“No llores mija, sé fuerte”. I had just fallen off my bike and scraped my knee, it was badly scraped and aching in pain. Don’t cry, don’t cry. I slowly stand up and hold my breath as the pain intensifies. Don’t cry. “See, estas bien, it’s not even that bad.” Papi tells me in the broken spanglish he’s picked up since moving to the United States many years ago. My chest burns as I try to stop the tears from flowing down my face, my throat feels tight. But with it comes an overwhelming sense of pride, because I was showing Papi how strong I was. Crying meant weakness, and I was not weak. I slowly pick up my bike. We walk home in silence, as my knee continues to ache.
That moment stayed with me. It taught me how deeply cultural messages about strength, silence, and resilience are passed down—sometimes with love, but not always without pain. As a therapist, I hold space for the emotions many of us were taught to hide. My work is rooted in the belief that vulnerability is not weakness, and that healing often begins when we unlearn the silence we were raised with. I am committed to providing affirming, culturally responsive care—particularly for those navigating intersections of Latinx identity, queerness, and generational trauma.
Lynzee Medina, LMSW