Theodora K. Powers talks to Dom Smith about the impact of DACA on mental health in the video below, with further details in an additional Q/A. 

Listen to the audio below:

More information:

What is DACA?

DACA stands for Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals. The recipients of this status in the U.S. are now young adults who were brought to States when they were babies or minors through no choice nor fault of their own. From such young ages, we were assimilated into American culture as de facto American citizens. However, the opportunities to study, drive, apply to jobs, or even have an ID, were limited because we were for essentially ‘undocumented’ immigrants regardless of how long we lived here. It wasn’t until 2012 that these societal constraints were recognized by the government, and the DACA program was passed through an executive order to protect us—now, young adults—from deportation. 

At the time, there were approximately 1.7 million eligible DREAMers—that’s another name for all undocumented and DACAmented youth. Today, there are about 650,000 of us left who have a DACA status in the country. This is because of the immense skepticism and distrust in the government and its intentions with the information it has on our background—applying to the program requires that you essentially self-disclose that you’re ‘undocumented’. Name, address, birthdate—that’s basic kid stuff; we had to provide all school records since the time of entry, places we moved to throughout our lives, associations, family members and their status, fingerprints, biometrics—whatever it takes to create a file and track criminal activity or associations. Again, this goes back on our discussion of how words like “alien” are synonymized with criminality. Those who fit the ‘model citizen’ criteria are approved. 

What are US immigration policies in relation to DACA?

In the U.S., we have the Immigration and Nationality Act (INA) that determines the conditions that foreign nationals need to enter. The Department of Homeland Security (DHS) is the federal agency that enforces those rules. When you’re “unlawfully present” in the country—a term that is undefined and open to interpretation, by the way—you are indefinitely “removable” with no set time limit that prevents agencies from deporting you. It is only in cases of humanitarian crises that deportation is deferred—like in DACA’s case—but, again, this protection can be terminated at the discretion of DHS if they find adequate reason. The two most common ways that immigrants are identified as “unlawfully present” is if: 

1) they clandestinely cross the border, or 

2) they overstay a temporary visa

My circumstances fall under the second criteria. I entered the U.S. when I was 8 on a visa, I had a sponsor who was allegedly responsible for handling my paperwork, and it wasn’t until I was 26 or 27 when I learned that nothing was ever renewed—they just used me to cook and clean for themselves and others. The DACA program, specifically, diminished aspects of illegality for myself and thousands of others—it gave us a sense of security and belonging. However, it concurrently withholds other protections granted to those with “lawful immigration status”—DACA, for all intents and purposes, is technically a ‘legally illegal’ status because of the limbo state that it places us in. In exchange for temporary protection from deportation, we have restrictions on career developments, educational advances, health access, and financial aid of any kind. To name a few of those, we: 

• Cannot travel abroad 

• Cannot re-enter the U.S. if we do travel 

• Cannot serve in the U.S. military 

• Cannot apply for any federal public benefits, including FAFSA or food stamps 

• Cannot apply for health insurance, unless it is provided by an employer 

• Cannot admit any relatives into the U.S. 

• Cannot legally work in any/every position without the authorization of DHS 

• Cannot apply for U.S. citizenship or legal permanent status 

• Only qualify for work authorization if we prove “an economic necessity” 

• Have no statutorily established prospects to permanently remain in the U.S. 

• Are subject to removal by virtue of our presence in the U.S. 

This leaves us prematurely disengaged from society. We are in a perpetual “status of non-status”, “quasi-legal” status, or “forever foreigners”, though we act, behave, think and participate in all things American. When the “Trump effect” happened—as it’s been dubbed in social science research—the DACA program was terminated, and it wasn’t until June 2020 that it was reinstated again through the Supreme Court. During that three-year period of its termination, however, the verbal assaults, anxiety, bullying, fears of deportation, negative health outcomes, economic instability, and psychological deterioration increased significantly for DACAs. We were barely meeting the “belongingness threshold” as is, but now we had to “learn to be illegal” and fit within the “illegal alien” stereotypes. Since then, we’ve lived with this prolonged fearful awareness that all it really takes is a single policy change to expose our personal information and location, and to be deported in countries we never knew, cultures we never understood, and languages we may have never learned. 

