How I Nearly Took My Life Chasing My Dreams

In 2019, I was living in North Carolina returning home at three in the morning from a late night shift at a catering company I was working for. Soaked in a barrel of iced tea I’d spilled on myself earlier that night unloading the food van, my eyes were clouded by tears of frustration.

I’d quit my job at an international non-profit three months earlier in the middle of summer. After a year of dealing with a toxic boss at my old job, I’ decided to start my own professional writing and marketing consultancy, which at that point was still in diapers.

What is the point? I’m stuck here forever. I can’t do this alone. I’m a shame to my family. Maybe it’s better if I just swerve off the road into the woods and end it all, right now.

It wasn’t the first time I had felt this way. The feeling had been there long before I quit my job, back when anxiety, depression, and burnout were my constant companions. Working under a boss who consistently made me feel like I wasn’t enough pushed me to make a change. From receiving text messages in the middle of the night on weekends, to being told that my winter outfits were “provocative,” to being placed on probation after I requested compensation for translation work that wasn’t part of my job description — it was all too much. I eventually chose to walk away from the security of a steady paycheck and paid time off to carve out my own path. What I didn’t know then was how much that choice could cost me.

That fall night, I accelerated on the empty highway, passing exit after exit, closed my eyes, and just when I was about to crash into the trees, the image of my family grieving and leaving my dogs on their own illuminated me. I pulled my foot off the pedal, swerving back onto the highway.

No, no!

I stabilized the car and pulled over, breathing heavily as I realized how close I was to the point of no return. Trembling, I reached for my phone and called the emergency line at my primary caretaker’s office. A nurse answered the phone. “I need an appointment tomorrow,” I sobbed. “I’ve been having these thoughts lately, about ending my life, and I really don’t want to die.”

Dream job turned nightmare

For many Latinas, making the “American Dream” happen isn’t just about having an amazing career or life, it’s about making your family proud. In my case, my family left everything behind in Cuba so my cousins and I could have better opportunities. When my mom and I crossed the Mexican-American border when I was 10 years old, I knew I had to make that sacrifice worth it. Although my family never forced this idea on me, the expectations were there. I was raised to be strong, to succeed, and do things “right” because they were awarding me opportunities they never had.

When I landed an incredible job at 23, it wasn’t a win just for me, but for my entire family. I’d checked off all the boxes that were supposed to make me feel whole and incredible, yet when things started turning gray, I didn’t know where to turn.

My job offered incredible benefits, brilliant colleagues, I got to show off my chops in all the languages I spoke, but that still wasn’t enough for my supervisor. After my second year working there, things shifted. I stopped being lauded for my work. Instead, I was put on probation and told they could tell English wasn’t my first language and that they would be using Google Translate from that point on. Mind you, I translated documents for free, communicated with diverse teams across the world in their language. Something many of my peers didn’t do. Yet, I was punished for it, simply because I asked for compensation.

By spring of 2019, I was taking paid time off to rest from my job. Receiving text messages from my boss at late hours over the weekend, and even serving as her personal assistant on occasion. I’d have panic attacks on Sunday nights, knowing the rest of the week I’d be subjected to scrutiny, no matter how well I did my job. It’s also not like I didn’t try to assuage the situation. I reached out to the Human Resources department on several occasions, even providing proof of emails and text messages. All to no avail.

That summer, after a public humiliation via email where they berated me for sending a project management timeline in Spanish to a Latin American team, I took the risk of whatever life was ready to throw at me, and left.

The heavy weight of entrepreneurship on mental health

When I left my job to start my own business, I never imagined I’d lose so many people around me. It turns out many of my “friends” were only interested in making my acquaintance when the title on my resume aligned with their future “status” goals.

What do you mean you’re leaving your job? You’re starting an online media and writing consultancy? That’s never going to work. You’re going to work in the food industry while you build it? What?

I had decided to start over, with nothing to fall back on, except myself. My family was back in Miami, with no idea of the hurdles I was facing. During the day, I’d study, read, and take paid internships to build my business. Sometimes I’d even write articles and create strategies for free so people could see how talented I was. I created content that only one or two friends ever shared. At night and on weekends, I picked up every catering shift I could manage. I delivered food. Washed cars. Whatever it took to make ends meet, and still, by the end of the month, I was nearly at zero.

