Silvestre Vallejo
What happens when silence is passed down like an heirloom?
This heirloom isn’t jewelry or land. It’s an unspoken burden passed through generations, especially in cultures where strength is survival, and emotion is seen as weakness. This is the story of that silence, and the voices trying to break it.
Mental health is often described as invisible. But in Chicano and Latino families, it’s deeply felt. It’s not just personal, it’s inherited. Emotional weight, especially among men in these communities, is rarely named. But its impact echoes through family dynamics, childhood memories, and generational behavior.
In many Chicano and Latino households, men are taught to carry pain quietly. It’s not uncommon to see a father come home from a physically exhausting job without a single complaint. He might change out of his work clothes, sit at the table in silence, and carry on with his evening as if nothing happened. But behind that quiet routine, there’s often stress. Sadness. Depression. Emotions that are never named, let alone expressed.
Crying is rare. Talking about feelings? Even more rare. And over time, that silence becomes a tradition.
This tradition is shaped by machismo, a cultural expectation that men must be strong, emotionally reserved, and stoic. Vulnerability is seen as weakness. Talking about emotional struggle isn’t just discouraged, it’s often not even considered an option.
From personal experience, I’ve seen how this mindset turns pain inward. It doesn’t go away. It shows up as isolation, anger, or substance use. These coping mechanisms are rarely labeled as mental illness, but they’re symptoms of something much deeper: a desperate need for emotional healing that never gets addressed.
To break the cycle, we have to face it head-on. We owe it to ourselves and to future generations. The truth is, no one is alone in these feelings, and no one should believe emotions make them weak. If anything, being honest about what you feel is the strongest thing you can do.
I didn’t enjoy writing this. In fact, it made me feel weak. It’s easy to convince yourself that your pain doesn’t compare to what your parents or ancestors endured. Accepting your emotions can make you feel pathetic. Like you’re being overly sensitive.
But that feeling? That pressure to “shut up” or to “stop bitching”?
That is the trauma. That’s what it teaches us, to suppress, to disconnect, to stay quiet.
But writing… speaking… expressing yourself, that doesn’t make you dramatic. It doesn’t make you childish. It makes you human.
Breaking the cycle starts with this:
Allowing yourself to feel.
Allowing yourself to speak.
Allowing yourself to be.
Without shame.
It means recognizing that your pain is valid, even if it looks different than what your family went through. It means acknowledging your emotions, telling your story, and daring to believe it matters.
That’s how we create space, real space, for future generations to feel free. To be seen. To grow without carrying what we were never meant to hold.
