Roots & Reflections: Honoring My Journey During Hispanic Heritage Month

Dr Jonathan Nadal, ND LAc

Being a second-generation Cuban American has meant more and more to me as I grow older in this country. Maybe it’s getting older. Maybe it’s living farther away from where I grew up. Or maybe it’s simply realizing that the things we sometimes take for granted when we are young can become some of the most meaningful parts of who we are later in life.

What has become of my life—my family, friends, and extended circles of community—has grown to be more diverse than I had imagined, or thought possible, in the Pacific Northwest. In my hometown of Miami, Florida, I grew up surrounded by such a wonderful mix of Hispanic cultures from all over Central and South America, the Caribbean, and Spain. It was everywhere. In the food, the music, the language, the celebrations, the stories, and even in the way people gathered together.

There was always a little bit of everything. Growing up Cuban in Miami, I didn’t always think about how unique that experience was. It was just home. Spanish being spoken around me was normal. Having strong opinions about food was normal. Music coming from somewhere nearby was normal. Family gatherings could be loud, loving, complicated, and absolutely wonderful—all at the same time.

Then I moved to Portland, Oregon, and things felt very different.

At first, I think I noticed the absence of those familiar pieces of home more than I noticed anything else. I missed the feeling of being surrounded by people who understood certain things without having to explain them. I missed the food. I missed the music. I missed the warmth and energy of Miami. I even missed some of the chaos.

Over time, though, I began connecting with different Hispanic communities and cultures here. Those connections have helped bring little pieces of home back into my current life. Sometimes it’s through a meal. Sometimes it’s through music, a conversation in Spanish, or meeting someone who shares a similar experience of being caught between cultures. Sometimes it’s simply the feeling of being understood.

I still miss Miami, though.

There is nothing better than sharing delicious meals, dancing to our favorite songs, laughing until your stomach hurts, and carefully tap dancing around different social and political views—which, let’s be honest, there are many across Hispanic communities. We don’t always agree. We don’t always see the world the same way. But there is something beautiful about being able to hold those differences alongside a shared sense of history and culture.

Maybe that is part of what being Hispanic means to me now. It isn’t one single experience. It’s many experiences, layered on top of each other.

What adds another meaningful layer to this transplanted Cuban American life is having the unique experience of working in integrative mental health. Over the years, working with patients from all walks of life has brought me so much inspiration and purpose. It has also reminded me how important it is to see people as whole human beings—not just as a diagnosis, a symptom, or a problem that needs to be fixed.

That becomes even more meaningful when the work extends to communities that have historically been underserved and where access to integrative health care is not always easy.

For many Hispanic families, conversations around mental health can carry their own complexity. There can be stigma, cultural expectations, language barriers, financial barriers, and a general feeling that we are supposed to just keep going. Be strong. Take care of everyone else. Figure it out.

I understand some of that personally.

And I also believe we can make room for something different.

The general conversation around mental health is changing, hopefully for the better. Mental health and access to care are at an incredibly critical point, and I want to stand wholeheartedly, front and center, ready to help those in need—and those who are ready to ask for help.

I’m proud to be Hispanic. I’m proud to be Cuban American. And I’m proud of the complicated, beautiful, sometimes messy collection of cultures, traditions, stories, resilience, food, music, and family that comes with that identity.

Part of our shared heritage already includes healers and folk traditions. Our communities have long understood that caring for one another is important, even when the language or methods looked different from what we might call health care today.

So, let’s make accessible, compassionate, and remarkable health care part of our legacy, too.

Wherever we are, we carry home with us.

Sometimes home is Miami. Sometimes it is a family recipe, a song, a memory, or a conversation that feels familiar. And sometimes, unexpectedly, home becomes something we build in a new place.

For me, I think it’s becoming all of these things at once.