How are DACAs affected psychologically?

To address this question, we need to look at the overall framework of what self-concept, or our perception of ourselves is, and then look at how immigration power dynamics play a role in its variations. 

Self-concept is something we all experience and have as human beings—this is how we perceive ourselves. It plays a vital role in personality, behavior, and even mental health. Your perspectives as a person are based on your experiences and surroundings, and they are shaped by partaking in community life, military service, school, and all other aspects of society. There is no singular, objective reality to this—everyone’s views will be subjective, no matter what your position is at work, or how much training you undergo to remain objective and neutral. You are shaped by what you live through. 

In a public spectrum, we all depend on compliments and criticisms to decide what groups we feel we best fit in with—which ones praise our skillsets or perceptions, and which ones diminish them? We are drawn to the people and groups that commend us and distance ourselves from those that demean us. For every role we are given in society like a new job, a new school, a new partnership, we grow as individuals—this is an expansion on our self-concept. For every role that we lose from society like a job or a partnership, we feel a loss of control in whom we used to be, along with confidence and even meaning—this is a constriction of the self-concept. This loss of the self is something we all experience from time to time, but in the case of DACAs, it is normalized as part of our daily life. 

For starters, we were never allowed to take part in these coming-of-age rituals and community involvement I mentioned earlier which are essential in the expansion of the self-concept. We are mostly restricted to “acting as illegal” and fitting within the molds of that stereotype: living with immigrant parents, working part-time, some studying on the collegiate level while working, helping siblings, translating for older family members, postponing their own family and career dreams, and circumnavigating medical bureaucracies. When the status of the DACA program is so unstable, our attention is constantly drawn to how it will affect our tomorrow. Our focus is mostly on the fear of deportation, the anxiety of confiding in others and if they’ll call the authorities on us, and if there is a way to escape a life of reclusion without drawing attention to ourselves. These components affect our self-esteem. Everyone’s self-concept asks “Who am I?”; self-esteem asks, “How do I feel about who I am?” When DACAs don’t have a sense of belongingness in whatever setting we’re placed in, we are in a constant state of psychological distress that normalizes our fears, our shame in being grouped as “alien” and “non-resident”, and even the feeling of worthlessness to the very country that we were acculturated into and which morphed us into ‘model citizens’. 

Are these immigration power dynamics exclusive to DACAs?

Tell me about your academic work – passions, interests, and importantly, what you enjoyed?

Academia was my sanctuary. It was my escape from the restrictive reality and abusive environment I was raised in. I was told by my sponsor from the very start since I immigrated to the States that I was less deserving than the other kids around me—I didn’t understand why at the time, nor did I know what it meant; it’s not as if immigration policies are part of the American educational curriculum. Even the word ‘immigrant’ was unfamiliar to me. Expletives weren’t. 

During my critical developmental years, I only understood that I was ‘less than’ everyone else and that I deserved to be mistreated, excluded and humiliated. If anything were to happen to me at school—be it bullying or low grades—I brought it on myself; if I were to walk down the street alone when I studied in the evenings for college and if I were to be attacked or assaulted, then again, I was told I brought it on myself. I couldn’t find comfort in people—I didn’t have friends or close relations; I had acquaintances at best. I adopted a pessimistic outlook on the world and the culture, and compounded it with an asocial attitude to keep people away so they would not pry into my personal life and get me in trouble. My sponsor forced me to live in secluded and remote locations and lied about my identity and address to third parties—I was told that I was a criminal and it was because authorities were actively looking for me to deport me. 

