Mental health is often viewed as a taboo subject in Latinx communities, where discussing emotions and personal struggles was discouraged for generations. Many of us, including my friends, family, and colleagues, grew up feeling that expressing our feelings was a sign of weakness, and emotional vulnerability was met with shame. Reflecting on these shared experiences not only reminds us of what we endured but also highlights how far we’ve come. Embracing my mental health journey as an adult has been a challenging process of untangling the experiences that shaped me, while also learning how to move forward with pride. Through therapy, I have realized how much power perspective has on my mental state from day to day. Like so many others, I grapple with parts of my cultural upbringing that are difficult, but I can also find strength and joy in those experiences by approaching them from a perspective that helps me understand how I came to become the person that I am today.
As I grow older, and death and loss become more tangible parts of my life, I find myself deeply grateful for a lesson I learned early on from my family. In Mexican culture, the importance of celebrating life after death is beautifully captured in the annual tradition of Día de los Muertos, observed on November 2nd, technically beginning on Halloween, October 31st. While this custom originated with the ancient Aztecs of Central Mexico, it has evolved and spread in Latinx communities around the world. Día de los Muertos is more than just a holiday; it’s a way of honoring loved ones through stories, memories, and moments spent with their spirits. Families come together to connect over food, drinks, and joy, transforming loss into a shared celebration of life. Beyond the vibrant festivities of Dia de los Muertos, though, Latinos offer a profound lesson on how to approach tragedy: with grace, gratitude, and love—a perspective that can resonate with all of us.
I’ll never forget the first funeral I ever attended. I was with my grandmother for the day and she had lost a friend. I was terrified to go with her and begged my mom to let me go to work with her instead. Death was scary to me as I had limited experience with it as a young girl. I remember walking up to the service and noticing two things; the amount of black worn by attendees and the fact that everybody was laughing and smiling. I remember thinking, “Isn’t death supposed to be sad?” Everything about death on television was far from enjoyable. I asked my grandma why everybody was so happy, to which she responded, “Porque la vida perdida era una hermosa, que debía celebrarse.” This translates in English to “Because the life that was lost was a beautiful one, one that should be celebrated.“
What I didn’t realize then was that my upbringing had given me a great gift. Though I had limited experience with funerals and death at that young age, I absolutely knew about life. You see, in my family, we didn’t talk about tragedy, we talked about life and love. As an example, my grandmother lost her oldest son, my dad’s brother, when he was 18 years old. However, when I asked about my uncle as a young girl, I was never told about how he died, I was told about how he lived. My dad told me all that my uncle accomplished, all the people he made smile, and all the things he remembered about his big brother. I’d been learning about my uncle’s life for years not realizing the tragedy of his death until I was much older.
My family taught me to flip the script on sadness and loss by focusing on the good. I learned over time that this was the norm in my culture. It’s ok to be sad because you lost someone you love, but when you focus on the amazing things that person was able to do, impact, and accomplish in their life, it makes the loss just a little less painful.
While we continue to work diligently to dismantle some of the toxic truths and experiences of our pasts, I think it is important to also recognize the good that brought us here and made us who we are, too. I will continue to honor my ancestors by sharing the lessons, morals, and traditions that continue to bring peace and joy to communities around the world like Dia de los Muertos. While it is never a good idea to suppress pain and sadness, the Latino community may have unlocked a powerful tool with Dia de los Muertos and their approach to death. A glass half full is much more hopeful than a glass half empty, and a little change in perspective can make a world of difference.
