When I was just seven years old, life as I knew it in Venezuela suddenly changed. One day, everything seemed normal, and the next, my family and I were boarding a plane to Miami. My parents, along with my two brothers and me, immigrated to the U.S. on a business visa. They had established a business selling gift shop items and trinkets both in the U.S. and Venezuela. However, as Venezuela's political climate deteriorated, maintaining the Venezuelan business became impossible, jeopardizing our visa requirements. By the time I turned 13, we had become undocumented.
Initially, I didn’t feel the full weight of this change. My parents continued their U.S.-based business, and we lived comfortably in Orlando as a middle-class family. It wasn’t until I was around 16 that I truly understood how my immigration status would affect my future. Despite excelling academically and qualifying for Florida scholarships, my immigration status disqualified me. Consequently, I had to pay out-of-state tuition for the community college courses I was taking.
Our lives began to shift when we moved to California after high school. There, I found clarity and support. During a visit, I walked into a community college and explained my situation; they knew exactly what steps to take. This move allowed me to access in-state tuition and obtain a driver’s license, providing a stability I hadn’t experienced in Florida.
In 2020, my parents applied for asylum, including me since I was under 21 at the time. Initially, the application was denied due to our long-term presence in the U.S., but an appeal led to its approval. In 2023, I gained lawful immigration status, and I’m eagerly awaiting my green card.
Throughout these years, I identified as American yet felt powerless because of my immigration status. Studying international development in college, I still lacked a passport, which restricted my ability to travel. Instead, I channeled my energy into connecting with others, particularly women, and sharing their stories. I discovered that many women faced mental health challenges and grief similar to mine. Though our backgrounds varied, our needs aligned.
In 2020, I founded Harness, an online community dedicated to women. We engage in healing exercises, journaling, collaborate with therapists, and offer mutual support. Soon, we’ll expand to include live events. Establishing this company gave me a sense of control over my life, something I desperately needed.
My parents have always been entrepreneurs, instilling in me a strong work ethic and resilience. These traits proved invaluable as I navigated starting a company while dealing with ongoing immigration proceedings. Today, I earn a six-figure salary and reinvest in my business, enjoying financial stability and the freedom to dictate my professional path. I chose not to pursue venture capital funding to maintain control over my vision.
While I once imagined celebrating extensively upon receiving my green card, those feelings of urgency have dissipated. For so long, immigration dictated my life, but I’ve found purpose through my company and the community I’ve built. By creating a business, I’ve reclaimed control over my life, irrespective of my immigration status.