As a queer Latina adopted by first-generation immigrants, I struggled to find stories like mine. Now I'm focused on shifting the narratives in how we talk about culture.

• Karina Martinez was adopted from Paraguay and raised by Cuban immigrants.
• She struggled to reconcile her identities as a queer Latina adoptee.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Karina Martinez. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Growing up, my house was Latino through and through. My parents, sister and I spoke Spanish, and gathered around the table for discussions over traditional Cuban meals. Those dinners were how my parents, Cuban immigrants, kept their culture alive for their daughters.

But when you looked deeper, our story didn't fit into a tidy box. I was adopted from Paraguay as a baby. Later, my sister was adopted from Russia. Our home was a melting pot of cultures and origins from around the world.

As I grew up, I realized my story was even more complex. I came out as queer when I was 16. Later, I was diagnosed with ADHD. There were many hyphens in my identity, and I struggled to reconcile them all: Latina, second-generation immigrant, bilingual, queer, and neurodivergent.

I struggled to find my identity as a young adult

When I started my career, I always felt like I had to hit the gas on one part of my identity, and the brakes on another. Early on I went to a Latina professional conference and I struggled deeply with what to wear. My fashion is usually gender neutral, but I thought that would be seen as unprofessional. At the same time I was deeply uncomfortable with the hyper-feminine look that many Latinas embrace.

I didn't realize then that my identities could coincide. I saw lots of social messaging about what I meant to be Latina, or the child or immigrants, or a Spanish speaker. I knew what queer culture looked like and how adult adoptees were processing their origins. But I didn't see any stories that mirrored mine.

I was struggling in the workforce. I had three jobs within a year. Later, I'd find out that was because of undiagnosed ADHD. At 25, I found myself with a resume I knew wouldn't get any attention. So, in an act of desperation, I decided to branch out on my own.

I wanted to center stories around culture

I figured — or, more accurately, hoped — that there had to be other people like me: brands, products, and entrepreneurs who didn't fit into a specific box. With my background in PR, I thought I couldn't help to tell their stories in a way that was authentic.

I founded The Avana House to do just that. The name is a nod to my parents, who immigrated from Havana. In Spanish, the H is silent. Today, The Avana House is one of the only media companies built and run entirely by women of color.

My mission is to center our client's culture. We don't try to make the products or services we represent more palatable to the general public. Instead, we embrace what makes them different — something I've learned to do in my own life too.

I've realized culture is complicated, but representation is important

Through founding The Avana House, I've realized my own unbecoming and becoming. Five years ago, I would have said I identify primarily as a Latina and, more specifically, Cuban.

Now, I know that cultural identity is very nuanced. I've navigated my different experiences and forged an identity that embraces them all. Today I feel true to all parts of myself.

Culture isn't a monolith. I want to show that to the next generation. Growing up, I didn't see anyone who was like me. I didn't know it was possible to be a queer Latina CEO or work in PR.

Now, it's my responsibility to make sure that other people see themselves represented and know that it's possible for them to step into those roles. Making space personally and within our media landscape for complex, multicultural identities is uncomfortable at times. But I hope that through this process, I can make it better for the next generation.