Motherhood
When I think about my life, I see duality everywhere. I’m a mom of two beautiful and amazing kids, one who’s autistic and one who’s considered “typical.” Aside from being a full-time college student, I’m also a first-gen college student, a DACA recipient turned U.S. resident, and someone trying to break cycles of toxicity, struggle, and negativity while carrying the weight of what feels like the world on my shoulders. My life isn’t picture perfect, but I’m proud of the journey I’m on. It’s messy, beautiful, and full of contradictions, and being both a mom and a student has taught me lessons I never imagined I’d learn.
To really understand me, you have to know where I came from. Growing up, I was surrounded by gangs, drugs and abuse–just lots of toxicity in general.Because of that, I tended to act out in school. I was always that kid who got into trouble but still managed to pull good grades. Some teachers didn’t know what to do with me; one minute, I’d be getting detention, and the next, I’d be passing a test and then you’d find me in the middle of a fight after school. Being sent to juvie part of my freshman year and coming back my sophomore year and still having perfect grades, I was a walking contradiction. The “chola” always getting into trouble but being on the honor roll with perfect grades and a 4.00 GPA. Many of my teachers saw the potential, others saw the emotionally unavailable parents who didn’t care if I passed or not. After juvie, I noticed a lot of my teachers would talk to meabout college , and I decided to take it a bit more seriously, even though I was still getting into trouble along the way. That duality stayed with me as I got older, especially as I became a mother. On the outside, it might seem like I’m juggling everything effortlessly, but inside is a constant battle to keep going and become a better version of myself.
That tension that I carry is part of who I am, and it’s shaped the way I approach both motherhood and school. I honestly even did some reflecting on my youth as I was reading Danielle Estes’ article:“It wasn’t until I had a child that it hit me, like okay, I need to stop goofing off and I need to do this… Now I don’t feel like I’m going to school just for me. I am going to school for her to make her life better, and I think that’s what gives me a little more drive to get stuff done. Whereas before when I was going to school, I didn’t think I had that much ambition.” Like, I really sat down and reflectedEver since having both my kids, I have done nothing but push myself for the better.
Being a mom is already a full-time job. Add being a full-time college student to that, and it feels like I’m being pulled in many directions, being in many places at once. My days are filled with diaper changes, therapy sessions for my autistic child, homework, and endless house chores to complete. Sometimes, I feel like I’m barely holding it together. What makes it harder is the criticism. I’ve heard people say I’m not a “real mom” because I’m in school and not spending every second with my kids. Those comments hurt, but I remind myself that I’m doing this for my family. Research backs up what I feel. In their study, Brauer and Foust note that student-parents face “multiple and competing demands that require them to carefully manage their time and resources.” That’s me in a nutshell. I’ve learned to multitask in ways I never thought possible, like studying for an exam while making dinner or writing papers late at night after the kids are asleep. It’s not ideal, but it’s my reality. It is part of my perseverance but also just as overwhelming and mentally draining.
Being the parent of an autistic child adds another layer of complexity. Therapy sessions, Individualized Education Program (IEP) meetings, and advocating for my child’s needs take up a lot of time and energy. I’ve lived that reality every day. It’s not just about balancing school and motherhood, it’s about advocating for my child’s needs, too. Waters and Friesen describe how parents often feel “overwhelmed by the complexity of transitioning from individualized early intervention services to a more structured preschool setting.” That was me when my son started school. It felt like I had to fight to make sure he got the support he needed, while having to manage my own education.
One thing that has helped is working closely with his teachers and therapists. As one parent in the study said, “When we’re on the same page, everything works better.” That’s the truth. When everyone is working together, my son thrives. But getting to that point isn’t easy. It takes a lot of communication, patience, and persistence. Waters and Friesen also highlight how “parents of children with disabilities face added layers of complexity, especially when navigating school systems and balancing their own goals.” I’ve felt that pressure every time I’ve had to choose between attending a class or a therapy session for my child. It’s a constant push-and-pull, but I remind myself that my education is ultimately for them, too. My neurotypical child has their own needs, and I try to ensure they don’t feel overlooked. It’s hard, and there’s only so much of me to go around. But I want both my kids to see that it’s possible to chase your dreams, even when life is messy and complicated.
Being a former DACA recipient adds another layer to my already chaotic life. For years, I lived in limbo, not knowing if I’d be able to stay in the U.S., let alone go to college. Now that I’m a resident, I feel like I have more stability, but the fear of losing everything never really goes away. That experience is part of why I push myself so hard. I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t belong, and I want my kids to grow up knowing that they do. This duality of being both grateful and scared is something I carry with me every day. Amsler and Motta talk about how systemic inequality can make people in marginalized communities feel like they need to overperform to prove their worth. They describe it as “a burden to constantly ‘do more’ to counter societal narratives of inadequacy.” I see that in my own life. Whether it’s as a mom, a student, or a former DACA recipient, I feel like I have to work twice as hard to be taken seriously. I feel like I’m always trying to prove myself, to show that I belong, that I’m enough.
