Due in large part to U.S. intrusion, I was separated from my mom at age 2. By the time I met her at age 5, she was a stranger to me. Every day, since then, our relationship has suffered deeply, painfully due to our time apart. What these families have endured is utterly inhumane. https://twitter.com/jacobsoboroff/status/1318679776144420865

The headlines come & go, but people need to know this kind of trauma lasts a lifetime. To have a parent with you one day, gone the next, is the worst kind of mind game for a child. No matter what adults tell you, you blame yourself. You never feel whole.

For us in El Salvador, the 1980s were a nightmare. The U.S. spent billions funding a brutal war that took away just about everyone I knew before the age of 3. My mom managed to escape north by foot, but she had to leave me behind. That moment shaped everything about us.

As a kid, the most distressing thing people could say to me was: “Your mother’s gonna come for you soon.” I had only the faintest concept of this person. No sense of how she sounded, how she smelled, how she felt about me. I had one photo of her I used to stare at all the time.

It’s the strangest thing as a child to be terrified of the thing you long for the most. When I finally met my mom at age 5, everyone acted as if things would now be “normal”. But it took me months to call her mother & it took me years to trust that she wouldn’t abandon me again.

My story’s not unique. The trauma of family separation repeats itself among thousands of Central Americans. In each family, I imagine, the loss takes different forms. There were times during my teenage years when the pain made me feel like my life held little value.

These days, I tend to hold on tight to loved ones, afraid I might lose them. It’s hard for me to believe that anything good will last for long. This may very well be what drives me. It might have been what drove my mom to survive in the toughest times.

This is a void I wish on no one. My mom & I have learned along the way that nothing seems to make it go away. Not her prayers. Not my “American Dream” success. Not any logical explanation of how governments work or don’t work. My mother’s touch will always feel foreign to me.

Some time soon, I hope to write about the trauma of family separation so people better understand its lasting impact. If you’re Salvadoran & were separated from your family in the 1980s & if you’d like to share your story with me, please DM me. Thank you so much

One thing that terrified me about becoming a parent was not knowing if I had the capacity to be a mother, to love like a mother. Before 5, I had no lasting notion of a “mother”. I also had zero notion of “father” since my biological dad was exiled at the start of the war.

Thank u for reading & sharing my thread. I hesitated for so long about exposing these wounds in this public space. But it’s impossible to see history repeat itself — to witness the irreparable heartbreak the U.S. has caused these families — & stand by, silent about my own anguish

I also want everyone to know I love my mom. She’s a force of nature, the source of all my strength. I like to believe that one day we’ll find our way out of this old maze, patch up all the cracks & just be. For now, I live vicariously through the immense love she gives my kids