path — but it’s also motivating. Why not do the things that call to me right now, if only just because I can?