I start my mornings early, but my problems with technology begin even sooner. Sometimes, I open and close my laptop and restart it because I cannot get the internet to cooperate with me. I run to restart the router. Luckily, I get on my cellphone to finish my call to my Chair. The baby is now crying, and usually I would want to cry too. But this is something I am used to, and I’m too busy taking notes to fall apart mentally. 

I am in the final year of my dissertation, focusing on Hispanic students at Hispanic-Serving Institutions. I’m fascinated by the Digital Divide Theory and its impact on marginalized students seeking technology access, user ability (digital literacy), and their perceptions of online course success. Pursuing my doctoral degree is a distinctive milestone and an assurance to give back to my community through knowledge and awareness. That, in itself, is both my end goal and my path to happiness.

On paper, this is research. In my heart, it’s personal. 

As a first-generation Hispanic college student, first-time mother, and communications professional, I have overcome challenges in health, identity, and access. I still struggle with my health as my ulcerative colitis progresses. But I persist. 

Now, ten months postpartum, I am more motivated than ever to finish my degree, for myself and my son. I want him to see what it looks like to keep going, even when the light at the end of the tunnel is too faint to make out. I want him to grow up knowing that knowledge is indispensable, education is power, and lifting others is a part of our purpose. These are key to an inevitable path to happiness.

I took time off after my C-section to recover physically and mentally, navigating postpartum depression without the safety net of paid leave. As a self-employed communications consultant, there was no paycheck waiting for me, no HR department checking in. Recovery happened in between diaper changes, dissertation edits, and client calls.

 I’ve gone the extra mile to manage recovery, parenting, and doctoral coursework, but like many women, especially women of color, I have done it quietly while balancing family life. I do not always have childcare readily available. I have health conditions that need monitoring, like my colitis and my asthma, which result in more routine doctor appointments than most at my age. 

My son accompanies me to appointments sometimes, and he enjoys chatting on the phone when I talk to my Chair, as if he already understands the importance of what I’m working toward. He is a good sport about it, and he loves to try to grab my fountain pens and “help” me type. 

I often feel empowered knowing I can be a mom, a writer, a consultant, and a student working on a degree that is statistically difficult to achieve. I am among the 16.7 percent of Hispanic students who earn doctorates, and 2.6 percent of disabled students who earn a doctorate in education. 

I know what it’s like to feel unseen in academic spaces, as if the systems around you weren’t built with you in mind. I aim to use this research to inform institutional practices that are more inclusive, accessible, and supportive of students from all walks of life.

This process has shaped me in ways I never imagined. It has made me more empathetic, resilient, and undoubtedly sure that the work I am doing matters, not just for me or my son, but for many others who deserve to thrive in higher education.

I’ve been the student who couldn’t rely on her Wi-Fi or cell signal, but I always found a way to make things work. Some people are more disadvantaged and are unable to do the same. I’ve learned what equity means when you’re living it, not just researching it.

My career goals are founded in service. I aim to utilize my research, writing, and strategic communication skills to influence policy, guide institutions, and champion the voices of historically underrepresented groups through education. I believe deeply in the power of storytelling, not only as a former journalist but as someone who has seen how narratives can shape access to opportunity. 

This journey has not been easy, but it has been transformative. My experiences are woven into every part of who I am. It has reminded me that you can still take the next step forward even when you’re exhausted, overwhelmed, or unsure. And those steps matter. 

Those steps lead towards a seat at the table.