It was the loneliest time of my life.

Eventually, even getting out of bed became a burden. I was barely eating and couldn’t function from how heavy the anxiety and depression I felt were. I needed to make this business thing work FAST, but life doesn’t always work on your timeline. I’d also lost my health insurance when I quit my job, which meant I had no access to my therapist, or any doctor for that matter, when I needed it the most. But that night, returning home in my car, I decided this wouldn’t be my story.

Not just because I couldn’t bare the idea of how my death would devastate my family, who had already faced so much adversity. But also because my entire life, I worked hard to get to where I was, no one had ever given me a free pass to where I’d gotten to at that point. And to some extent, even at that moment of deep despair, it felt strangely calming to know no one was coming. My success depended on me. I’d been through difficult situations before, and knew deep down that if I could push myself to even just do 1% better each day, treating myself with kindness instead of pressure, finding solutions, and asking for help, some day my reality would inevitably change.

Things had to change.

The walks that saved my life

The day after making that phone call, I walked into the office of my former health care provider, paying $95 for a 10-minute out-of-pocket consult so I could get prescribed short-term medication. After another $54 for my meds, I knew I’d be eating the leftovers from the catering company for the rest of the week. My doctor felt sympathetic toward, me, but told me it was the best they could do at the moment since the system didn’t provide the kind of support I needed.

Knowing where I stood, I knew I needed to take matters into my own hands. Living in North Carolina, I was surrounded by nature everywhere. There were the woods behind my house, a lake, and a short trail.

That fall, I started walking two miles every day with my dogs. I stopped trying to make my progress speed up, instead, I surrendered to the fact that my new reality was different. That I had chosen this. And that just like all things in life, this would pass. At first, walking in the woods while everyone else was at work felt like I was falling behind, but after a few weeks of doing this every day, I realized this was an incredible gift the universe was giving me to look into the deepest parts of myself and find the strength I needed to pull through.

I found comfort in watching how nature also changed. How the trees lost their leaves and the animals slowly disappeared into their burrows. Just like the seasons, I was in my personal winter. I was planting seeds that with enough sunlight, water, and dedication, would someday flourish.

Sometimes I felt optimistic about life. Others, I’d curse myself, God, the universe, my family, for not making me an heiress, for not being more conforming. There were moments I still felt incredibly alone. That December, I drove down to Miami to spend a few weeks with my family for the holidays and cried at knowing I couldn’t afford to buy them any gifts. On New Year’s Eve, my mom found me crying alone in my childhood bedroom while I journaled about my year. This time, instead of wiping my tears and pretending to be the “strong” daughter she raised, I let her see me spiral.

“My reality is still the same, mami. I’m still in the same place,” I cried as she held me. Something else I’d learned that year was to be vulnerable. A trait that had always been coined as “weak” in my culture, yet felt like a gargantuan milestone for me.

When I returned to North Carolina that winter, I’d found Abraham Hicks, meditation, and was weaning off the meds. I may not have had the financial stability I had before, or the fancy dinners and friends, but I had myself, the woods, and my dogs, every day. My entire outlook on life had shifted, even making decisions on where I wanted to live and the kind of business I wanted to build. By spring, my business started picking up, with more clients trusting my work and signing contracts with me. When the reality of the pandemic rolled around, my expertise in digital marketing became fundamental for creating Spanish media outreach.

Everyone who called me a fool for starting an online company the year before was now asking me for advice. Companies who needed Latino outreach contracted me to help them build campaigns that resonated with Latinos. I wasn’t just working in what I loved, but uplifting my community along the way. Little by little, my seeds started sprouting.

That summer, I found an online therapist who, to this day, is my Virgil. With her help, I began deconstructing all my old beliefs and creating new ones that align with the person I am today. Taking a look at the life I built for myself now, six years later, I’m grateful I decided to pull over, make that call, and not swerve off the road. Perhaps things aren’t always working out in the way we think they have to, but the most important thing we could ever do is find our center when feel the most lost.

When we face our darkness, embracing it with kindness instead of shame, we have the power to realize that life is beautiful and worth living.

If you or someone you know is struggling with a mental health crisis, free and confidential support is available 24/7 by calling or texting 988 (U.S.), or visiting 988lifeline.org.