When I was accepted into Wichita State University, it felt like a dream realized. As an undocumented student, I always knew my path to higher education would be difficult, but thanks to scholarships like Adelante and Parkinson, I was given an opportunity many in my situation never receive. With my passion for health care, I eagerly pursued a nursing degree, believing that my hard work and dedication would be enough to overcome any obstacles.

For two years, I gave everything to my studies. I completed rigorous coursework, and met every requirement to stay on track. But beneath my determination was a constant anxiety — would my status eventually become a barrier? Unfortunately, that fear became a reality.

Despite following every guideline, I was dismissed from the nursing program because of my undocumented status. The decision felt like a betrayal. No one had warned me that this could happen — not my professors, not my advisers, and there was no mention of this requirement even on the program application. I had dedicated years of my life to something that, in the end, I was never going to be allowed to complete. I sat in meetings with faculty members who showed no urgency to help, no sympathy for my situation. Instead, I was met with indifference. Their silence spoke louder than words.

I felt lost. Everything I had worked for was suddenly ripped away, and I had no idea what to do next. I thought about leaving school altogether. What was the point of fighting a system that was never built for me?

That changed when I met with Alicia Newell, an administrator who not only listened to my story but genuinely cared about helping me find a new path. She guided me through the process of switching my major and building a new graduation plan. She was the first person in the entire experience to see me as more than just my status. Thanks to her support, I found a new direction in health care case management, a field that still allows me to help others while navigating a career path that is possible for someone like me.

My story is not unique. Across the country, undocumented students face similar barriers — doors that appear open until they suddenly slam shut. Many of us are encouraged to chase our dreams, only to realize too late that the system was never meant to accommodate us.

It’s exhausting to constantly advocate for us when the institutions that accept us fail to protect us.

But I refuse to be silent. My experience at WSU has shaped me in ways I never expected. It has fueled my passion for advocacy and my desire to ensure that other students don’t face the same struggles I did. No one should find out at the last minute that their dreams are unattainable.

Schools need to do better — by being transparent, by offering real support, and by ensuring that all students, regardless of status, have a fair chance of succeeding.

I am undocumented, and I am still here. My journey isn’t over; it’s just taking a different path.