The Empire State and the girl who dreamed in English
I arrived in New York with $80 and a dream. Years later, I found myself working inside the very building I had cut out of a magazine. This is the story of how I got there.
This week, I shared a short version of my immigration story on LinkedIn.
But here, I want to tell you the whole truth.
Not just the jobs and the milestones, but the fear, the notebooks, and the girl who came here without knowing how it would all turn out.
This is the version I’ve never shared.
It was summer in New York.
Hot. Humid. Everything pulsing with energy, excitement, and unfamiliarity.
I had just arrived as an au pair, after dreaming for years about what it would feel like to live in the U.S. I still remember stepping out into the city for the first time, feeling the thick heat of the sidewalks rising up, the smell of pretzels from a corner cart, the cab horns, the sound of so many languages mixing in the air.
And then, there it was.
The Empire State Building.
The same one I had cut out from a magazine years earlier and taped into my vision notebook back home in Brazil. A notebook filled with English words I didn’t fully understand, but wrote anyway. Words like “skyscraper.” That one stood out to me early on. I loved the way it looked, the way it sounded: full of possibility.
I would spend hours adding photos and scribbles in English. That notebook was a map of where I wanted to go, who I wanted to become.
What I didn’t know then is that it would take nearly a decade to get from that sidewalk to the inside of that building.
After my au pair year ended, I stayed in New York. And for the next several years, I pieced a life together through jobs that were more about survival than passion.
I worked in offices, as an assistant, project manager, account manager—whatever would allow me to keep my visa status. But I also worked evenings and weekends doing whatever else I could: I cleaned houses. I was a nanny. I sold clothes at street fairs. I waitressed. I kept going.
It wasn’t what I had imagined when I dreamed of life in the U.S., but the experiences shaped me.
Those years were hard, but were also wonderful. I met people from all over the world. I became part of an international community, speaking a language I had taught myself with flashcards, movies, and faith. I was building something, though I didn’t always know what.
There were mornings I’d wake up and have no idea where I was. I’d forgotten I was no longer at my parent’s house. I’d sit up slowly, my heart pounding, and have to remind myself: You’re here. You made it.
There were many nights I cried and questioned if I should just go back. But I kept telling myself: If you give up now, you’ll regret walking away from your dream.
And then, almost 10 years later, it happened.
I was hired as an Account Executive at Shutterstock. The job felt glamorous in every way: the office perks, the paycheck, the professional polish. But what moved me most was the location: the Empire State Building.
On my first day, as I stepped into the elevator and began rising floor by floor, I felt it deep in my bones. I was being lifted, literally and metaphorically.
It was a moment I will never forget.
The word I had once underlined and circled in my notebook—skyscraper—was now conquered. I had entered it, and risen with it.
I had once admired the building from the sidewalk. Now I passed tourists looking up at it, remembering I once stood there too.
It took time to adjust. To stop feeling like I was playing someone else’s role, and start realizing I had written this script. It was mine.
Being an au pair was never just about childcare. It was about courage. I crossed the ocean with no guarantees. I trusted that version of me who dared to dream from a tiny town in Brazil, who was strong enough to follow through.
And she was.
It wasn’t easy. There were long days, hard conversations, cultural confusion, moments of deep homesickness. But I will never regret taking the shot.
Coming to the U.S. was about trusting myself.
About betting on a dream that lived in a notebook, and I recognized as mine.
Skyscraper.
I didn’t just learn the word.
I climbed it.
I wrote this because I’ve been thinking about what it means to belong.
About how many people still arrive in this country with just a suitcase and a dream, and how much kindness can change someone’s path.
I was lucky. I had a home to return to if things didn’t work out. Many don’t.
If my story resonates with you, I hope you’ll take a moment to look around and ask:
Who can I meet halfway?
I’m writing about my early memories in a new series:
From the Beginning 📦
A few years ago, I brought a box from Brazil. Inside were notebooks, letters, DVDs full of forgotten photos. Diary entries I had written between the ages of nine and twenty-two. Pages filled with heartbreak and hope, song lyrics and class notes, detailed descriptions of people I adored, lists of dreams I hadn’t yet outgrown.
Thank you for sharing your story. I, too, am horrified by what is being done against immigrants in the US. My mom was an immigrant from Denmark after WWII, and she is even more horrified. Best wishes to you in all you do.