With commentary like that browbeaten into me again and again for over a decade, I sought refuge in books as opposed to people. I sought a reason to feel needed and wanted in the world. Knowledge became my purpose. I’m very aware of the fact that I’m booksmart, idealistic and thrive on theories and curiosity; streetsmarts never came so easily to me, so socializing and connecting with people leaves me at odds many times-do I have to disclose to them who I am? Will I be in trouble if I share my opinion? Can I trust them? Many of these overly analytic approaches and overthinking withhold me from establishing any relationships or friendships because I’m constantly in fear that others have ulterior motives, especially when it comes to my status, or they’d take full advantage of it and appeal to an authority figure that will just feed into the existing anti-immigrant rhetoric. 

I submerged myself in academia, so much so, that I’ve applied to PhD programs and law degree programs in hopes that I can pursue my passions simultaneously, and in understanding and hopefully addressing the biases that exist in public policies today, many of which are shaped by people’s phenomenological perspectives. I especially enjoyed my journey as student at Harvard University’s Division of Continuing Education. The opportunity to apply to college at 18 was—like many others in my case at the time, when I was undocumented—a nightmare. It’s when I first discovered that I was not allowed to take SATs without a social security number, or work, or drive, or have an ID to prove who I was. It wasn’t until years later, especially as a DACA recipient, that this path was opened to me. I had a voice. I had a name. I was…someone. A person. A part of a community, regardless of what their intrinsic perspectives of me were. I finally belonged to something, not someone, even if it was temporary. 

This feeling sparked passions that grew from books and academia; my future was no longer a dream or a 4^th dimension I could escape to using the content from pages—knowledge was now applicable! I had the confidence to immerse myself in art and sketching, to pursue law, to desire a change that addresses the perspectives of all persons regardless of political schisms, to understand and ask questions about intolerance and prejudice, to write a book, to entrust my experiences, knowledge and philosophies to students, and even to fall in love with someone. I finally felt like a human being, not an object to hide in remote houses and motels and camping grounds and be on my hands and knees cleaning others’ houses while my sponsor benefited from that. I felt safe to feel and not be afraid to voice that I have feelings, thoughts, and goals that go beyond the phobia of policies, restrictions, and deportation. 

What did you not enjoy on your academic journey?

What I didn’t enjoy—and what millions of students don’t enjoy—are academic exams. I don’t mean the tests and quizzes that professors or teachers give to determine whether or not you can think critically, or understand the concepts discussed in their course. I mean the entrance exams, the state annual exams, the multiple-choice tests that create insurmountable stress, trauma, and anxiety in students, and whose scores are one of the main determining factors for acceptance into schools and universities. Someone thrives and profits from that desperation and misery, and it’s not the students who spend thousands of dollars in prep courses, tutors, and programs to pass an exam that doesn’t even take into account their personal struggles, socio-economic levels, academic achievements, and present-day circumstances. 

As someone who thrived in the academic environment, receiving scores on admissions exams that were equated to Ds and Fs severely impacted my self-perception and confidence. Take into account full time work, full time study, a pandemic, a family to care for—the expectations to be admitted to a school do not wax or wane based on personal circumstances. I believe a truly holistic approach to analyzing an application and such admissions tests would take into account the psychosomatic and emotional factors that each individual applicant experiences; that approach would focus more on the value and uniqueness they bring to the classroom. I could add addendums, exhibits, and stories to admissions offices for them to consider ALL psychological factors at play when those exams took place, including the preparation time and money, but to them, I was nothing more than a statistic. 

I have worked behind the scenes in academic settings and I have interviewed students as an alumni volunteer for my alma mater, so I am exposed to and can understand the limited staff members who are expected to read, analyze and determine which applicants would be of value to their school. But not all admissions officers can empathize with the traumas, motivations, determination, and cultural backgrounds of their applicants. They narrow down the focus to a score. Even if the application were to be split up into different portions and reviewed by different officers, how are they to piece together the significance of each component of the application to understand the individual? How are they able to shift their attention from one individual to another in such a short time frame? What factors are in place to prevent the officers’ burnout when reviewing these thousands of applications and scores, to ensure applicants that their submissions were truly analyzed holistically? How many of these officers have the cultural humility to understand what it means to study, to apply, and to overcome obstacles, and to desire a change in communities as an African American applicant? As an international student? As a woman? As a domestic violence victim? As a member of the LGBTQ community? How about an undocumented immigrant who is pressed to be acculturated, but without documents, they are then confronted with the obstacle of proving who they are to an admissions officer? 

