THE BREAKING POINT
Why I decided to uproot my life
for the unknown
I had a vibrant community of hundreds, a booming business, a six-figure dream job and the most supportive and loving relationship of my life. I had it all.
And I gave it all away.
One day, I made the decision to quit my job, end my relationship, and leave the city I had worked so hard to call my own. It wasn’t to travel the world, or for a fancy job opportunity in a new state, or even to be reunited with family I’ve lived apart from for the majority of my life. I know for sure it wasn’t to be where I am right now: alone, living back in my mom’s 1-bedroom apartment, unemployed, completely broke, and physically sick from anxiety and depression.
So again, why did I do it?
The truth is, I’m still looking for the answer. But I know this much: somewhere in the last 22 years of trying to find myself, I lost myself.
At 14-years-old I immigrated from Costa Rica to the US. I was a powerless child begging a broken system to acknowledge me, accept me, and see me. I spent over a decade in the fight: blood tests, medical exams, interviews and endless legal documentation to both prove my identity while seemingly trying to convince the system to dispose of it and give me a new one. After a fight that long and conflicting, victory can still feel like failure.
In high school the fight continued. I was constantly adjusting to seem “Latina enough” for this person while hiding my accent to make another feel more comfortable. I juggled between being “American Jessie” and “Latina Jessie” and, as more and more time passed between visits home, and my accent faded away, I felt as though I could no longer call myself the latter.
In college I found solace in dance and in hip-hop—a way of communicating that had no accents, no identifying slang, no prejudice, within a culture that was created by those who felt they didn’t belong. I immersed myself fully, honored to be learning and experiencing a culture so different from my own, yet so comforting. The wood studio floors and the bodies that sprung across them became my home and my family. I had found my passion for movement and for teaching and was happy being “Hip-Hop Dancer Jessie”. That was, until a senior-year professor made it his personal goal to crush my new-found joy. After countless episodes of him mocking me in front of my peers, berating my dance performances and post-class emails telling me how embarrassed I must feel being a “white woman trying to claim a place in hip-hop”, I started to believe him. (Mind you, this professor was white, but that’s a story for another time).
With his mission complete, I never felt at home in a dance class again.
I moved to Boston and started working in fitness. And, to my surprise, I absolutely loved it. It lit me up, it gave me purpose and it was the closest thing I felt to dancing. I was good at it, too. I was liked, I was valued, I was accepted. “Trainer Jessie” was born.
I clung onto her tightly, afraid to lose an identity that finally allowed me to belong while helping others feel that they belonged, as well. I poured every ounce of my being into teaching: I skipped meals, sleep, events and family trips to teach all hours of the day in all modalities. I also turned a blind eye to the injustices and hypocrisy of the industry (another story for a different time) because I told myself I could tolerate it all as long as it meant I could have my 50 mins a day to feel like I mattered.
There was no stop button for me.
Until there was. Twelve years in, my body (and mind) called it quits. I suffered a debilitating hip injury and the depression I had fought so long to hide, took over me. I took a leave from work and spent the next 7 months on the couch. I stared at the ceiling and thought, “If I am no longer “Trainer Jessie”, then who was I?”
Who am I?
That’s the real question I’m trying to answer.
I believe the wounds of these experiences are lessons that brought me to that day. The day I finally realized I could no longer force myself into yet another mold in search of the real me. The day I recognized I’ve tried so hard to be seen by others that I’ve neglected seeing myself. The day I accepted I can’t truly move forward in my life and be the best instructor, friend, sister, daughter, partner and version of myself, if I didn’t make a drastic change.
So I walked away. From my safe and stable life, from the people I love the most, and from everything I have built. I am choosing now, as painful as it is, to walk into my own shadows, to do the work to know myself better, to forgive myself, and to discover who I truly am— so I can be her and love her.
The path back to myself is windy and bumpy (so it’s only fitting that I’m choosing to start it in Costa Rica) but I am hopeful it is the right one.
And if you’re willing to join me on it, I’d love the company.
-Jessie