Testimonios, a new publication from MAA/AMS, brings together first-person narratives from the vibrant, diverse, and complex Latinx and Hispanic mathematical community. Starting with childhood and family, the authors recount their own particular stories, highlighting their upbringing, education, and career paths. Testimonios seeks to inspire the next generation of Latinx and Hispanic mathematicians by featuring the stories of people like them, holding a mirror up to our own community.

The entire collection of 27 testimonios is available for purchase at the AMS Bookstore. MAA members can access a complimentary e-book in their Member Library. AMS members can access a complimentary e-book at the AMS Bookstore. Thanks to the MAA and AMS, we reproduce one chapter per month on Math Values to better understand and celebrate the diversity of our mathematical community with folks who are not MAA members.

Early Life and Finding Mathematics

There are three jobs I ever remember wanting as a kid: professional clarinetist, U.S. Olympic softball player, and first woman president. Talk about #careergoals! As you undoubtedly noticed, being a mathematician did not make this ambitious list. In fact, a career in math was not an option I was even aware of until college. Before then, it was just a subject I enjoyed (mostly), was good at (mostly), and kept pursuing even when I thought I wanted to be a writer and journalist.

In hindsight, there are hints of a love for mathematics in my childhood: I enjoyed puzzles enough to have a dedicated piece of plywood that I kept under the couch; I loved to do word searches, unravel riddles, and read problem-solving mystery books; and being fast and correct on timed math problems was one of my favorite pastimes in grade school. Though, if my family history was any indication of math pursuits, one would have easily written my potential off as a nonstarter. My father’s parents were Mexican immigrants with a grade school education, I had no family members with a degree beyond high school, and I presented a dark complexion, none of which historically are in a U.S. mathematician’s favor. Yes, my father worked in construction and inevitably had to deal with geometric deductions, and my mother’s family has a lineage of talented seamstresses and dental technicians. However, as I was pursuing my doctorate in mathematics at UC Berkeley, a common phrase my mother would say was “I don’t know where she gets it.’’ Clearly, math just didn’t run in the family.

I grew up in the town of Santa Rosa, California, the eldest of three daughters. From a young age I loved sports, particularly baseball, and I loved proving my ability against anyone willing to test me. This competitiveness kept me driven to hit further, throw harder, and run faster, especially against the boys. It even got me into a few near-fist fights on the playground as I flexed my skills to prove no boy could beat me at wall ball. In hindsight, my determination to succeed in comparison to men was instilled by my dad. He would often tell my sisters and I that being a brown woman was an asset, not a fault. He taught us how to use power tools, build decks, paint houses, and showed us our worth by hiring us to work alongside him on construction sites. We could see his pride in our skills when, while chuckling, he told us the other men on the job complained we were too fast and made them look bad. I learned to value myself as a woman of color and recognized that not everyone did, Latinxs and non-Latinxs alike.

Family, culture and upbringing. Latinx immigrants are in my blood: my mother’s great-grandparents left Spain for the U.S. during the early 1900s as dictatorship was on the rise and World War I was looming; my father, a first-generation Mexican-American, grew up the son of poor undocumented apple pickers. Yet, I was raised speaking only English and with little exposure to Latin American culture. During the late 1980s and 1990s, this kind of conscious assimilation was common, encouraged, and even mandated (see California’s Prop 227 of 1998). Although I didn’t identify with Latin culture or its language, others inherently assumed it for me. This kept me an outsider, too brown to be American and too white to be Latina. During a seventh-grade history class, I saw the disappointing judgment of my white teacher when, after she asked me to translate a homework assignment to my Spanish-only speaking classmate, I admitted I did not speak Spanish. It stung to hear a group of Latinx high school classmates laugh when they heard my American accent coming through as I spoke Spanish during our language class. In spite of this culture shaming, I have found acceptance of my hybrid Mexican-American experience while strengthening my identity as the version of Latina that I am. In fact, mathematics helped me realize the importance of cherishing my own heritage and the culture of my ancestors. Sadly, it has been through the lack of Latinx representation in mathematics, and specifically U.S. born Latinxs, that spurred this awakening.

