I was raised by my Grandparents. Without them, I would not be the young adult I am today. They taught me everything that they could- from knowing how to washing my own clothes, to properly washing dishes, to learning how to count my change. They taught me valuable life skills that I needed as I entered adulthood. But it was not until I went away to college was when I learned that they had not taught me how to listen to myself with warning signs of anxiety, depression, self-harm, and mental health.

My grandparents immigrated to the United States over 40 years ago from Paraguay. They struggled a lot as they adapted to the life of the United States; making a pathway for my mother and her sister, and eventually myself. Allowing us to prosper and thrive in the American Culture.

They often told me that they wanted me to become a doctor, or something else great, like a lawyer; something that will bring me success and fortune.

But it was never spoken in my household the importance of self-care, and mental health that I needed to maintain in order to achieve huge aspirations.

As I grew older, I became friends with other Latinos, and when the topic of emotions, depression, and anxiety was brought up in conversation, either it would be awkward or we switched topics quickly, too embarrassed to reveal any sadness that has been chalked up inside.

I was taught that psychiatrists were these demonized people that only crazy people go to when you were... well, crazy; my stress and my emotions would be easily controlled through pray and trust in the Lord.

Males in Latino families are taught very early not to cry or show emotions. Being depressed as a male will show that you cannot be the man of any household since you cannot hold yourself together. Females are taught that showing signs of anxiety will cost them from finding a husband or from being a proper mother to raise children.

When a someone acted out strangely, it wasn't because they had ADHD or autism, it was because they were "sick in the head" and in the eyes of my grandparents, they would shelter me away from being exposed to it, thinking I would start acting the same way because their "craziness" somehow rubbed off on me.

For a long time, I thought of counselors and therapist and psychiatric wards as a form of punishment. I had no idea that anxiety was even a thing, or that my mood swings and severe lethargic, thoughts of suicide and urges to self-harm were signs of depression.

We just sort of accepted my grandmother doing strange things and chalked it up to her getting old, not that she was showing early signs of Alzheimer's.

As a Latina, I was raised into thinking that mental health was a taboo thing, that if your general practitioner couldn't solve it, that was it, there was nothing further you could do.

Coming into college, I was never surrounded by so much mental health. My college even has this whole club dedicated to social activities, programs, groups about being "mentally healthy". I felt like I was walking into some sort of forbidden forest that was instilled in me to never cross. It baffled me how much these white students talked so openly about their depression, addiction, anxiety problems. How they have strong bonds and opened relationships with their counselors, either on campus or back home. I cringed at the thought that I had similar things that they talked about. I was often repeating to myself that I'm not crazy like these people are.

Late into my Sophomore Year, I took a Health and Psychology class for my major, and I was taken back on how much we talked about culture in the classroom. The articles I read in class made me to sad to realize that answers on why mental health was so taboo.

White families and minority families can get mentally sick just much as each other, but only 10 percent of Latinos have the resources to reach out to a doctor, and even less make it to making an appointment with a mental health professional.

Resources are there to help aid anyone in their mental health, however language barriers, lack of knowledge, and uncertainty often times make families like mine go to the next best thing: religion, faith, hope and positivity.

Mental Health in the Latino Community will always be a tough subject to talk about, especially when the stigma is so deep rooted into the social construct that minorities are placed into.

On October of 2015, I got my first tattoo: a semi-colon on the back of my left forearm. I got it as a promise to myself to embrace my mental health and the journey I had to overcome with self-harm, depression, and acceptance.

I'm still growing and learning about my own mental health, and hopefully, soon I will be able to reach out to other Latins who were in my position before I came to college. To help them understand that they are not crazy, counselors are not a punishment, and your mental health is just as important as you are.