I was asked by more than one university to provide them a passport as an ‘international student’—I had to clarify to them that I was a DACA recipient and that their application did not have that ‘visa’ option. Then, they asked proof of that and who I was. After providing it, my application was rejected! How are applicants with such unique circumstances supposed to be seen as a human being, as someone who strives for the education and qualifications to combat this kind of bias created by a single score and a plethora of essays that are segregated into separate parts for different officers to review? 

Aside from my background having worked behind the scenes of academia, I was and still am a student—a lifelong learner and scholar. And as a student, I feel that there is a misconstruction or miscommunication between students and academic settings today, where the student—be it an applicant or a candidate—is no longer the focus and spirit of a university’s or school’s mission, but rather that the student needs to be flexible and amenable to the school’s intents instead. Maybe, I’m old-fashioned or more idealistic than I initially thought, but…I believe that it is the students who make the university; they are the driving force that gives it meaning, purpose, drive, goals, and intentions—they are the ones who bring experience, culture, backgrounds, ideas, theories, and progress. Not the other way around. 

The structures are just that—structures, buildings; lifeless, empty, protected by walls and intricate decorations. It’s the minds you welcome within those walls that breach those barriers of exclusivity and exclusion. I believe that it is academia’s mission to teach students and potential candidates of the philosophies and methods they ask of them, to shift their logic, their reasoning, and their application to accommodate and meet the needs of the degrees or professions they seek to pursue. It is not up to the student to learn it on their own at the cost of their self-esteem and concept, their job or their rent, or their associations and family time, and then to prove their worth to a school with a single score! Admissions exams and application procedures today don’t ‘filter’ qualified applicants—they stand as a barrier against obtaining higher knowledge. 

Throughout my journey in the last four years preparing for law school and the last two years of studying for admissions exams, I came across dozens of students who outright gave up on their goals to become attorneys or pursue grad degrees! Just gave up! I’m currently helping another student who is preparing for the law school admissions test and she’s located in Canada. I studied with her almost a year ago and I took the exam and passed with a high enough score to be admitted into school, but to accomplish that…I gave up my job, my apartment, my car, my friendships, even attention to my family. I wasn’t a hermit by intention—I was so depressed that I had to be kept apart from the world; the inching improvements to my score became my sole acknowledgment of my worth. This isn’t me saying that the test was responsible for me losing all those factors that shaped my identity at the time, but losing them all became a blessing in disguise for me to study. I didn’t exist to the world for six months to pass that test. That’s not right! And for anyone who wants to argue that you’re supposed to sacrifice some part of yourself or your routine to make in this world—I call bs! That is not a sacrifice—that is a surrender to someone else’s demands. No one has that entitlement, especially when it comes to accessing knowledge. You don’t own it; you’re just profiting from a cleverly developed labyrinthine method of sharing it. 

My friend, however, she’s working full time at a hospital amidst a pandemic, and has no apartment of her own anymore, and living with family, and is trying to study for a test amidst a burnout. That in conjunction with third party commentary who say they went from the lowest score to the highest while also holding down a job and a family or nursing—she falls for the unrealistic social media posts, the false marketing, and promises that it’s a ‘simple’ switch in the mindset and habits. She’s been at this since the start of the pandemic, and it’s breaking her. If she were to take the exam and get a passing score and apply, what school would take into account that she has a grad degree, works as a first-responder in a hospital, has a published thesis, comes from an immigrant family, and is devoting her waking hours to studying for a test while leaving her with 4 hours’ worth of sleep which have now contributed to immense social anxiety? None of them. Because the score is all that matters. 