Where I did see Latinx people was in literature. As a teenager, I was mystified by Gabriel García Márquez, Federico García Lorca, and Sandra Cisneros. The colorful fantastic worlds they developed revealed a creativity and imagination of which I wanted to be a part. I discovered while volunteering at the local downtown library that the quiet vastness of literature and the buildings that housed them were one of the most ideal places to be. I often envisioned my perfect life as living in the library, devouring book after book, sustained by their knowledge. So, after haphazardly enrolling in the Santa Rosa Junior College after high school, I pursued my two favorite subjects: writing and sports, with mathematics as an afterthought. It was my calculus teacher, Kirby Bunas, who was the first person I can remember to tell me directly that I was good at math. She even hired me as a grader for her class the following semester. This was huge for my mathematical confidence, but did not stop me from showing up late for a calculus final in my pajamas three semesters later. I still considered my argumentative and creative writing courses top priority. In fact, I might never have pursued mathematics had it not been for another haphazard choice. Upon deciding to transfer to San Francisco State University (SFSU) to major in journalism, it was a guidance counselor who pointed out the math grades on my transcript as evidence of my preparation to major in math. He then said, “You can do anything with a math degree.” To which I said with a shrug, “O.K.’’

Entering the World of Mathematics

Only now can I see that my undergraduate years exposed me to all the “must haves” of a student whose path led to a doctoral program: supportive mentors, research experience, mathematical breadth, and community. I met one of my first true mentors, Dr. David Ellis, a no-nonsense African-American applied mathematician, who helped me apply for and receive enough funding to pay for my education the remainder of my time at SFSU. Thanks to Dr. Ellis’ encouragement, by my second semester I was accepted into the Undergraduate Biology Mathematics Collaboration (UBM) program. For two years I was funded to do multidisciplinary research in mathematical biology, co-advised by Dr. Ellis and Dr. Edward Connor, a professor of ecology. I developed coding skills using software such as MatLab and Mathematica, took courses in biological statistics, and collaborated with both undergraduate and graduate students.

I gave my first research presentation on this project at a campus-wide poster competition and to my surprise received fourth place. This research experience allowed me to develop a mathematical identity and confidence I never had before. I felt supported and valued by my professors and peers, and was encouraged to pursue graduate school. Again thanks to Dr. Ellis, while I prepared graduate school applications, I also applied for the CSU-LSAMP Bridge to the doctorate program through SFSU’s master’s program. In writing my personal statement, I realized my undergraduate experience not only exposed me to critical experiences to develop as a mathematician—it also exposed the need for Latinx and women in mathematics. My first Latinx mathematics professor wasn’t until my final semester of undergrad, and I’ve had only one other since then. In fact, I don’t believe I have ever had a U.S.-born Latinx professor. The number of classes I’ve attended with female mathematics professors hasn’t been much better. I felt passionate that to create the change I wanted, I had to become a professor and be that change. Then, as I found out I had been accepted to SFSU and the CSU-LSAMP Bridge to the Doctorate program, I learned of another life changing event.

Starting Graduate School and a Family

Prior to moving to San Francisco, I met the love of my life, Davi Pakter. I attribute my longevity in mathematics in part to his unwavering commitment and encouragement over the years. This support was certainly tested in my final semester of undergrad when we learned we were expecting our first child. It felt daunting to imagine simultaneously becoming a mother and beginning a master’s program. Davi reassured me we were in it together and that I was capable of anything. I decided to accept the offer at SFSU and plan to welcome our first child, Ayla, just before Halloween during my first semester of the master’s program.

To prepare for the fall I met another life-time mentor, Dr. Matthias Beck, who helped me redesign my schedule to better accommodate Lay’s birth. Dr. Beck eventually became my master’s thesis advisor and was influential in my choice of research areas. After a reading course on combinatorial topics (i.e., polytopes and Ehrhart theory) he suggested a research topic that eventually led to my master’s thesis on Generalized Dedekind-Bernoulli Sums.

