My first job was as a nanny, caring for someone else’s baby while my own child was left with my mother in Georgia. It broke my heart to care for another’s child while being unable to be with my own. I worked tirelessly, sending money home to support my family.

I later became a caregiver, looking after elderly people with dementia. The job was demanding—24/7—with only two days off per month. I was never paid overtime and had no health insurance. I couldn’t complain because I was undocumented. Families treated me poorly. Despite my degrees in history and political science and fluency in three languages, I was seen as less than human—a servant, a nobody.

The isolation and poor treatment severely impacted my mental health. I battled fear, anxiety, and depression. As a survivor of war in Georgia, already living with PTSD, the work intensified my trauma.

It was a difficult time, but I survived. These experiences shaped me, fueling my drive to advocate for other caregivers and share their stories with authenticity and compassion.