This is the one thing I don’t enjoy about any academic journey. The lingering sensation of being considered either academically admirable or contemptible based on an exam score. And you may argue that others overcame those obstacles and congratulations to them! Honestly, I am proud of the millions of strangers who had the capacity to study for entrance exams with so many additional confounding factors and outliers that I have not considered to mention—but just because they struggled in their own way, why must everyone else who came after them struggle too? What entitles them to condemn others to experience the same hurdles? The tests weren’t designed to promote and re-enforce a self-advocating and egotistical mentality—they were intended for you to walk away with a lesson. I highly doubt that lesson is to tinker with the capabilities, mindsets, confidence, and personal life of future students, especially when no one can predict nor plan for what the next day brings. We didn’t foresee a pandemic. Or a war. And you may argue that once you’re in that school the journey doesn’t get any easier—and that is absolutely true! But allow applicants, candidates or students to experience that for themselves; to adapt their lives around the demands of that environment, to dip their toes in the academic setting in conjunction with a real-life setting. The satisfaction and success of that outcome will be even more the sweeter. An admissions test reflects nothing of that determination and passion as human beings. 

What are the realities of high-pressure academic environments, like Harvard/MIT – the good, and the bad?

You come out either hating it or loving it. I came out loving the education at Harvard University but hating the networking and social interaction aspect of it—the lack of it, moreso. The professors were challenging, inspirational, pushing your limits and broadening your perspectives, coupled with some humor and banter—I never had a college class nor course that relied on exams; everything was based on texts, readings, in-class engagement, Socratic teaching methods, your own drive to explore beyond the assignments, and critical thinking writings. I loved it! You would register for a literature course and be immersed in an environment that draws on psychology, history, art, and philosophy factors that make up that individual course alone. You never walk away only learning about one subject in one course; you interweave the knowledge of one with others. 

On the downside, making connections and feeling as part of the community was near impossible. As a student at the Division of Continuing Education, there were a lot of red tapes and restrictions, and I didn’t like that there was no specific department in the University to address these issues with because I strove to be a part of its community. It’s like saying ‘dream big, but not too big’—I was kicked out of The Harvard Independent weekly newsletter because I was an Extension student, regardless of the fact that I was the same age as other undergrads; I was part of the Harvard Yearbook Club and sketched the Photography department’s mascot of an aardvark behind a camera, but I was not allowed to be a part of the University’s yearbook nor appeal for one to be made for Extension students; I pursued a Liberal Arts degree but my undergrad diploma reads ‘Extension Studies’ as opposed to ‘Liberal Arts’ in…whatever major I focused on. I worked full-time, lived off campus, fought alongside other University students in the Boxing Club, attended in the Archery Club which went on competitions, chronicled major on campus events and conferences for other clubs. I tried my best to immerse myself within the Ivy League community, but I was continuously reminded that I would not be fully a part of it. Perhaps, things have changed since COVID, but the last time I was on campus which was the very start of the 2020 academic semester, there still felt like there was a bubble of exclusiveness between each of its 13 schools.

I was not a student at MIT, but I was part of the staff at the MIT Martin Trust Center. Specifically, I was the program manager of the MEMSI and MEFTI programs of MIT Hong Kong Innovation Node. Initially, they were run by Elaine Chen who is now the Director of Innovation and Entrepreneurship at Tufts University. After working there long enough to get the hang of the ropes and applications for the programs, I was the one handling the U.S. side of things. We had dozens of applications for these programs—they were super popular for students, especially from the business school and across the engineering departments. The former focused on the entrepreneurship and hands-on creations of prototypes to resolve real-life problems, and the latter combined entrepreneurship and fintech to come up with new innovations and again address other real-life problems. 

Our goal was to challenge students and increase their opportunities for in the world of entrepreneurship and innovation. I worked alongside such exceptional faculty: Professor Charles Sodini who is the co-founder of SMaL Camera Technologies, Professor George Whitfield who is the Co-Founder and CEO of FindOurView, Professor Sunnie Lau who led her research on smart cities and sustainable neighborhoods, and I even had the opportunity to be one of her contributing editors to her published work. I am honored to have once been a vital part of such a community and to have walked away with so much experience, knowledge, and interactions with such extraordinary individuals who are striving to make a positive impact in today’s world. 

