Growing Up Mixed – A Personal Essay

Elizabeth, aged 6, accompanied by her parents, James and Catherine Carroll. Photo credit: Elizabeth Carroll

“You can’t be Latina,” I would get told at least once weekly. “You’re white.”

Culture is a large part of what creates our identities; it makes us individuals and connects us to the stories of our ancestors' past. I always felt lucky enough to resonate with two cultures.

I was born to a biracial couple, a white Irish father and a Latina mother, both proud of who they are and where their ancestry originates from. This love and pride for who they are and what made them unique then transcended into me.

Growing up I felt excitement telling people about both halves of my ancestry: the vibrant green hills of Ireland, the pride in our family crest, and the laughter, joy, and resilience of the Irish people, all combined with the strength and grit of my Mexican ancestry, the music and dancing that seemed to take on a life of its own, the vibrant colors and flavorful foods always made with care, and the celebration of life, present and past.

Being extroverted as I was, nothing made me happier than to talk, but I was never happier than when I got to talk about what made me, me. I would speak loudly, with certainty, about my Irish and Latinx roots, until one day I felt like I no longer had a right to.

Physically, I take after my father: light-complexioned, with blue eyes and light brown, red-hued hair. I look almost nothing like my mother, and I was repeatedly reminded of this when someone would point out that our only resemblances are our thick eyebrows and the way we spoke.

“Oh, she’s adorable. Are you her nanny?” a question my mother told me she would get asked more often than not on trips out of the house.

It always seemed as though it is no secret that I am white, yet it always seemed to be a secret that I am Latina as well.

Over the years, I went from excitedly sharing my ethnicities to only claiming my Irish heritage for fear of being rejected farther from my Hispanic roots. I felt I had been rejected so many times throughout my years in high school and beginning of college.

I was ridiculed for my lack of knowing Spanish and not always embracing the music and the novelas the same way other Latinx people did. It was as if these were the only things that could prove my heritage and people thought I had been lying about who I was. Slowly but surely, I felt like there was a part of me that needed to hide.

I needed to hide the embarrassment I had for claiming something that I knew was true, but everyone insisted it was a lie.

It wasn’t until very recently that I decided to challenge the questions, the doubts. My casual learning of Spanish over the last seven years is now an in-progress bachelor's degree and has turned into a mission to change the mechanics of my brain.

However, my learning of Spanish is not just to prove a point to others, but for myself to be able to relate to more people, not just in my community, but around the world. Music, dance and food have all worked their way even deeper into my heart; while reporting on the Latinx community now helps fuel my journalistic drive.

I am no longer scared of being the woman that a younger me was so sure I already was: intelligent, curious, multicultural, and proud of herself and all the work she continues to put out about what she believes makes her who she is, regardless of skin tone.