When I was little, around 6 or 7 years old I was given a test called the CogAT. It was basically to test your smarts and see if you were ¨gifted¨. It was really easy for me and I passed with a score of 99%. But there was a catch. If you passed the gifted test you would have to move to this other school that supposedly specialized in teaching kids like that. So, my mom, thinking it would be good for me, transferred me to a new school. I had to go into the 2nd grade with no idea what I was getting into. Spitalny, the school I was already at, was the school that my siblings and most of my cousins went to. That school was my normal, and I never imagined myself in any other school before. I was so scared that I wasn't going to fit in with the other smart kids, the so-called “gifted kids.” I was afraid that I'd have to work even harder than I already was, to be in a school program like that. Like, if I didn't work hard enough, or keep up with them I'd be left behind. But that was just the beginning.

My mom was filled with so much excitement having a “gifted” kid. Her kid was special and would get opportunities that she didn't get growing up in Mexico. It was like I was her prized possession that she could brag about to family and friends. It made me happy that she was happy. I always knew deep down that she wanted me to do great things, and live a happy comfortable life where I wouldn't have to struggle as she did. Growing up, she would talk about the sacrifices she made for our better life. She would explain how she left her family behind and everything she knew: her friends, her home, her whole life, basically. It was always her telling us something like,"tienen que ser agradecidos por su educación porque algunas personas no son tan afortunadas como ustedes”. I've always held those words close to my heart.

As years went on and I entered middle school, the pressure I had put on myself from such an early age had just continued to build. I realized at an early age that I had to be the best to get that acknowledgment from her. All the love and attention I got from my mom and family was because of my grades and my so-called “intelligence" that got me into that gifted program. I just really wanted to make my mom proud of me, and for her to recognize all of my efforts. I just didn't realize that over the years I was burning myself out. All the praise I got from others meant nothing to me, because all I ever wanted was for my mom to tell me that she recognizes all the work I put into my grades.

Being the child of an immigrant family is harder on me than it is on others. I'm constantly wondering if what I've done is good enough. Do my successes amount to what my parents have done for me? Their sacrifices, their hard work, all of that. Is it enough? I know she doesn't want me to be like this but I can't help feeling like I have to prove myself to her. I've never told my mom that I feel this way because I know she'll blame herself. I don’t want that. She already has enough to deal with as it is. My problems shouldn't be one of them. I don't want to feel this way though. I want to work for my own validation, not somebody else's. But the little girl inside of me still wants to know, Estás orgullosa de mí ama?

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