How the "Lo Que Pasa en Casa" Mentality Held Me Back From My Comedic Voice

For Mental Health Awareness Month, we asked Latine comedians and creators we admire how comedy has supported them in overcoming trauma and confronting life's most significant challenges. Read the pieces here. There's a cultural maxim within Latinidad that's always left me a bit unsettled: "Lo que pasa en casa se queda en casa." It means what happens at home stays at home - aka loyalty above everything. Growing up in a subjectively funny family taught me invaluable lessons about the power of humor and its role as a survival tool, especially during challenging times. In my Ecuadorian immigrant family, our main coping mechanism was finding solace in humor amid chaos. But there was always a boundary, an invisible line to how far we could share drawn by the "lo que pasa en la casa" mentality - the notion that certain things should never leave the confines of our home. It became clear to me early on that this mentality stemmed from a desire to maintain appearances, protect the family's reputation, and uphold the value of privacy. The "lo que pasa en la casa" mentality always felt like a type of silencing or secrecy that prohibited many of my tías, tíos, cousins, and older siblings from seeking out things like therapy. It was also an invisible shackle placed around my artistry before it began. Some may argue that "lo que pasa en casa" is all about "privacy" or "protection," but it's a double-edged sword. There are situations where it's crucial (say, if someone in the family wins the lottery and you don't want everyone coming out of the woodwork for a piece of the pie). In those cases, it's about protection. But for me, the weighty subtext that demands allegiance rears its ugly head when "lo que pasa en casa'' is presented as privacy. It's always bugged me how Latine culture seems to value what other people think more than the actual truth. It's all about "el qué dirán!" - the fear of what other people will say - which is something that haunts me as a creative person. And trust me, after over a decade as a social-first writer and producer, I figure I can't be alone in that. As a comedic storyteller and griot who has utilized the internet as a personal testing ground, much like how a stand-up comic utilizes the stage, I've often felt the weight of this mentality bearing down on me. Although most of my content initially focused on pop culture and comedic rants, covering everything from J Lo's relationship drama to New York City characters, my pivot into personal perspectives was much easier for me in concept than in practice. It was convenient to start with truths that always painted my family in the best light - for example, a story of how my mother's fearless determination helped me get a rhinoplasty at the age of 3 to stop childhood bullying. Tiptoeing around the easier stories with a hint of realness was second nature to me; it's how I navigated the world throughout my formative years, never truly being allowed to admit how hard things were economically, how violent my father was towards my mother, or eventually how hostile one of my sisters would become toward me. Although my mother refused to let us share the truth with teachers, friends, or even extended family, I was fortunate that her strength and wisdom decided to sign us up for family counseling when I was around 6. Unfortunately, by then, my sisters were so entrenched with the fear and consequences of "lo que pasa en casa" that they refused to talk until they stopped attending altogether. As the youngest who longed to be understood, I toughed it out. Still, I spent years perfecting the art of omission to ensure my mother would never have to face her greatest fear in "me las van a quitar," a phrase that translates to "they're going to take them away from me." For 13 years, I'd spend my therapy sessions feeling mentally limited to how real I could be, which ultimately prolonged my healing and creativity. Still, my first therapist must've seen I was struggling behind untold truths and advised my mother to sign me up for acting lessons. In the theater, I found the first creative outlet for my pain. The words on the page were never mine, but the emotions were, and for many years, that was enough. I eventually yearned to tell my stories, but the fear of exposing others through telling my truth kept me from exploring. There are many different types of comedic griots: stand-ups and sketch artists, to name a few. The one I always admired most was the solo performer. I have always been a longtime fan of one-man show icons like John Leguizamo. But he's also paid the price - and validated my "lo que pasa en casa" worries when I learned his father nearly sued him for defamation of character because of his impressions of his dysfunctional family in his 1998 show "Freak." The internet has been my most notable outlet for creativity, but I'm finally ready to explore more. As a result, I've recently decided to challenge and nurture my inner artist. The notion of "l