🇩🇴🇺🇸 Faith, Freedom & Flaws: Loving a Country Enough to Want Better

I vote because I still believe in better — for all of us.

There are very few things I’m prouder of than being both Dominican and American. Two identities stitched together — one full of warmth, grit, and rhythm; the other full of opportunity, contradictions, and hard lessons.

But before anything else, I want to say this: I’ve never believed that my way of doing life, parenting, or faith is the way. It’s my way — shaped by where I come from, what I’ve lived through, and who raised me. My life lens comes from the values instilled in me back in the Dominican Republic and sharpened here in the U.S.

And those values — faith, hard work, community — have a lot to do with how I see everything, from motherhood to politics to what it really means to love a country.

🌿 From Santo Domingo to Snowstorms

I was born in the Dominican Republic — what people used to call a “developing” or “third world” country (a phrase that never sat right with me). I left when I was twelve.

At the time, I didn’t understand why. My parents were both educated — my mom, an architect; my dad, an engineer. But in a country where class and connections often matter more than talent, even degrees couldn’t buy them opportunity.

So, like many immigrant families, they left everything behind for the possibility of something better — not riches, not luxury, but a fair shot. I remember being wide-eyed about snow and American malls, not realizing the grit it would take for my parents to rebuild from scratch.

They took on building management jobs, cleaning shifts, late nights — jobs that had nothing to do with their degrees and everything to do with survival. And through it all, they repeated the same quiet prayer: “Our kids will have better.”

And we did.

🎓 What America Taught Me (and Un-Taught Me)

In our house, college wasn’t optional — it was the “thank you” for every sacrifice my parents made.

And while I now see how inaccessible higher education has become (as someone who left with $40,000 in student loans and later worked in higher ed access), I can’t deny that college cracked my world wide open.

It taught me that faith and politics aren’t enemies. It taught me that compassion doesn’t make you weak. It taught me that being “Christian” and being “progressive” are not contradictions — they’re cousins.

Because when I look at Jesus’ words, I see a man who fed the hungry, cared for the sick, and called out systems that favored the rich and ignored the poor. To me, that’s not left or right — that’s love in motion.

🗳️ Voting as an Act of Faith

I voted in every election since becoming a citizen at 18. I cried holding that tiny American flag at my naturalization ceremony.

That moment meant something deep: that a girl who grew up hearing car horns and colmados in Santo Domingo could stand in a polling line in Massachusetts and say, my voice matters here.

And it’s not because I think voting is perfect — it’s because I think voting is powerful. It’s how we tell the story of who we are, and who we’re still trying to be.

For me, voting isn’t just about policies or parties. It’s about people. It’s about asking: Who gets to thrive? Who gets to rest? Who gets to be seen?

When I vote, I think of my parents, who couldn’t always speak up where they were from. I think of my kids, who deserve a future with both opportunity and empathy.

That’s what loving a country looks like to me — not blind loyalty, but brave accountability.

💛 Faith, Freedom, and the Middle Ground

One of the hardest things about being a person of faith who also leans progressive is living in that tension — the middle ground that so few people like to stand in.

I’ve learned that it’s okay to love your church and still question it. To love your country and still critique it. To vote your values and still extend grace to those who don’t share them.

That’s not hypocrisy — that’s maturity.That’s what makes democracy, and faith, work.

And honestly? I think God delights in our wrestling. He meets us there, between gratitude and growth, saying, “I’m still here. Keep going.”

🌎 Representation Isn’t a Buzzword — It’s a Promise

I’ve built my career in nonprofit and community work, fighting for access — education, housing, opportunity — for people who look like me and people who don’t.

And every time I hear someone say things like “diversity hiring is a quota,” I want to say:“No. It’s a correction.”

Representation doesn’t take anything away from anyone. It adds. It expands. It reminds us that the table was never meant to be for the same seven people.

Sometimes I even think — maybe someday I’ll run for office. Not because I want power, but because I want people like me — Dominican-American, single mom, faith-filled, fierce — to see themselves in rooms they never imagined entering.

🙏🏽 Loving a Country Enough to Want Better

I love this country. I love it for its promise, for its diversity, for its freedom. But love that doesn’t challenge isn’t real love — it’s comfort.

When I critique, it’s not because I hate it here. It’s because I believe in it here. I believe in what we could still become.

The United States has given me opportunities my parents could only dream of. But it’s also shown me its cracks — systems that still leave people behind, voices that still go unheard.

And if loving America means anything, it means using my voice, my vote, and my faith to help mend those cracks — even when the world feels divided.

Because I still believe what I learned as a little girl — that there are more good people than bad ones. And that hope, when it’s shared, can move mountains.

🌿 Gratitude in the Mess

As I write this, I’m tired. My kids are recovering from being sick, work has been wild, and the world feels louder than ever. But I’m still grateful.

Grateful for fluorescent-lit dance studios, Awana nights, and voting stickers. Grateful for the faith that grounds me when everything else spins. Grateful for the kind of peace that doesn’t come from perfection — but from presence.

I don’t have all the answers, and maybe that’s okay. Because sometimes loving a country — and a life — means seeing its flaws and choosing to show up anyway.

That’s real faith. That’s real freedom.And that’s where I’ll be — messy, hopeful, and still believing in better. This reflection came to me after Election Day on November 4. Walking to my local polls here in Randolph, Massachusetts, I felt that same quiet gratitude I’ve carried since the first time I voted in this country. Watching neighbors show up, parents bringing their kids, and volunteers handing out stickers reminded me why I believe so deeply in participation, in showing up — even when the world feels weary.

To everyone who voted, served, or won this week — congratulations. You are proof that faith, freedom, and the messy hope of democracy are still alive and well. 🇩🇴🇺🇸💛

💛 — Rochelly