Embracing Intersectionality: How to Thrive as a Multifaceted Female BIPOC, Athlete, and Entrepreneur

April 3rd, 2025. Today feels like everything is crashing down internally. For the past 15 years—heck, my whole life—I’ve been striving to prove my worth, but I never felt successful. I’m 33 years old, and it’s only now that I’m realizing I don’t give a flying fuck about what others think. No matter what I do, it's either "I'm not doing enough" or "I'm doing too much."

I grew up in a world where I didn’t expect much. I thought life would be just working a 9-5, renting a house, and maybe one day owning a car. My mom raised me in Section 8 housing, on food stamps—whenever she wasn’t selling them to fund her addiction she thought was hidden and manic episodes. Despite everything, I knew from a young age I didn’t want to live paycheck to paycheck, struggling just to survive. I wanted more.

In my early adulthood, I made sacrifices. I couch-hopped from my mom's family members' homes, stayed with my grandmother during breaks, and crashed at softball teammates' places. Huge shoutout to my chosen family for stepping in, offering me a place to stay, and giving me grace as a young, reckless adult trying to figure it out. I worked hard, took second and third shifts, but then blew all my money on weekends out drinking.

Eventually, I went for my master’s degree—a big "fuck you" to all those who asked me “what did you do” when my mom kicked me out for her addiction and boyfriend turned husband within 3 weeks of meeting him. They said “you will be back” including my mom. Well, I never did, and I made something of myself without anyone reaching out a helping hand. I graduated, and soon enough, I was on my path to become a therapist. But I quickly realized the reality of the industry: unethical organizations and bosses asking me to do things they themselves wouldn’t do. I wasn’t going to risk my license I didn't have yet just to please someone else.

I learned that I had a voice—and I wasn’t afraid to use it anymore (a blessing and a curse). That sweet, optimistic girl who always saw the best in people got stomped on too many times, by people I thought I could trust. But I didn’t let that break me. I fought back, cussed out coworkers, and told off bosses. It wasn't easy, but I realized my worth in an industry that preaches mental health, but doesn't protect the ones who work in it.

Today, I’m in a different spot. After years of failed attempts to work for others, I realized something: at the end of the day, companies are out for their own benefit, not for their employees. Now, at 33, I’m the boss. I’m running my own private practice, helping run therapy groups for people in addiction recovery, supporting business development for that organization, teaching social work at both the bachelor’s and master’s levels, and serving as the Interim Executive Director of a non-profit I’m helping rebuild.

I’m proud of everything I’ve built. But success doesn’t come without its challenges. I mess up. I take on too much, thinking that my resilience will carry me through. I’ve survived worse, right? These are things I want and can handle—if only I could organize myself more efficiently. I can’t forget to shout out my administrative assistant Daniel who helps keep me on track most days.

But despite all of this, I’m still stressed, and brain fog is real. With more responsibility comes more enemies, more people who hate me for decisions I can’t explain (due to legal reasons), and the constant struggle to balance it all. I want to be a leader who uplifts my team, who brings everyone with me. I want to build an organization where people want to work, where interns are chosen carefully, and everyone is paid a livable wage. But getting there is exhausting.

On top of all of this, I’m trying to be human. I’m 33 and if I told you I wasn’t thinking about dating, marrage or having kids, I’d be lying. Especially now that every year counts against me (geriatric). I want at least one mini-me. Hell, I’ve even thought about artificial insemination because why not? But that’s a conversation for another time.

I want to go to the gym, but life keeps getting in the way. I’m tired of letting my career be the thing that eats up all my time. I’ve been boxing for five years, and it’s something I love. I started just before COVID and quickly fell in love with the sport. But it’s hard to stay consistent when life is so overwhelming. I’ve fought a couple of times now—one was a loss that stung. My biggest opponent was myself, my own lack of fitness and cardio. This year, I was more prepared, but I lost again. A 21-year-old who wasn’t anything special outperformed me. Now I’m questioning whether this is something I can actually do, or if it’s just a dream that has to fall to the wayside while I handle everything else.

I’m a 33-year-old BIPOC, neurodivergent social worker and ATHLETE. I’m learning that money will come, and the debt I accrued from my last fucked-up job will correct itself in time. I’m not defined by my trauma, nor by the people who doubted me. My ADHD is a gift. And being a Black and Latina woman? That's badass. I’m proud to work alongside other BIPOC leaders who understand the nuances of our experiences. We’re not here because we were handed opportunities—we’re here because we built them for ourselves, for our communities, without the white savior complex that permeates so much of this field.

Today is heavy, but this is what I asked for. And I wouldn’t change it for anything. I just wish my teenage self could see who I’ve become and still competiting at a high level even if its really fucking hard something. I can't quit because my WHY is my younger self who could never imagine who she soon would become.