Identity and Belonging in the Mexican Canadian Experience
A personal reflection exploring immigration, safety, and language
Sheila Arellano (she/her) is a Mexican writer with nearly a decade of storytelling experience, whose work explores themes of identity, imagination, and cultural connection.
Now based in Canada, she balances full-time work with her book coaching business, helping others tell their own stories. Sheila published her debut novel at nineteen and has written three books since. Her latest project is a fantasy novel inspired by Mexican culture.
In her spare time, she enjoys reading, dancing, singing and playing D&D.
In this personal reflection, Sheila shares her own journey of rebuilding identity after displacement, and the unexpected ways safety and language became catalysts for growth.
The word home carries memories and moments, tinges of grief and threads of joy. Over time, my definition of home has evolved. For 15 years, I lived in colourful towns across Mexico, yet the only place I considered home was an estate in the countryside called the Hacienda. As a kid, I would frolic barefoot in the woods, guided by the sound of crickets or the warmth of a crackling fire. Until I was 10, I felt safe in the Hacienda. But as crime rates rose, my family and I were forced to move to Mérida, Yucatán. Our sense of safety vanished so fast that I didn’t have time to process it.
I chased this lost feeling of safety and belonging everywhere I went. I found it in fragments. I felt safe when I visited the bewitching beaches of Yucatán or hiked the awe-inspiring mountains in Tepoztlán. I felt at home when eating tacos or tamales. I belonged among the vivid and rich Mexican culture, among endless music and dance. Ancient traditions like the Day of the Dead were a part of my life and I was happy celebrating these alongside my family and friends. And still, fear lingered as a steady hum in the back of my mind.
In 2012, I was forced to flee my country due to crime. Again, I was left floating, suspended in my mind, longing for safety. We immigrated to Canada that year. When I saw the snowy mountains for the first time, I felt held, like I could finally breathe. My shoulders slumped and my body relaxed, giving way to a new sense of security.
Being at ease allowed me to unravel my identity and weave it back together. I was no longer stuck in a state of survival, so I had the space to discover who I was outside of that humming fear. Musician Marco Walraven echoed this sentiment and said that his “sense of identity was shaped, in part, by the feeling of safety that Canada gave [him]. If Mexico felt safe, it would feel like home—but it isn’t.” Similarly, developer Sofia Paco shared that she has “come to value the feeling of safety and freedom that comes with growing up in Canada.”
Alongside peace of mind, Canada also gave me access to open ways of thinking, allowing me to embrace my queerness and creativity. I built a community around these values and surrounded myself with like-minded people who showed me it was okay to be myself. When speaking Spanish, I often lacked the language to fully explore my queerness. Part of that was due to my age, but English also made that self-exploration accessible.
“Learning a new language means learning a new way of seeing the world and it expands your mind,” said Marco Walraven. “For example, in English, you say ‘I am sad,’ so you have to consciously detach yourself from emotions. In Spanish, you never are an emotion; instead, you would say ‘I feel sad.’ English also opened up possibilities for me in terms of identity. Information about gender exploration is more accessible in English, and the language around gender is easier to navigate.”
Language helped me explore my identity, adapt to a new culture and process my immigration experience. Through storytelling, I made sense of the world around me and connected my Mexican and Canadian identities. I wrote stories inspired by Mexican mythology and culture that integrated the values I adopted in Canada. This helped me heal and mend the parts of myself that felt disconnected after moving to a new country.
Sometimes, especially as a writer, I felt like I was a bridge, the missing link between my family in Mexico and my friends in Canada. Often, I had to translate not just words but entire cultural contexts, explaining traditions to my Canadian friends and societal norms to my parents. This role made me feel like I fit in everywhere and nowhere at once, and the constant bridging of cultures blurred and overshadowed my sense of belonging.
Resilience coach Mariana Jimenez shared a similar feeling. “I don’t feel fully Canadian, but having lived here for almost 19 years, I also don’t feel fully Mexican anymore, either. I have adopted parts of both countries into my cultural landscape. ‘Ni de aquí ni de allá’ is a common saying often used by Latinx immigrants, which means ‘neither from here nor there.’ This phrase describes the internal conflict and guilt that an immigrant experiences when assimilating into a new culture while trying to honour their home culture.”
The more I lived in Canada, the more I found myself ‘in between.’ I wished to honour my Mexican heritage and navigate the intricacies of being an immigrant, but I also had to understand the interconnected systems of oppression I was a part of. As a settler, I had to reckon with my position in a land that was not mine. It became clear to me that I had a responsibility to stand in solidarity with the Musqueam (xʷməθkʷəy̓əm), Squamish (Sḵwx̱wú7mesh) and Tsleil-Waututh (səl̓ilwətaɁɬ) peoples.
For me, this meant coming to terms with my complicity, learning about Indigenous history, attending Indigenous events to understand the present-day issues, and supporting Indigenous artists whose voices were often not prioritized. At times, it felt like a balancing act—honouring both my roots as well as the urgent need for awareness and action.
As I understood the realities of immigration, threads of guilt braided themselves into my identity. I saw Mexico from an outsider’s perspective and the extremes were obvious; I admired the incredible parts of Mexican culture, but I also uncovered the darker parts, like the prevalence of conservative values that propagated racism and misogyny. Thus, my understanding of Mexican culture shifted and became grounded in truth.
“Learning about racism here made me shift my perspective,” said Marco Walraven. “Every single thing that I noticed [as an outsider] was amazing and horrible in different contexts. There are some extreme opposites in Canada, but there is more separation between the good and the bad.”
Sofia Paco shared a similar feeling. “There was a lot of rage when I became more aware of how intertwined Catholicism, misogyny, racism, and other forms of discrimination are with the culture. Now I feel like I have come to a place where I can appreciate the beauty of the culture while remaining critical and searching for ways to raise more awareness about these topics.”
As I grew older and settled into the realities of my identity, I learned to honour the wonderful aspects of being Mexican Canadian while acknowledging the darker parts, too. I learned to intertwine these threads to establish who I am today. My idea of home has evolved in diverse ways. It has become grounded and enriched by different experiences. Simply being exposed to so many cultures and traditions in Canada has enhanced my understanding of home.
Today, I connect to the word “home” by celebrating my culture. For me, this means cooking tacos, tamales or other Mexican dishes, sharing traditions with my friends such as the Day of the Dead or eating bacalao on Christmas Eve. Yet other Mexican Canadians stay connected to their heritage in various ways. Support Worker Claudia Maldonado shared how she “goes to parties organized by the Mexican Community in Vancouver” and how, in her house, she “celebrates Independence Day, makes Day of the Dead Bread, Three Kings Cake and sometimes has posadas.”
Leaving Mexico and building a life in Canada is an immense privilege. Of course, I still miss parts of Mexico—the familiar thrum of the Spanish language, the warmth of shared traditions, the simple joys of childhood places now distant. I miss my family and the sunshine, the food and the liveliness of Mexican culture. Yet Canada has become home in ways I never expected.
It is the friendships and community that have shaped my sense of belonging here, as well as the family I’ve built alongside my partner. In their presence, I’ve found comfort, compassion and abundant kindness. Still, I remain between two worlds, among an amalgamation of cultures. And perhaps that is what home truly means, to exist in the spaces in between, suspended and held by loved stories, people and experiences.
From the writer
By exploring universal themes and personal narratives, I aim to foster connection, empathy and understanding, inviting readers to reflect on their journeys and feel seen in the process.
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