As an Afro-Latino therapist, I often witness the mental health challenges of those that struggle to navigate multiple cultural identities. While it is glorious to be a blend of the diaspora, at times it can feel difficult for some to find themselves between the pressure to preserve a heritage and step into whatever society might deem more of value. I get it, I’ve been there. There is also a generational impact of these struggles. For those of us with parents or grandparents who immigrated, we often inherit their trauma without fully understanding it. There’s a lot of unspoken grief passed down from one generation to the next—their sacrifices, the pain they endured to give us a better life. We carry their stories with us—their survival, their loss—and sometimes that shows up in our own mental health without us even realizing it. It can manifest as anxiety, perfectionism, or the constant fear of failure because we feel we ‘owe it to them’ to succeed. And if we struggle, it can feel like we’re letting down generations of family, which only adds to our emotional and psychological load.

Sometimes, we’re seen as too Black to be Latino, and other times too Latino to be embraced fully by the Black community. Colorism, assumptions and the shame of not knowing the language well. That constant feeling of being on the margins—both within the Latino and Black communities—can cause a profound disconnection from one’s identity, triggering feelings of depression, anxiety, and low self-worth. It’s a kind of cultural alienation that’s hard to articulate, but its emotional impact is real and lasting.

Or say, your life choices are not inline with your family, putting family above all else. While that value can be beautiful, it can also create this expectation to "mantener las cosas dentro de la familia". We’re often expected to hold everything together, to be the ones who stay strong for everyone else, and that can prevent us from acknowledging our own needs. This silence, this unwillingness to talk about mental health, is deeply rooted in our culture. Admitting that you need help or that you’re struggling can feel like a personal failure, as if you’re betraying the strength and resilience your family has relied on for generations. But the truth is, there’s so much power in acknowledging that you can’t do it all on your own.

It is important it is to create spaces where we can talk about these struggles openly and without shame. So that people can be honored for holding their struggles.  We have to make room for healing, for breaking the silence that surrounds mental health in our communities. Therapy should be a place where we can bring all of our complexities, where we can show up as our full selves—Black, Latino, immigrant, first-gen—without fear of judgment. It’s only when we allow ourselves that space that we can start to heal from the generational wounds, the cultural disconnection, and the trauma of trying to belong.

When I was a young, latch-key kid,  I read a lot to pass the time (as many of us Gen Xers did). Thankfully, I had an amazing reading teacher (yay)  in third-grade who would slip me extra books. She gave me Piri Thomas’ book, “Down These Mean Streets” (a great book if you haven’t read it, btw); this quote.. “I am me, and I stand in the light. I’m strong, not because of anything in me but because I’m standing on a rock that is full of love." Healing starts when we break the silence. Not only about the stuff that has been difficult but also the rigorous love and fortitude that being from my heritage represents. Reclaiming our stories and making space for our own mental health isn’t just necessary—it’s a continued revolutionary act of love for our past, present and future.