Honoring My Roots: A First-Generation Love

Hey beautiful people,

October means Hispanic Heritage Month is coming to a close, and I've been sitting with so many feelings about what this time means to me. About my Dominican roots, about being first-generation American, and about the woman who made it all possible - my grandmother, Mami Lola, who we lost this past June.

The Woman Who Started It All

My grandmother was 90+ years old when she passed, and I'm still processing the hole her absence has left in my life. Mami Lola wasn't just my grandmother - she was the foundation of our family, the keeper of our stories, the living connection to where we came from.

She carried our Dominican heritage in everything she did. In the way she cooked, in the stories she told, in her strength that seemed impossible for someone her size. She survived things I can't even imagine, left everything she knew to give her family a better life, and never once complained about how hard it was.

When I think about the courage it took for her to come to this country, to start over, to build a life from nothing - it puts everything in perspective. My struggles with running a cafe and salon? They're nothing compared to what she faced. And yet, she'd probably tell me to stop being dramatic and get back to work. That was Mami Lola.

What First-Generation Really Means

Being first-generation American is this beautiful, complicated thing that I don't think I fully understood until I became a business owner myself. You're caught between two worlds - honoring where you came from while building something new in a place that's still figuring out how to see you.

My mom, Bielka, came from the Dominican Republic with dreams bigger than the island itself. She raised me to be proud of our heritage while also pushing me to take advantage of every opportunity this country offered. She believed I could do anything, even when it seemed impossible.

And I believed her. Even when it seemed crazy. Even when opening a cafe and salon in West Chester, Ohio seemed like the most improbable dream for a Dominican-American cosmetologist with big ideas and limited resources.

The Heritage That Built Coterie

Here's what I'm realizing as I write this - Coterie isn't just a business I built. It's a continuation of Mami Lola's courage, my mother's dreams, and the first-generation determination to create something meaningful.

That emphasis on community? That's straight from Dominican culture, where neighbors are family and everyone looks out for each other. That welcoming energy where everyone belongs? That's what Mami Lola created in her home - a space where anyone could show up and feel loved. That hustle of running two businesses while raising kids and somehow making it work? That's the first-generation work ethic that got passed down through my bloodline.

Every time someone walks into Coterie and says it feels like home, I think about Mami Lola's living room. Every time our community shows up for each other, I think about how Dominican families operate - with fierce loyalty and unconditional support. Every time I'm exhausted but keep going anyway, I think about what my ancestors survived to get me here.

The Stories That Shape Us

My family's stories are woven into the fabric of who I am. The way our culture celebrates life, even in the hard moments. The food, the music, the understanding that community isn't just nice to have - it's essential for survival. Mami Lola's quiet strength that held our family together through everything.

These aren't just cute anecdotes for blog posts. These are the values that drive every decision I make at Coterie. When I chose to create a space focused on community over profit margins, that was my heritage speaking. When I kept the doors open even when the numbers didn't make sense, that was first-generation stubbornness. When our community rallied around us during my emergency surgery, that was the Dominican understanding of family showing up in West Chester, Ohio.

Grief and Gratitude

Losing Mami Lola in June, just as we were hitting our stride at Coterie, was devastating. There were moments I wanted to close the doors and just grieve. But then I'd think about what she'd say - probably something about how crying doesn't pay the bills and I should get back to work because people are counting on me.

She was right, of course. She was always right.

So I keep going. I make the coffee, I style the hair, I host the events, and I build this community space that honors everything she taught me about what matters. Because the best way to honor our ancestors isn't to preserve them in amber - it's to live out the values they instilled in us.

What Hispanic Heritage Month Means to Me

This month isn't just about celebrating culture - it's about recognizing the sacrifices that got us here. It's about honoring the grandmothers who left everything they knew so their grandchildren could dream bigger. It's about acknowledging that being first-generation means carrying the weight of those dreams while building your own.

It's about understanding that when I succeed, I'm not just succeeding for me. I'm proving that Mami Lola's courage wasn't in vain. That my mother Bielka's sacrifices mattered. That the first-generation experience, with all its complexity and challenge, produces people who know how to build something from nothing.

To My Grandmother

Mami Lola, I wish you could see what we've built here. I wish you could sit in your favorite corner (you know you'd have one) and watch this community come together. I wish you could taste our coffee and probably tell me it's not as good as yours. I wish you could meet all the people whose lives you've touched through the values you passed down to me.

But maybe you can see it. Maybe that's why this place feels so full of love even on the hard days. Maybe your strength is part of what holds us together when things get tough.

I miss you every single day. And I'm trying my best to make you proud.

To My Community

Thank you for letting me bring my whole self to this space - including my Dominican heritage, my first-generation experience, and the grief I'm still processing. Coterie exists because of the courage of women like Mami Lola, and it thrives because of a community that understands what it means to show up for each other.

That's the most Dominican thing about this place - we're not just serving coffee, we're building family.

Con todo mi amor y gratitud,

Ghiovanna ✨

P.S. - If you're first-generation anything, I see you. I see how hard you work, how much you carry, and how you're building something beautiful while honoring where you came from. Keep going. Our ancestors are cheering us on.