“We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.” – T.S. Eliot
It’s 2021, senior year of high school, and as the COVID-19 pandemic continues to surge we sit anxiously at our computers awaiting responses from the universities and colleges we’ve applied to. Few students dare to break from tradition, choosing instead to follow the well-trodden paths of their parents, grandparents, siblings, or cousins. In Texas—especially at this small Catholic school—tradition carries immense weight, shaping the choices of most graduates.
Because of this, it’s no surprise that when a peer decides to go to an out-of-state school, it’s met with shock and skepticism. “Are you sure you want to move so far away?” they ask, voices tinged with disbelief. “How could you leave your family? What are you even going to do out there? Isn’t it easier to just stay here?” These questions often carry an undertone of judgment, as if breaking away from the familiar is a betrayal of the community or an unnecessary risk.
I was no exception to these questions when I announced that I would be going to the University of Maryland, Baltimore County, (UMBC). Still, I knew deep down that Texas had given me all it could. Despite coming from a liberal family, we couldn’t escape the suffocating grip of conservatism that shaped so much of life in San Antonio. In my 18 years there, I was taught to love Jesus and my family, to believe that abortion was the ultimate sin, and that rape could never result in pregnancy. Texas seemed determined to isolate itself from the rest of the world, and I realized no one around me was going to show me what lay beyond its borders. If I wanted to see the world for what it truly was, I had to leave and discover it with my own eyes.
It wasn’t easy. I often found myself going to great lengths to reassure people that, despite the stereotypes, not everyone in Texas was a bigot. It was true that my life experiences had been limited, but more than anything, I wanted to learn and grow. Being away from my family was a constant challenge. While I formed wonderful friendships, my peers had the privilege of going home after a tough week or celebrating their birthdays with loved ones. My visits were restricted to Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks, and the ache of homesickness sometimes made me question my decision. Yet, I knew deep down that this was a path I had to follow—a necessary step to discover more about myself and the world, no matter how hard it was.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t required to wear a school uniform, and people asked me about my pronouns and sexuality—things that had never been part of the conversation back home. Here, there was no assumption that I was straight or that I had to stick to she/her pronouns. It was liberating in a way I hadn’t imagined. Every weekend, I called home, brimming with excitement about what I was studying and experiencing. I’ll never forget how thrilled I was to discover new ideas and perspectives that challenged everything I thought I knew.
Reproductive health, in particular, was something I had no idea about when I arrived in Maryland. Growing up in Texas, I was steeped in a culture that avoided honest conversations about sex, contraception, and bodily autonomy. Misinformation shaped my understanding, from the stigmatization of abortion to outright falsehoods about pregnancy and assault. At UMBC, I encountered a starkly different reality—one where access to accurate information and open dialogue about reproductive health was not only encouraged but normalized.
Learning about comprehensive sex education, the science of reproduction, and the policies that impact reproductive rights empowered me to think critically and advocate for myself and others. It has been a transformative experience, allowing me to see how much I had been denied back home.
UMBC felt like an entirely different world, one that revealed just how sheltered my life in Texas had been. I was thrilled to finally learn the information I had missed out on growing up—knowledge that felt empowering and long overdue. More than anything, I wanted to return home and share what I had discovered, to challenge the misconceptions that had shaped so much of my upbringing. I realized how fortunate I was to have the opportunity to attend college out of state, knowing that not everyone has the privilege to explore life beyond the boundaries of their hometown.
Four years later, now in my senior year of college, I am planning for life after graduation—a future that once felt bright and full of promise but now seems clouded by the aftermath of the recent presidential election and its implications. Returning to a conservative state like Texas feels overwhelming, knowing I may encounter skepticism or resistance from those with deeply different views. As a woman, I’m acutely aware of the rights that have been stripped away, and the thought of going back fills me with fear. Yet, my love for my family and my desire to support girls like me—those who don’t have the option to leave—outweigh my hesitation. I want to make Texas a better place for them, a place where they can thrive despite the challenges.
When I share my decision to return to Texas, the reactions from friends and colleagues are often a mix of shock and fear. “Why would you go back there?” they ask, eyes wide, their voices filled with concern. I can’t blame them for their alarm—after all, I’ve spent years speaking openly about the challenges of growing up in a conservative state and the liberating experiences I’ve had here in Maryland. But despite their worry, my decision feels right. Texas shaped me, for better or worse, and I can’t turn my back on the place or the people who are still there, navigating the same struggles I once faced. Yes, moving back is daunting, but it’s also a chance to bring the knowledge I’ve gained and the perspective I’ve developed to a community that needs it. And while leaving the supportive and progressive environment I’ve built in Maryland is bittersweet, I know that going back is not a step backward. It’s a step toward creating change and making my home a place where others like me can see a future worth staying for.
I understand that meaningful change won’t happen overnight, but I truly believe that progress is possible.
