When I decided to stay in my hometown for college, I naively thought nothing would change. My school required first-years to live on campus for two years, but home was only a 45-minute drive away. My plan was to go back at least a few times each quarter.

Or so I’d hoped.

As the first in my family to go to college, I had no idea what undergrad held in store for me until that first quarter. I didn’t realize “midterms” happened two or three times per class. I didn’t expect weekends to become a whirlwind of my teaching assistant job, group study sessions, and hours spent in the library. Those first few weeks felt like I couldn’t come up for air, much less have time to visit home.

By the time finals ended, and it was time for winter break, I was elated. My parents drove to pick me up on a snowy afternoon, excited to have me with them for the next two weeks. But once I walked back into my childhood bedroom, something felt… off.

The purple walls I had carefully chosen as a kid suddenly felt out of place. My Build-a-Bears and American Girl doll stared at me like they didn’t recognize the person visiting. Maybe it wasn’t about how long I had been gone — perhaps it was that the version of me coming home wasn’t the same girl who had lived there all those years. How had so much changed in such a little time? My mom reassured me that even if I no longer lived with them, esta siempre será mi casa. Yet living out of a suitcase made it feel like I was just passing through. 

In a Mexican household where tradition and culture are the backbone of everything, I suddenly felt like an outsider in a world I once knew by heart.

When Your Family Still Sees the Old You

My family loves telling the story of three-year-old me showing everyone at the dinner table how to use a napkin “properly,” just like my mom taught me. I was her mini-me, her right-hand girl. As an eldest Latina daughter, stepping up came naturally — helping my brother with homework, reviewing my parents’ résumés, translating life both figuratively and literally.

But coming home that first holiday break made it clear how much had shifted.

My younger brother, once glued to my side, kept his distance at first. He was only 13 when I left, and for him, my leaving for college felt like I was leaving him. By the time he warmed back up, snuggled next to me on the couch like old times, it was already time for me to go again.

My mom, our family’s matriarch, had always wanted us to grow up independent. She just didn’t expect that independence to look like her daughter leaving at 18—como los gueros. My mom showed her love through physical affection and quality time, so my being away forced us both to learn how to show our love a la distancia. Sometimes it was FaceTime calls on my walk between classes or sending home postcards of places I visited during internships. Slowly, but surely, we began to find ways to stay connected.

Even after graduating from college, the question remains: how do I balance becoming the person I want to be when that very growth pulls me away from the people I love?

The Quiet Pressure to Have It All Figured Out

Being home for the holidays meant explaining what it felt like to be a small fish in a big pond. It meant admitting that college wasn’t built with students from my background in mind. That I was struggling to find my footing. Even though my family didn’t bombard me with questions about internships or post-grad plans, I put that pressure on myself.

As the eldest daughter, I wanted to come home with a plan; the formula for success that made my parents’ sacrifices worth it. The truth? I barely knew what the “right path” looked like. I didn’t realize how networking worked or when to apply for summer internships. In those moments when I felt lost, I remembered a piece of advice from my mom, “Pregunta.” One simple word that had been her guiding force in raising two kids in a country unfamiliar to her own and a language that she had just begun to learn. 

She encouraged me to ask questions, to be curious, and not to be afraid to admit that I did not know something, for that is always the first step in finding an answer.

Why Rest Isn’t a Betrayal, Even During the Holidays

I remember one winter break after a particularly brutal quarter—my first computer science class had wrecked me. Between endless tutoring sessions and late-night studying, I came home mentally and emotionally drained.

All I wanted was to lie in bed, sip tea, and binge Grey’s Anatomy. But guilt crept in. I wasn’t home much anymore— I should be spending time with my family.

This feeling may be all too familiar to you. Latino holiday traditions are deeply rooted in togetherness, from going to posadas to making late-night runs for pan to eat with the chocolate Abuelita your grandma just made. Yet sometimes all you crave after a long and hectic quarter is stillness. Time to breathe, have a slow morning, and finally get to do things for yourself without the pressure of deadlines looming.

The truth is: there’s no right or wrong way to spend your break. There is only doing your best to balance rest with the people you love—one day at a time.

Home Is Where the Heart Is

Despite the discomfort of change, home remained my grounding place. Holidays meant bringing breakfast to my grandparents, just like they used to do for us. It meant long, beautiful sobremesas with my parents that only got longer the older we got. It meant waking up to my brother learning to play guitar in the living room. Home was starting to look and sound different, but maybe different didn’t have to be a bad thing.

My parents taught me early that food is a love language best served with fresh cafecito. And in the chaos of college, home was where my quirks made sense because they shared them too. Whether your days are filled with running errands with your family or helping prep for the Christmas tamales, I’m sharing some of my favorite grounding practices for this holiday season.

Grounding Practices for the First-Gen Student

1. Stay connected to your culture in ways that feed you — literally and spiritually.
Some of my favorite holiday memories still revolve around food—cooking with my mom, my tía, or my Abuelita in kitchens that helped shape me. Making atole, buñuelos, or corundas (tamales típicos de Michoacán) reminds me of where I come from and who I’m becoming. Even now, learning those recipes feels like collecting little pieces of home I can carry with me wherever I go. They’re reminders that even as my world expands, my roots remain steady.

2. Remember that change isn’t good or bad — sometimes it just is.
College exposed me to ideas, people, and perspectives I had never encountered growing up. While stepping into something unfamiliar might seem scary at times, know that it is normal to let yourself evolve. College is the best time to take up new interests, so step into this new phase as much as possible. 

3. Bridge the gap between your two worlds.
Being the first in my family to go to college meant explaining everything—from what “Public Policy” was to why I kept talking about going to office hours. I used to think they wouldn’t understand my new experiences, but bringing them into my world—touring campus, showing them the library where I basically lived—helped us meet in the middle. They might not know the language of “imposter syndrome” or “code-switching,” but they know the places that shaped me. And that connection made both our worlds feel less far apart.

4. Strive for balance — but don’t lose yourself.

At school, I was used to moving through my days freely—no check-ins, no explanations, no questions. Going home meant slipping back into familiar roles, like asking for permission before leaving or getting volunteered for the church pastorela without warning. I love being immersed in family life, but I’ve learned that I also need moments to breathe and recalibrate. Balance isn’t about choosing between independence and home—it’s about honoring both without losing yourself in the process.

Give Yourself the Grace You Give Everyone Else

Family dynamics can be complicated—especially when you’re the first one carving a new path. There’s no perfect formula for navigating all the moving pieces. My parting advice: Give yourself as much grace as you give everyone else. If all you want is to scroll TikTok on the couch one day, that’s okay. This is your time to slow down and listen to what your body needs. Don’t feel guilty for taking a moment for yourself. Truth be told, I am still working on striking that balance when I fly back for the holidays, too. So, if anything, know you will not be going through it alone.  ¡Felices Fiestas!

Jess Mora is a Brooklyn-based writer, speaker, and first-generation college graduate dedicated to helping first-gen students and young professionals navigate education, identity, and early adulthood with confidence. Originally from Chicago, Jess brings the heart of her hometown into her work, blending personal storytelling with practical guidance. Jess serves on the Latin School of Chicago Alumni Board of Directors, where she advocates for greater inclusion, belonging, and access for students of all backgrounds. Through her writing, workshops, and community work, she continues to champion first-gen stories and create spaces where young people feel seen, supported, and equipped to thrive.

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