One thing that keeps me going is my husband. He’s my rock, always going above and beyond for me and our beautiful kids. We don’t have much help; my parents and in-laws aren’t really in the picture. But we make it work as a team. Even with his support, though, being a first-gen college student can feel lonely. No one in my family really understands what I’m going through, and that isolation can be tough. Danielle Estes describes how student-parents feel torn between their academic and family responsibilities, saying, “The demands of schoolwork often clash with family obligations, creating a sense of guilt that weighs heavily on parents.” That resonates with me. I’ve learned to adapt and prioritize, but there are still moments when I feel like I’m failing at everything. It’s in those moments that I remind myself why I’m doing this
:to break cycles of poverty and limited opportunities for my kids.
Not everyone understands my journey, and I’ve had my share of rude and petty comments. People have told me I should drop out and focus on being a mom, as if pursuing my education somehow makes me less of a parent. But for every negative comment, there are moments of encouragement that keep me going. Hearing someone say, “You’re doing great!” or “You’re an inspiration!” means the world to me. It’s a reminder that what I’m doing matters. But the one comment that I take to heart is that of “You’re a good mom.”
Research by Kirkpatrick and Lee shows that social comparison, especially when it comes to motherhood, can impact how moms see themselves. They note, “The pressure to conform to idealized versions of motherhood on social media can exacerbate feelings of inadequacy.” While I don’t compare myself to these Instagram perfect moms, those comments sometimes make me question if I’m doing enough. When I think about the comments I’ve received, both the good and the bad, it’s clear that society doesn’t quite know what to do with moms like me. Dickson and Tennant captured this perfectly when they quoted a faculty member saying, “The accommodation I make is turning a blind eye.” This speaks to the broader issue of how institutions often fail to fully support student-mothers. It’s not just about accommodations. But rather it’s about recognition. People don’t see the nights I stay up late studying after putting my kids to bed or the mornings I wake up early to finish assignments before they wake up. They only see what they want to see: a mom who’s “not traditional” because she’s pursuing a degree. But then I look at my kids and remind myself that I’m building something bigger for them.
At the end of the day, all I want to do is keep pushing. I want to break all these generational curses. My biggest desire is to break cycles and give my kids everything I need. I grew up in a toxic household where help was hard to come by, and I don’t want that for my kids. I want them to see that it’s possible to chase your dreams, even when the odds are stacked against you. As a first-gen college student, I’m paving the way not just for myself but for my family and future generations. In the article, Brauer and Foust also state that, “while student-parents face a disproportionate amount of stress compared to their peers, many report that their academic goals are inextricably linked to their desire to improve their families’ circumstances,” which is something that resonates with me deeply. Van Rhijn and Lero argue that self-efficacy, which is the belief in your ability to succeed, is the key for student-parents. They explain, “Belief in one’s capabilities plays a critical role in navigating challenges and achieving goals.” That belief is what keeps me going. I may not always feel confident, but I know deep down that I can do this. Every class I pass, every paper I write, and every milestone my kids reach is proof that I’m capable of being both a good mother and a good student.
My journey isn’t just about me, it’s about showing others that it’s possible to balance motherhood, school, and everything in between. There’s a bigger conversation to be had about the need for better support systems for student-parents. From affordable childcare to more flexible class schedules, there are so many ways colleges and communities can step up to help people like me. Adding to the challenge is the inconsistent support from schools. Dickson and Tennant point out that, “faculty support for student-mothers is often informal and ad hoc.” That means a lot of the time, you’re left figuring things out on your own. I’ve had professors who were understanding when I had to miss class because of my kids, but I’ve also had others who didn’t care at all. It’s a gamble every semester, but I will be forever thankful for all the professors I have had who had let me sit in class with my child, helping me not feel embarrassed or ashamed, but rather uplifting me with such kind words. The Washington Post article on Head Start centers in community colleges highlights one such solution. It states, “Providing on-campus childcare services allows parents to focus on their studies without worrying about the safety and care of their children”. That’s the kind of change we need, and I hope one day it can become true to help other student-parents like myself and make their journey a whole lot easier than what mine has been.
My journey as a mother and a first-generation college student hasn’t been easy, but it’s one I’m incredibly proud of. The criticism I face only fuels my determination to prove that you can be a good mom, and pursue your dreams at the same time. Being a mom and a student isn’t easy, but it’s worth it. It’s a journey full of contradictions and moments of doubt, moments of triumph, feelings of isolation and feelings of pride. I’m not perfect, and I don’t have it all figured out, but I’m doing my best. And at the end of the day, that’s what matters. In this messy, beautiful duality, I’ve found my strength. It’s in the late nights, the early mornings, and the moments in between. It’s in the love I have for my family and the determination I have to succeed. And it’s in the belief that, no matter what, I’m doing something that matters, and not just for me, but for the people I love most. When I walk across that stage at graduation, it won’t just be my achievement. It will symbolize breaking cycles, defying expectations, and paving the way for my children to dream bigger and aim higher than me. It will represent a step toward changing how society views and supports its student-parents. The bigger picture is about building a world where balancing motherhood, education, and personal growth isn’t seen as just extraordinary, but rather it is seen as supported and celebrated. I know I’m paving the way for a brighter future for my kids, and that keeps me going. Despite the challenges and the loneliness I have felt along the way, I’m determined to succeed because my family and I deserve it. I would like to add one last thing though: coming from someone who was surrounded by gangs at a young age, I think the hardest hood I have ever been in was motherhood.