What are the realities of high-pressure legal jobs/environments – working with your family, the good and bad? 

Working with family is…unremorseful. We do family law and focus on things like divorce, domestic violence, child abuse, etc. We say that family law is where you see the best people on their worst behavior. And it is truly something like that: parents, lovers, partners, spouses—they’re out for blood. And children have to deal with the brunt of that hostility. A handful of times I come across clients who are genuinely concerned about the well-bring of the child, and not just being vindictive about the end of a relationship by alienating the child from the other parent. I work remotely now, as a paralegal in the firm, and it wasn’t until I immersed myself in the hecticness of this environment that I was able to identify how difficult it is for attorneys to make an argument in court to defend clients. 

I tell my students that a lawyer has to be honest but they don’t have to be truthful. Meaning, they’re stuck between a rock and a hard place; they need to use the law to the best of their abilities to defend the well-being and demands of a client, but when the client lies to the attorney, how is the attorney to know they’re defending a liar? The attorney needs to uphold the law, but they also need to play a part in customer service. Clients don’t realize this and neither does the public. Though I got a kick out of humor and jokes against lawyers, I also understand where those biases come from and why they’re so difficult to disprove. The bright side of this is that not only have I gained the knowledge of court procedures and form filings and pleading drafts, but I also have a strong foundation to pursue law school with the intention to potentially address the loopholes and gaps that the legal system has. 

I’m not here to re-invent the wheel; just change aspects of it to focus on the grey area of the parties—like the social and cognitive psychology of the petitioner or plaintiff and the respondent or defendant, and the gap in mistranslation and protocols across departments from the law enforcement agency to the DA’s office to the courtroom itself. Each one has their own rules and regulations and not enough cases or problems are addressed because they can only slide so few between them and be on agreement on the next steps of a procedure. I want to change that and working with family—which was patient with me as I learned—has helped in understanding rather than judging. 

How do you define success?

One of my best friends said to me that people who say money can’t buy happiness, clearly don’t have enough money. I laughed at that comment back then. We were roommates in Somerville at the time—she was taking courses at Harvard’s Division of Continuing Education to keep her medical background fresh and updated to apply to school for optometry, and I was working 3 jobs to make ends meet and have enough for tuition for my Masters. 

But in relation to your question, however…I would say that happiness is a fleeting sensation, much like hate, anger, sadness, even love in all its forms. Money is a more tangible medium; it’s a definite and consistent need in a world that thrives on its twisted version of equivalent exchange—it speaks for itself. Happiness won’t pay for my law school when I’m not allowed to apply for federal aid or loans as a DACA; it won’t pay my rent for next month; it won’t get me a car to explore and create my own path to adventure; it won’t market my consulting business; it won’t restock my fridge. I want and need money to accomplish my goals, to grow as an individual, to learn and apply my knowledge. 

My happiness comes from the simple things in life: teaching, writing, sketching, helping, communicating, curiosity—those are qualities to live for and they bring me a sense of satisfaction to have the freedom to act on those passions. But money makes me feel secure enough to make time to pursue those passions—I want to be in a position in my life where my greatest worry is who and how many people I can help, guide, or consult with; not if I’ll have enough to pay a medical bill before its due date or count pennies to have enough to pay the additional sales tax when I’m shopping for food. 

As a shout-out to that friend, whom I hope is listening to this on a break from her exams to go to optometry school, you were right—if you’re not happy, especially if you’re struggling to have enough for a meal for the day, then you’re not making enough. But I’ll leave her and our audience with a question: at what point do we say it is? 

