I could not have imagined the surge of feeling that would run through my body as I stepped onto the stage and heard “Dr. Priscilla Aquino Garza.” It had been five years of long nights filled with reading, coding, and data mining through a pandemic—juggling remote learning with two small children, a husband working as a nurse manager before there was a vaccine and facing many tough realities in hospitals, and even enduring an unexpected snow-pocalypse in Austin, Texas.

In my burnt orange regalia, I cried with my immigrant parents, my husband and two children, sandwiched in the three generations that have woven very different stories in this country. I always wanted to be doctora and, as I participated in all of the graduation ceremonies, I carried with me pieces of all of my biggest believers that have supported my pursuit for this final degree. I have been acutely aware throughout my journey that, first, you get nowhere without your gente; your people who not only believe in you unconditionally, but also help with meals, pick up children after school so you can go to class, and pick you up off the floor when you think you cannot take another step. I also learned early on that you better be ready to fight for your dreams no matter the uncertainty, constant feelings of being an imposter, or the way you wait for the next “but” that delays your end game.

As I reflect on this truth, I know that it has always been about the journey of hundreds of small steps that got me here, going back to when my mother and father stepped on planes from Costa Rica and Mexico respectively, with a dream of a better life in the United States. Those steps created a new map of what life could be like for my brother and me, and ultimately our children and future generations.

I took my own first steps starting school in Washington Heights as a first-generation Latina, before moving on to Prep for Prep to prepare for my private school education. I took my next step (and some very deep breaths) when walking through Nightingale’s newly minted blue doors in 1991. When I think about the places that molded me to believe that, not only could I, but I should complete my dream of a doctorate, I am grateful for the many lessons from my time at Nightingale.

In reality it did not always feel that I belonged, but my time at Nightingale taught me that I needed to be the one that determined where I belonged, no matter the discomfort. One of my early lessons came in ninth grade when I was talking to Ms. Porricolo (one of our PE teachers) and I told her that I could not swim. She responded with, “Well then you should join the swim team.” I chuckled and thought to myself that she was joking—but she was not. That fall, I earned my first varsity letter as part of the swim team. Every practice, I had my own lane or small section of the pool, and I repeated small step after small step to learn how to swim. My Nightingale teammates welcomed me onto the team with no reservations; just positive reinforcement. As I learned how to swim, my fear of drowning dissolved, and I learned all four strokes—eventually competing in my first race by the end of the season.

I swam for all four years of Upper School. While I did not win my races, that step of joining the team—and deciding I was going to do something that absolutely frightened me—confirmed once again that taking a first step could carve a new path, otherwise unventured.

The willingness to take those unventured paths have defined my life. I left my predominantly Latine neighborhood to attend Prep for Prep on the promise of building foundations so that I could chart a new path for my future through an exclusive private education that, at the time, I had no idea existed. Not only were we a family learning about U.S. schooling, but we were a family who could not afford any school with tuition. Prep for Prep and Nightingale gave us a way into this magical world.

The steps were not easy, and I did have many feelings about leaving my familiar neighborhood. But the new world I came to know opened up new paths. It was at Nightingale that I found my voice in leadership—growing Cultural Awareness for Everyone (C.A.F.E) with my good friend Afua Addo ’97 to include more students and with signature programs that are still part of the heartbeat of Nightingale. The experiences with C.A.F.E. helped me navigate and commit myself to working on the racial and hegemonic systems that continue to dominate all aspects of our society. As one of the few Latinas in the school, I learned that, while it mattered to me that I stepped into this world, it mattered just as much to my peers and the Nightingale staff that I was there to raise different issues in this ecosystem. Just like learning to swim, I often found myself treading water to figure out so many things, from how to properly write a research paper or learn Latin to read the Aeneid—these were not familiar areas to ask for help from my parents, so I had to get comfortable with asking for help from others. I learned deeply that faculty and staff were in my corner—from Ms. Chase who purchased my first yearbook for me when she realized that I was the only student in my seventh grade class that had not bought one due to the cost, to Mr. Feig who ignited my love of politics and history (I credit him to both my teaching and policy career), to Ms. Bauer, whose ever so challenging AP Calculus came back to me as I ran multilevel models for my dissertation 27 years later. It was also from Ms. Smith who counseled students with warmth and a push from her front desk, or Ms. Guzman who let us fall apart in her office, but only to then help us get up and continue stepping toward our degree.

At Harvard, I would come to truly value the time that had been poured into me at Nightingale because you never quite get that again in larger schools. Through college, my master’s degree, my move to Austin, Texas, and the growth of my family, and my doctorate, Nightingale friends, teachers, and staff have always checked in and continued to cheer me on. The gift of support and belief is one I wish for everyone because I still wonder what my path would have looked like without it.

I know I have always worked hard, but little Priscilla did not believe she could be doctora when she first stepped through those big blue doors. But, by the time I left, I knew I could swim with the best of them, even if my stroke was different and at my own pace. My favorite moment from my doctoral graduation was looking up into the stands and hearing my children, parents, husband, brother, and hermanas—they were walking with me and, together, we made this step become real.