As my advisor, Dr. Beck respected that I was a mother while challenging me to become a better mathematician. We would often meet at cafés or parks where I could bring a stroller and let a curious babe explore the world while we explored mathematical arguments. There is a day in particular when, after sitting in an airport working out a proof and waiting for a return flight from a conference, I shared my argument for a particular theorem. I was both shocked and thrilled when a usually reserved Dr. Beck gave me a high-five. That day I felt like a mathematician.

A motto Dr. Beck shared with me one day, ‘live your life and fit the career around it’ has helped me reconcile my choice of being a mother first, then a mathematician. Still, I was unaware of the needs of a new mother and the minimal accommodations afforded to them in academia. I survived more than I thrived. Instead of postponing all my first semester course work to the spring, I continued working and even took a take-home midterm the day after giving birth. Over the following years, I relied on fellow grad students for childcare during classes, pumped milk in the bathroom stall, and had the baby and stroller in tow to study sessions. I struggled to stay confident as I balanced family with school and doubted my abilities and academic choices. It took a mental toll on me and I eventually sought professional therapy, which I have continued ever since. I also gathered advice from other female mathematicians, uncovering a belief that still persists today. To succeed as a mother and mathematician, expect to work harder, be demanded more of, and constantly have to sacrifice one for the other. In my opinion, I see this as a response to a system built to promote a certain subset of the population exclusive of women, mothers, and people of color. Upon welcoming our second child, Ash, and recognizing the importance of showing all young girls the limitless futures available, I decided to pursue a doctorate in mathematics.

“In mathematics you don’t understand things. You get used to them.” I came across this quote, attributed to John von Neumann, on a tea bag label my first year of graduate school at UC Berkeley. It is a quote that adorned my children’s photo in my office for all of the six years I was there, and it is a quote I now share with my students on their first day of class. Dr. von Neumann’s perspective exposes a truth about math: once the fear and unfamiliarity of it is removed, then all you have are toys and tools with which to play.

My experience shows, unfortunately, that keeping some folks afraid and unfamiliar with mathematics is how many wish to practice it. This is precisely the element of mathematics that I have never gotten used to.

I expected to fail my first attempt at the prelim, a six-hour written exam spanning two days that all mathematics doctoral students must pass before their fourth semester at UC Berkeley. Yet it was still surprising how difficult the exam was and how poorly I was prepared for it. Thus, before the semester even began, I was already sorted and stamped as deficient. I was one of a handful of Latinx graduate students and mistaken for the other brown woman in the department several times my first year. I was the only female graduate student with a family and one of very few to have attended community college. By the end of my first year I had all of this used as evidence for my inevitable failure in the department. A prominent visiting professor, who agreed to support my studies in preparation for a third attempt at the preliminary exam, told me I was not fit for research—I was “probably good for someone of [my] background,’’ and that a PhD from UC Berkeley would not be worth the trouble. Just weeks later, after expressing my desperation of needing at least one ally in the department to believe in me, another professor said, “I do believe in you. I believe you could and should get your degree. I just don’t think Berkeley is the right place for you.’’ Messages like these, spoken by gatekeepers to the academy often who do not look like me, exemplify the inherent bias and discrimination built into academia originally meant to serve a select group of society. Although I walked away in tears from each of these gutting experiences, I was emboldened to earn my degree and use its leverage to unveil the inhumanity experienced by students, imposed by professors, and protected by the institutions that hire them.

