When I first moved to America, I was filled with hope and excitement. As a Latina woman, I believed in the promises of the “land of opportunity.” I thought this country would offer me a chance to chase my dreams and build a future. But over time, I began to see a different side of America. What I once saw as a land of endless possibilities started to feel like a place where those opportunities were only for a select few.
After eight years of living in the U.S., my sense of belonging began to fade. There was a growing sense of fear and disrespect, especially within the Latino community. Discrimination was on the rise, and it felt like the country I had left everything behind for no longer offered safety or stability. I began questioning what stability really meant to me. Was it financial freedom? Was it the ability to make my own decisions without fear? Or was it the illusion of stability that any presidency could take away?
The Realization: Stability Isn’t Just About Money
Living in America no longer felt like the dream I once had. It became clear that stability wasn’t just about money or material wealth. Stability was about peace of mind, safety, and the ability to live without the constant fear of losing everything. I realized I couldn’t keep fighting for a system that could pull the rug out from under me at any moment.
My everyday life became a search for certainty. I wondered if my relationships—personal or romantic—could offer the security I desperately needed. Could someone “save” me from the uncertainty? Would a man marry me to help secure my future in America? I felt trapped. I value my freedom and genuine connections, and my independence in building my own career was bigger than my desire to be a wife.
The Broken System: The Biggest Scam of My Life
I began seeking legal help, trying to find a way to secure my future in America. The immigration system, however, is not only flawed—it’s broken. It preys on the most vulnerable. I hired a lawyer who promised me everything: a green card, the ability to travel freely, the chance to work in my career, and even the possibility of bringing my family over. I wanted to believe this promise so badly. I wanted to believe that someone could help me.
But it was a scam. I paid nearly $10,000 to someone who claimed to know immigration law, only to find myself alone in an immigration court with no lawyer by my side. And my $10,000 was gone. I searched every resource for help, but lawyers charged between $10,000 and $18,000 per case. I was devastated. All I knew, all I had worked for, felt like it was slipping away.
America claims to be the “land of the free,” but I felt anything but free. The immigration system wasn’t designed for people like me. It felt like a savage, unfeeling machine, one that wasn’t interested in my dreams or struggles. It took a toll on my mental health, my peace of mind, and my sense of dignity. Every day, I fought just to keep hope alive.
The Turning Point: A Master Plan
It was at this low point that I started wondering: Is there anywhere else I could go? Up until then, I had always believed that America was the only place where dreams could come true. I had learned English, earned a university degree, and worked hard to build a life here. But I started to question everything. What if there was something better out there? What if my skills and my intelligence were worth more somewhere else? What if there’s a place where I don’t need to wear the “Latina” label on my face?
Leaving America wasn’t an easy decision, but at that point, I had nothing left to lose. I made a master plan.
I decided to stop spending money on lawyers who were only going to disappoint me. Instead, I would save as much as I could and look for a fresh start somewhere else.
I started researching countries that appealed to me, ones that were more immigrant-friendly, and where I didn’t have to suffer for reward—what America felt like until that moment. Where I ended up will come in another story. Stay tuned.
My plan also included something I never imagined—saying goodbye to the places I had always wanted to visit, as if I were taking one last tour of the country. I checked off my bucket list. I had so much fun, traveling from Hawaii to Disneyland to the Grand Canyon.
I aimed to earn as much time as possible to save while in immigration court. How did I do that?
Request voluntary deportation and be free.
Fighting the System: The Courtroom Strategy
The first three points of my master plan were relatively doable. I was traveling on a budget, working extra hours, and saving as much as I could. I reduced my costs for dining out and focused on the future I wanted for myself. Finding a new country was relatively easy; once I started searching, there were so many opportunities out there. I was excited to leave. I’ll share more in a different post about this. But the last two points were the hardest. I had never been in court, never even had a traffic ticket—I was completely lost in this area.
During my first immigration court hearing, I learned a lot. I learned to take every advantage I could. Even though I spoke English, I requested a translator at my immigration hearings. It wasn’t because I couldn’t understand, but because it gave me more time to think and respond. I used every opportunity to ask for more time to find a lawyer, even though I knew my ultimate goal was to save and leave. Every few months, I would renew my appointments, which is my right under the law.
There were pro bono lawyers available at the court, and I made sure to arrive early to take advantage of that. I would ask the lawyer on duty to represent me for the day, telling them I needed more time to find proper legal counsel. It wasn’t a perfect strategy, but it helped me buy the time I needed to move on with my plan.
The Final Decision: Voluntary Deportation
On the day of my last hearing, when I felt I was ready to leave, I had saved enough and knew there was something better out there for me. I went to court. I could either continue asking for extensions or take control of my future. I chose the latter. I asked for voluntary deportation.
Voluntary deportation is a difficult choice, but it has its benefits. It means leaving the country without a criminal record or an entry ban. It means leaving with dignity, knowing you are choosing to move on, even though it’s not what you wanted.
However, it wasn’t easy. To request voluntary deportation, you have to admit to the court that you’ve committed violations, whether true or not. Even though I had lived in the U.S. legally, I had to raise my right hand and admit I had committed violations. It felt like I was being treated as a criminal—guilty before proven innocent.
But for me, it was freeing. I didn’t want to stay in a country that didn’t want me. I didn’t want to continue fighting a system that wasn’t built to support people like me. And I didn’t want to marry someone just to stay in a place that wasn’t my home.
A Moment of Clarity
In the courtroom, I decided to speak directly to the judge without a translator this time. I told them, “I am here to represent myself, and I want voluntary deportation.” There was a stunned silence in the room. By the way, about 20 other people were waiting for their hearings in the same room. The judge looked at me with respect, recognizing my bravery. He wished me the best of luck. At that moment, I realized that I had finally found peace. I was no longer fighting to stay in a system that didn’t want me. I was taking control of my own future. I could have peace of mind without being scared of the future anymore.
A Hard but Rewarding Decision
That moment—leaving the U.S. with my dignity intact—was one of the hardest yet most rewarding decisions of my life. It wasn’t about giving up; it was about reclaiming my peace and my future.
For anyone who feels trapped in a broken system, I want you to know that you are not alone. The fight is hard, but you are strong. Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is walk away from a system that isn’t working for you and find the place where you can truly thrive.
