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Some of us are first-generation Americans, first-generation college students, first-generation professionals. Or we’re the only person of color, woman, or LGBTQ+ person at the table or in the room.
To be a First and Only in America is a delicate balance of surviving where you come from while acting like you belong where you’re going.
To be so grateful for our opportunities and so protective of our fragile new status that we leave no room for questions, doubts, or our own humanity.
The tendency of First and Onlys to take on the role of an adult—serving as the family translator, doctor go-between, form filler, dictionary, or psychologist—becoming a Parentified Child along the way
How common it is that those who smash through glass ceilings are then left to clean up the shards on their own.
When you’re Brown in a predominantly white environment, your otherness tends to be mirrored back to you more often than not.
At times, I identified more with our household staff than with my own sorority sisters. I had way more in common with them in terms of background and life experience. It was like being a social-class double agent.
Regardless of how confident we may feel, First and Onlys often receive subtle (and not so subtle) external messages that we are different, don’t quite measure up to our peers, or are lacking in experience, exposure, or pedigree. And with each achievement, these messages tend to happen more often, not less.
It tends to be white men who hold the cards to decide which First and Onlys are granted legitimacy—and therefore promotions, access, and opportunity.
My differences were now my superpowers.
We belonged to a tribe of trailblazers, inherently worthy because of our struggles, not despite them. Our survivor skills and refusal to give up had paved our way just as much as any achievements could have, which in turn made even the hardest parts of our past feel meaningful.
To a lineage of women who had the audacity to exist in places that hadn’t traditionally accepted them. To a community of First and Onlys whose presence in and of itself is a radical act. And most importantly, to myself. It was enough.