Mental Health and the Mathematics Community

With the support of my fellow students, my therapist, and the Disabled Students Services who fought for me to receive test accommodations, I eventually passed the preliminary exam. I had also sought advice from my future co-advisors, Dr. Lauren Williams and Dr. Federico Ardila. Their encouragement to plan for success, not failure, affirmed my resolve to succeed on my own terms. And still, much like during my first years of motherhood, I was fighting to survive as a mathematician. Soon after the prelim exam hurdle was jumped, I found myself depleted and deflated by the process. I felt my relationship with math had strained to the point of breaking, and I was ready to leave the program and perhaps mathematics all together. After talking to Dr. Ardila, who took my burnout seriously, he suggested I find a project that allowed me to reconnect with what I truly enjoyed about mathematics: curiosity, exploration, and discovery. From this grew my dissertation in the areas of algebraic combinatorics and matroid theory, which are at the heart of my research currently. Both Dr. Williams and Dr. Ardila were essential to my success at UC Berkeley. They valued my input, encouraged me to attend conferences and collaborate with others, understood and supported my choices when my family was involved, and made me feel seen as a human doing mathematics. When I asked them to help me honor my childrens’ sacrifice over the years in support of my education, they joyfully awarded them homemade diplomas as all three of us walked across the stage during my graduation ceremony. The simple acknowledgment and validation of a person’s humanity is paramount to a person’s success. Sadly, it is glaringly absent all throughout our educational system.

I want to highlight the importance of personal well-being and emotional support in graduate school, and in all stages of life. Thus far, graduate school has been the biggest test of my self-confidence and commitment to achieving my goals. I reckoned with obvious discrimination and discouragement and I also became acutely aware of the personal effects these experiences have on underrepresented populations. My graduate experience opened my eyes to pervasive issues like stereotype threat, cultural obligation, being a spokesperson for a minority group, isolation, and impostor syndrome. I can recall the first time I learned about stereotype threat during a meeting with an older Black graduate student. I shared my sense of overwhelm as the only Latinx student in my classes; that my failure would be seen as a failure for all Latinx and all female students; that I couldn’t help but worry that by failing I was only proving the nay-sayers right: people like me can’t do math. These beliefs, along with the lack of encouragement and abundance of ridicule, affected my ability to be a productive, engaged, and valued member of the math community for many years. Initially, I avoided the activities expected of a successful graduate student. I did not attend seminars. I declined most departmental events. I didn’t discuss mathematics with faculty and rarely with other graduate students. With ongoing counseling and finding trusted friends and allies in mathematics, I was able to eventually mitigate the harm caused by these psychological and emotional phenomena. With depression affecting more than half of all graduate students, and suicide prevalent in our culture, I advocate for increased mental health services available to all and to continue removing the stigma attached to seeking support. In particular, among our faculty, this can be done by prioritizing student well-being and legitimizing student accommodations.

Current Life and Words of Inspiration

I am now completing my last year as a postdoctoral fellow. I have held appointments at the Mathematical Sciences Research Institute and UC Davis under the mentorship of Dr. Jesús A. De Loera. And I’m proud to say a legacy of higher education has been made in my family. Both of my sisters are college graduates, and each are pursuing science-related careers. I’ve seen the math community acknowledge the realities of systemic racism and sexism and address the consequences with renewed drive. I am inspired by the graduate students of UC Davis who quickly respond to injustices by raising awareness to hold people accountable. Lack of representation is being taken seriously by several institutions. Admission policies are changing and biased hiring practices are being rewritten to incentivize diversity along with research. Some institutions continue to approach these issues as just a quota problem, unaware that increasing the numbers alone cannot solve the problem. And still, without a greater presence of those affected by such commonplace discrimination, especially in positions of power, their voices will go unnoticed and silenced. We need policy reform at all stages of education, we must re-imagine the academic process, we must redesign the fundamental guiding principles of our educators, and we must fill the roles of mentors and advisors with compassionate, thoughtful, kind advocates who reflect the future of STEM.

As I consider the next step in my career, I am humbled by current movements that highlight the gravity of slowed or stalled progress. The countless murders of Black Americans and the incarceration of Black and brown youth weighs heavy and is too often paralyzing. Yet, when I see the courage, creativity, and ferocity of my own children as they march for women’s rights, LGTBQ+ rights, and chant Black Lives Matter, I have hope that change is inevitable and our futures are brighter than ever.