What I Owed
Leaving my job at Google
I was interviewing finalists for the Daniel Murphy Scholarship Fund, an organization that empowers eighth graders with financial need to access college-prep high schools. One of the candidates entered the room wearing a tie, and a white button down shirt, looking his best to impress. He told us he was the first student from his school in La Villita to get this far in the application process, and everyone at his school was rooting for him. His gym teacher gave him the shirt, and another teacher gave him the tie. I could see his joy and pride peeking through his nervousness, recognizing that his community was invested in his success. I felt my tears collecting and my throat tightening, because I too felt proud, for him, and for his school. Even when our communities don’t have much to give, they find a way — a tie here, a shirt there, a ride to an interview, someone to cover your shift, taking the risk to go outside when families are being snatched by ICE in Chicago — because we want the best for those we love.
I know that love. And for the longest, I had mistaken that love for expectations. I also interviewed for the Daniel Murphy Scholarship, and after receiving it, I was able to attend Concord Academy, an academically rigorous boarding school. Afterwards, I went to Northwestern University on a full ride, and with additional support from the Pullman Educational Foundation scholarship. I made my way to Google thanks to the preparation and coaching from Management Leadership for Tomorrow. Through organizations like High Jump, I entered a pipeline of gifted and ambitious students from underserved backgrounds who were given access to resources to unlock economic mobility. And for some reason, I created a narrative in my head that I owed something to everyone, to the teachers that encouraged me, to the people who opened doors, to my immigrant family. What a privilege it was to navigate these unfamiliar spaces. What a privilege it was to feel shame, to struggle academically, to work with my mind and not my hands, to feel like an imposter, to wonder why me. It meant I was in rooms that weren’t created for people like me. That meant I had to do something big.
I remember sitting in my San Francisco apartment, where the light barely entered from my window facing a brick wall, but where the rent for my room alone cost more than any three bedroom apartment my family lived in. This is it. I did it. I made it. That’s…it? Now what? All the stress and studying for this? All those institutions and investment in me so I could work for a corporation? But it wasn’t an ordinary corporation. It was prestigious, respected, and it was a big deal not just for me, but for anyone to be there. Somehow, it still didn’t feel like enough. Wasn’t I supposed to change the world? This isn’t what you wrote your college essay about. This wasn’t you pursuing the love of learning that your high school celebrated. It’s okay. It’s temporary. People are impressed. On top of that, I didn’t have a safety net to count on. Now, I could create my own. I could go to the dentist for the first time in seven years. I didn’t have to worry about an overdraft fee, an overdue bill, or moving because I couldn’t afford the rent. I could send money to my family. I could travel. This is what it was all about. I would be one less worry for my mom.
Fast forward to eight years later. I was still at Google, marketing Ads, solving problems I didn’t care about, but somehow doing it well. I wavered back and forth on whether work had to provide me with meaning. I wondered if this is what all the scholarships thought I would accomplish and deliver. When Google offered the opportunity to leave the company through a voluntary exit program, I didn’t think I would take it, because why throw it all away if I had no plans for the future? On the other hand, I had been joking for months, maybe not joking, that it was probably best for me to get laid off. I needed a forcing function. Was this it?
Get Xiomara Contreras’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
After failing to make a decision despite three weeks of reflection and talking to multiple people, some days it was to leave, some days it was to stay, my boyfriend encouraged me to call my mom. I never reached out to her about work, but it was the conversation I didn’t know I needed. We didn’t talk about my future career prospects. Instead, my mom validated me and helped ease my fears. Yes, mija, you deserve a break. You’ve been working hard your whole life. Don’t worry about health insurance. We’ve gone without it before. We always figure it out. She echoed, with motherly love, what my career coach told me weeks before — you navigated all these institutions and challenges without a map. If you successfully got to this point without one, what makes you think you can’t overcome the next phase?
I didn’t think my mom would be helpful because she never had to make a choice like this. She never had the choice to quit. Not working was out of the question, no matter how unhappy it made her, or if it was destroying her health. She worked when she was sick, she worked when the people she loved died. She was not allowed to ask for more. She was just lucky to work. She didn’t have a special immigrant work ethic — she worked to survive.
Who was I to complain about making six figures and feeling unfulfilled? What else is there to want? How dare I rest after all the people who invested in me, after the sacrifices my family made, after all of my efforts, and when my community was suffering. But of course, mothers understand what is in our heart, and when it aches. That’s exactly why you should rest, because you have a choice.
My mom also navigated without a map, in a new country, in a new language, raising children at a young age. She couldn’t always tell me what to do, or how to do it, but it was guaranteed she was by my side. She supported me when I went away for high school, even if it meant that her daughter would be 800 miles away, in the care of strangers. She supported me by meeting at McDonald’s after her shift to use the Wi-Fi and help me complete the FAFSA. She supported me when I made the decision to accept my job in San Francisco, after she thought I was finally staying in Chicago. She told me she would not cut my wings, and let me fly. She was not given the opportunity to fly, but I could.
“My parents were tasked with the job of survival and I with self-actualization. The immigrant generational gap is real. What a luxury it is to search for purpose, meaning, and fulfillment.” — Bo Ren
I can no longer hold onto economic uncertainty as my excuse. I can no longer ignore the poking from within, attempting to tell me that this is not where I’m supposed to be. So many people believed in me for the first 30 years of my life, and now it’s time I believe in myself, and that I am capable of something else. My community was rooting for me, and these organizations were rooting for me not because they had great expectations about my place in the world, but because I deserved it, just as anyone else deserves it. I am rooting for this young man with the tie and button down shirt, and I am so proud of him and his community, no matter where he ends up. I don’t know what I will do next, but I am looking forward to the possibilities. I know I am loved, and I know I can just be.
