I’m a Lexington professional and mom – but I could lose it all if Congress doesn’t act.
I recently gave birth to my daughter, my second child. She and my 6-year-old son are the greatest joys of my life, but I worry for their future. That’s because my children are U.S. citizens, while I’m undocumented.
I came here as a 3-year-old with my parents and I always knew I was somehow different from my American classmates, but I didn’t fully understand what that meant until high school. In 2012, I received protections under the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program, which gives me temporary legal and work authorization. But 10 years later, I still live in fear of it being deported. DACA recipients have no path to citizenship and the program itself is being challenged in the courts. Last month, a panel of judges ruled that it was illegal. So when it eventually heads to the U.S. Supreme Court, the justices will likely end it for good. There’s really only one way for me to live here permanently with my kids: Congressional legislation. As the next Congress takes shape, we know that major changes are coming to Washington next year, so it’s more important than ever for Congress to give us a path to permanence.
My situation isn’t unique. Approximately 300,000 U.S.-born children have at least one parent who is a DACA recipient. And more DACA recipients are starting families every day. Ten years ago, we were young adults or teenagers, but we’re now heading into middle age. We shouldn’t be constantly scared and exhausted, looking over our shoulders. For the sake of our kids, our employers and ourselves, we need more stability.
I was a senior in high school when Obama announced DACA. It was an emotional day. Until that moment, I assumed college and a career were out of the question. I’d resigned myself to working in a restaurant for under-the-table pay. But with DACA, I felt comfortable discussing my options with a school counselor. She pointed me toward Bluegrass Community and Technical College, where I enrolled immediately after high school and fell in love with medicine. DACA recipients don’t qualify for federal aid, so I worked my way through school. But the program meant I could be legally hired for my dream job after graduation. I’m now a clinical lead medical assistant at a pediatrician’s office. In fact, I’m one of 62,000 DACA-eligible adults who work in healthcare.
My specific office is a federally qualified health care facility, so we treat underserved patients, especially Blacks and Latinos who were disproportionally impacted by the pandemic. As a Spanish speaker, I also grew up translating for my parents and so am well positioned to serve our city’s immigrant population. I’ve seen firsthand the result of helping Lexingtonians access health care, so in addition to my day job, I’m now pursuing a degree in healthcare administration. I want to address disparities and increase representation in health care leadership.
I wish I could continue on this professional path — and continue being a good mom to my kids — without huge existential questions hanging over my head. If DACA ends, I’ll lose my status and my job along with it. Plenty of Americans know what it feels like to lose your job suddenly—and for reasons that have nothing to do with your ability or performance. Americans know how hard that is on families and kids. Why would our leaders put so many American kids in that situation? And yet immigration advocates are telling us to have six months of savings to cover bills if DACA is rescinded. I’m still on maternity leave, so it’s particularly unsettling right now.
Most terrifying, though, is having to tell my children that their mother might be sent back to Mexico. I don’t remember Mexico and they’ve never been. Our lives are here, in Lexington, where we’ve built a beautiful life. I’m proud of my heritage and where I come from, but America is my home.
DACA was never meant to be a permanent solution. Congress was supposed to step in. Now, time is running out. Many legislators on both sides of the aisle support Dreamers like me. And I know they care about American kids. With enough political will, they could pass legislation and give us permanence. But many of those recently elected would simply kick us out, no matter the consequences. We cannot let that happen. The time for meaningful action is now.
Noemi Lara-Rojo is a medical assistant at a federally qualified health center in Lexington.