I begin by honoring my homeland, Puerto Rico —a place of natural beauty, cultural richness, and complexity. Puerto Rico isn’t just where I’m from; it’s the foundation of my perspective, my voice, and the nuance I bring into every room I walk into.
“Where is Puerto Rico? What is Puerto Rico? So… are you Latina, Hispanic, American, or what?” – the all too familiar questions when identifying myself in any setting.
- Puerto Rico is located in the northeast Caribbean Sea, approximately 1,000 miles southeast of Miami, Florida.
- Puerto Rico is an unincorporated territory of the United States (aka the Commonwealth of Puerto Rico).
- By definition, I am Latina and an American-born citizen.
As history narrates, Puerto Rico and its people were transferred from one sovereign to another, destined to be the gem of the Antilles—the best governed, happiest, and most prosperous island in the West Indies — and remain as a Commonwealth of the United States. What does the Commonwealth of Puerto Rico mean? We have a governmental administration, but are governed with complete jurisdiction by the US, and enjoy freedom of movement between the island and the mainland as US citizens. It’s essential to note that even if 100% of Puerto Ricans vote for a change in status, a plebiscite could never actually be a direct path to statehood or independence. Currently, the people of Puerto Rico lack the legal authority to decide their own fate. That power still rests with the United States Congress. Are you confused yet? That’s what being a native Puerto Rican from the island often feels like: confusing. In a nutshell, Puerto Rico’s complex history and relationship to the mainland are complicated and reflective of my own experience in the workplace – complex and ever-changing.
These are the kinds of questions I’ve heard throughout my life — questions that reflect a persistent lack of awareness about Puerto Rican identity and, more broadly, the multifaceted experience of being Latina in the U.S. homeland. Puerto Rico is a U.S. territory, and Puerto Ricans are U.S. citizens. Yet our political status remains unresolved, and that ambiguity mirrors how many of us feel navigating American workplaces, seen but not fully understood. Included, but rarely empowered.
In my early career in finance, being bilingual was a superpower, until it wasn’t. My language skills were celebrated only when they met a business need. I was indispensable, yet professionally immobile. I was the “only one,” and instead of building a pipeline of talent, leadership kept me where I was because replacing my language skills was deemed more complicated than investing in my growth.
I moved on.
Eventually, I found myself marketing some of the most celebrated products in one of the most romanticized industries: the wine industry. I joined one of the top three wine organizations in the U.S. at a time when the company was growing and its potential felt limitless. I helped launch brands, build systems, and drive visibility. But as we expanded into Latin American products, the industry’s lack of cultural fluency became painfully obvious.
I found myself explaining the intricacies of Spanish dialects, regional differences, and why marketing to a “general Hispanic audience” wasn’t just ineffective, it was disrespectful. Once again, I felt like the translator, the explainer, the other. Not a leader. Not the strategist. Not the one invited to shape the future.
Despite Hispanic consumers accounting for over $2.8 trillion in buying power and representing one of the fastest-growing demographics, the wine industry, like many others, lagged in representation, investment, and understanding. After eight years, I made the hard decision to move on. Not because I hadn’t thrived—but because I wanted to succeed on my terms.
Since then, I’ve built brands, launched campaigns, and led marketing transformations across healthtech, HR tech, CPG, and nonprofit sectors. I’ve built field teams, GTM engines, and scalable marketing operations from the ground up. I’ve aligned founders, product teams, and creatives around mission and market. But what I value most is the ability to lead as my whole self—Latina, Boricua, executive, mother, and advocate.
Now, I lead with purpose and clarity, seeking out organizations that not only value diverse leadership but also recognize it as a strategic imperative. I look for companies that understand the difference between performative inclusion and meaningful representation. That understands that culture is not just celebrated in heritage months but is built into daily operations.
To my fellow Latinas: our lived experiences are not just valid, they’re valuable. We are more than stats on DEI reports. We are builders, marketers, leaders, mothers, founders, culture shapers, and truth-tellers. Our voices and experiences matter, and they deserve to be heard and valued.
As we navigate boardrooms, brainstorm ideas, and balance bottom lines, we carry our culture, our communities, and our aspirations with us. And while it can still feel like we live “ni de aquí, ni de allá” — not entirely of here or there — we also live in the in-between with power. We create bridges. We create belonging.