Motherhood and Belonging in Puerto Rico: A Complicated Home

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Finding Home Where History Hurts

The other day, someone left a comment on one of my posts:

“Y’all are not even Puerto Rican. Ya just like the other mainlanders colonizing everything.”

I’ll be honest — it stung. But it also made me pause and think. What does it mean to call Puerto Rico home when its history is complicated, when colonization and gentrification have shaped so much of the island we love? It’s a question I wrestle with often.

And yet, this island is home for my family. My sons were born here. We live in a Boricua community, share daily life with our neighbors, and try, in small ways, to contribute and honor the culture around us. Home is layered — it’s both where you come from and where you pour your heart. For me, for us, that is Puerto Rico.

Motherhood has a way of making those questions even bigger. Watching my boys grow up here, seeing them run through streets steeped in history, learning the language and traditions that are theirs by birth, I feel a responsibility — and a privilege — to show them that loving a place also means respecting its story, its people, and its culture.

And yet, I understand where this person was coming from and it has forced me to put words to something I wrestle with all the time — what does it mean to call a place home when history makes that complicated?

I hope as I try to unpack my complicated feelings that you, my readers, are graceful and kind. I’d love to understand your perspectives and stories. Feel free to comment here or on Instagram. 


Section 1: The Weight of History

Puerto Rico’s history is not just background — it’s living, breathing, and shaping daily reality. Colonization by Spain and later the United States left deep wounds that are still visible. As historian Pedro Caban (2018) explains, Puerto Rico’s status as an unincorporated territory has created “a colonial condition that structures every facet of political, economic, and cultural life.”

I see it in the segregation of neighborhoods and I hear it in the voice of the students I teach. But a history of colonization isn’t just the only thing that impacts Puerto Rico. 

Today, gentrification and displacement add another layer. Streets in San Juan and beyond have been reshaped by tourism, Airbnbs, and foreign tax incentives. One Puerto Rican scholar noted that “an unsettling amount of ‘for sale’ signs riddled the streets of San Juan, Arecibo, and Ponce, making it hard to ignore the absence of locals in these communities” (Revista DRCLAS, 2024). 

It’s something that I’ve noticed in my own neighborhood as our elderly vecinos leave and their children can’t afford or don’t want to stay in their parents’ homes. 

Before I move on to my experience, I want to emphasize the importance of Puerto Rico’s history and presence. I don’t want to gloss over this. It’s not just abstract history — it shapes real people’s lives. Families get priced out of their neighborhoods. Culture becomes a commodity for visitors rather than something rooted in lived experience. 

I’m mindful that being a non-Puerto Rican living here means I need to constantly check myself and acknowledge this weight. That's the backdrop against which our family's daily life unfolds.

Section 2: Our Family’s Story

At the same time, this island is where my family’s story is unfolding. My sons were born here. Their first steps, first words, and first friendships all carry the rhythm of Puerto Rico.

Our life here doesn’t look glamorous — it’s school runs, soccer practice, waiting in line at Costco, watching chickens in the yard, chatting with neighbors in the evenings. These are the ordinary things that root us.

We’ve been working odd jobs through job insecurity and relying on the grace and care of our Boricua friends. It wasn’t a hard choice to stay in Puerto Rico, but it hasn’t been an easy journey.

To be clear, I don’t claim to be Puerto Rican. I don’t — and can’t — claim that identity. It belongs to Puerto Ricans themselves. That identity is not mine to take. But Puerto Rico is home. It’s where I’m raising my children, where I celebrate their milestones, and where my heart feels tethered. I can choose how I live here, raising my children with respect for the island and its people.

Section 3: Motherhood and Home

Motherhood has deepened my sense of home. Watching my boys grow up in Puerto Rico makes me think about legacy. They are part of a generation learning Spanish in the schoolyard, eating arroz con habichuelas at birthday parties, and singing along when “Preciosa” plays at community events.

As scholar Barreiro León (2025) reminds us through her study of Puerto Rican music, culture here [in Puerto Rico] is not just backdrop — it’s identity. “The Puerto Rican artist’s relationship with his country of origin has always been very close, as cultural references to the island abound in his lyrics and song narratives.” For my boys, those cultural references are not nostalgic; they are present tense. 

Raising them here is a privilege. It’s also a responsibility — to help them see that loving a place means honoring its people, listening to its stories, and protecting its future.

Section 4: Wrestling with Belonging

Still, I wrestle with belonging almost daily -- and especially after receiving comments like the one on Instagram. I love Puerto Rico deeply, but I know my place in its story is complicated. I carry an awareness that my presence could be read as part of a larger problem — of outsiders arriving, benefiting from systems that harm locals.

So I try to live differently: to respect rather than consume, to contribute rather than take. That looks like sending my kids to local schools, building friendships with neighbors, supporting local businesses, showing up for community needs.

It also looks like listening more than I speak. As Díaz (2024) wrote when teaching about Puerto Rican resistance to gentrification, part of the work is “shedding light on Puerto Ricans fighting gentrification propelled by rich, mostly white Americans taking advantage of tax breaks offered by Puerto Rico’s Act 60.” That reminder grounds me: the story of Puerto Rico is not mine to lead, but I can choose how I live within it.

Conclusion

If you’ve wrestled with belonging — in Puerto Rico or elsewhere — I’d love to hear your story in the comments or on Instagram (@adventureswithsarahandal).

Belonging, like motherhood, is messy. It doesn’t come with neat answers or perfect clarity. For me, calling Puerto Rico home is an adventure in imperfection — showing up, getting it wrong sometimes, trying again, and letting love and respect guide me.

Sources

Barreiro León, B. (2025). Cultural identity, colonialism, and gentrification in Puerto Rico: Bad Bunny’s El Apagón as a case study. IASPM Journal, 15(1), 151–164. https://iaspmjournal.net/index.php/IASPM_Journal/article/view/1397

Caban, P. (2018). Puerto Rico: Colonialism in the 21st century. Centro Journal, 30(2), 4–29.

Díaz, V. (2024). Teaching US colonialism and Puerto Rican resistance through documentary. Latino Studies, 22(3), 451–468. https://doi.org/10.1057/s41276-024-00489-9

Revista DRCLAS. (2024, October 24). Gentrification in Puerto Rico: The impact on displacement and local livelihoods. ReVista: Harvard Review of Latin America. https://revista.drclas.harvard.edu/gentrification-in-puerto-rico-the-impact-on-displacement-and-local-livelihoods

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