Success for me is the fulfillment I gain from being told that I contributed something good and positive to the world. In whatever form that may be. Humans are such a vulnerable, clumsy, stubborn, and thriving species, but people—the concept of personhood, the self-delusion of superiority that this singular species has of themselves, whose only unique quality in the animal kingdom is that it can hold a brush and paint a picture—people are a dying concept. We went from arguing civility to enforce peace—whatever the costs to get it in each person’s compartmentalized version of balance and control—to crafting machinery to do the thinking for us. To prove to ourselves that we are superior, we forgot *who* we are; we live life fighting, struggling, suffering, pressing, and belittling others to uphold and maintain *what* we are. And what we are is erred, flawed, uncivilized, illogical, and lonely. We make our own prisons and we are our own wardens as much as we are our prisoners. We thrive in the little space, our little world, our little routines, and call it ‘life’ when we’re faced with bills, health issues, mortgages, and politics. That’s not life—life is simple: you’re born, you live, you die. That’s being human. When your personhood kicks in, you’re no longer living; you’re just not dying and taking every measure you can think of within that limited space that you call your own, and craft your own preventative measures and methods to keep on ‘not dying’. 

I’m not so different in that regard! Of course, I want to take preventative measures to stay healthy and avoid going to a doctor—call me Greek, old-fashioned, or just too poor to afford health insurance or a doctor’s visit during a modern age when we want to send people to Mars. But I can’t take preventative measures to ensure the interconnection, cooperation, or communication with others’ whose beliefs or identities are worn on their sleeves and they want to fight me tooth and nail to change my mindset and meet theirs. Nor can I take a preventative measure to ensure that this interview will be critiqued in a positive light. There’s only so many things that someone can control—their feelings, judgment, actions; but the world is so interdependent that we rely on others even when we don’t know it—our jobs, food, homes. There’s more energy spent in suppressing perceptions, awareness, and understanding of the world than in creating mediums for communication, questions, and diplomacy. 

So, going back to your question of success, and what it means to me—long answer short is: the fulfillment gained from sharing my knowledge, applying my skills, safeguarding a purpose to exist, and making a positive contribution to the rest of society in such a way that there is a dynamic and multi-variate collaboration of numerous mindsets and experiences, not just two extreme opposite parties or groups. 

What are your goals?

Right now, my goal is to be enrolled in a law school and a grad school simultaneously to pursue my law degree and my PhD. After that, it’s to go into law, focusing specifically on immigration, civil rights, and criminal law, and to take that knowledge into academia—both in psychology and law—and then to the more public spectrum through public policy changes that would address, if not combat, the legal liminalities and biases that affect communities. 

On a more personal goal…I want love in my life. I want a cabin in the woods with enough land to turn into a sanctuary for abused animals. I want to know that I don’t have to worry about making rent or having food to eat. I want to wake up to the sound of the sea or the ocean—it reminds me of my home. 

What is your advice for young creatives, and people who struggle in academic environments – tips on how to “cope” and/or thrive?

For those who struggle in academia…remember that everyone has a unique way of learning and it is through those struggles that you as students can make a change in education and the ways we approach learning. Classroom titles aside, you are the teachers; your instructors are the students who gain fulfillment from the voices, minds, and ideas that you provide them. They are there to guide you, to draw that self-doubt and skepticism out of you, and with each mind they unlock, they grow with you. 

It’s unfortunate that we live in a day and age where we abuse words like “progress” without targeting the root cause of educational stagnation. We don’t readdress and recraft a new and polymathic approach to learning—we still rely on a 200+ year old system that was set up during the Industrial Revolution. We don’t provide equal access, critical thinking opportunities, and knowledge to all children—we contribute to schisms between public and privately funded institutions, of exclusivity and exclusion, of race, gender, religion, and other demographics. We’ve forgotten how to listen to our students’ voices and to our instructors’ directions; we’ve malformed knowledge into a competition amongst peers and friends using exams, recitation, and multiple-choice options. 

To cope, to thrive, say this to yourself: YOU are your own teacher and student simultaneously; YOU are what makes knowledge, education, and growth worthwhile—YOU are the ones who give instructors a purpose. That doesn’t mean you supersede them or dominate them; it means YOU are the unique addition to every classroom—online or in-person—with phenomenological perspectives, experiences, and backgrounds that will ALWAYS be unique to you and you alone and THAT makes you a leader and a beacon of knowledge. If you cannot add to the pool of knowledge now, take that treatment and experience with you, and add to it later to better it, to change it, to remember the limitations you felt so others after you don’t have to feel the same. 

Reflect on your time as an artist/writer, and what you learned from that?

At first, my sketches and my writings were channels of escape from reality—from the daily reminder of my limitations because of my status; the sporadic beatings and punishments of my abuser; the difficulty of connecting with people; the self-derogatory talk; the fear of societal marginalization. I didn’t know why I existed when no one else knew—nor was allowed to know—that I existed. I was struggling to create a reason to be here, to hear that I’m loved or wanted or needed for something in the world. It didn’t happen. 

Now, my work as an artist and a writer are the mediums of confrontation. The arts reflect our worst natures, our subconscious disregard of human values and ethics for our personal strive for personal success (however you define it), competition, and war. We are lonely and alone; we are aware that we exist just as we know others exist around us…and we don’t care. My arts keep me humble, but above all, they remind me that I’m human. I come face to face with my own thoughts and ideas every day when I see a tangible medium in front of me, staring back to reaffirm “Is this what you want the world to be aware of today? Or, are you just seeking affirmation for who you think you are and what you want to become?” 

How do you define success? 

Success for me is the fulfillment I gain from being told that I contributed something good and positive to the world. In whatever form that may be. Humans are such a vulnerable, clumsy, stubborn, and thriving species, but people—the concept of personhood, the self-delusion of superiority that this singular species has of themselves, whose only unique quality in the animal kingdom is that it can hold a brush and paint a picture—people are a dying concept. We went from arguing civility to enforce peace—whatever the costs to get it in each person’s compartmentalized version of balance and control—to crafting machinery to do the thinking for us. To prove to ourselves that we are superior, we forgot *who* we are; we live life fighting, struggling, suffering, pressing, and belittling others to uphold and maintain *what* we are. And what we are is erred, flawed, uncivilized, illogical, and lonely. We make our own prisons and we are our own wardens as much as we are our prisoners. We thrive in the little space, our little world, our little routines, and call it ‘life’ when we’re faced with bills, health issues, mortgages, and politics. That’s not life—life is simple: you’re born, you live, you die. That’s being human. When your personhood kicks in, you’re no longer living; you’re just not dying and taking every measure you can think of within that limited space that you call your own, and craft your own preventative measures and methods to keep on ‘not dying’. 

I’m not so different in that regard! Of course, I want to take preventative measures to stay healthy and avoid going to a doctor—call me Greek, old-fashioned, or just too poor to afford health insurance or a doctor’s visit during a modern age when we want to send people to Mars. But I can’t take preventative measures to ensure the interconnection, cooperation, or communication with others’ whose beliefs or identities are worn on their sleeves and they want to fight me tooth and nail to change my mindset and meet theirs. Nor can I take a preventative measure to ensure that this interview will be critiqued in a positive light. There’s only so many things that someone can control—their feelings, judgment, actions; but the world is so interdependent that we rely on others even when we don’t know it—our jobs, food, homes. There’s more energy spent in suppressing perceptions, awareness, and understanding of the world than in creating mediums for communication, questions, and diplomacy. 

So, going back to your question of success, and what it means to me—long answer short is: the fulfillment gained from sharing my knowledge, applying my skills, safeguarding a purpose to exist, and making a positive contribution to the rest of society in such a way that there is a dynamic and multi-variate collaboration of numerous mindsets and experiences, not just two extreme opposite parties or groups. 

For more information on Theodora’s projects, visit the following links: 

LinkedIn: 

https://www.linkedin.com/in/theodora-p-ab091321b/

In Scripto:

https://inscripto.online/

8 Loves 1 Letter:

https://8-letters.com/