Dear Permission to be Powerful Reader,
You can have all your paperwork in order—and still feel like you’re one tweet away from exile.
That’s what no one tells you about being an immigrant in America:
Even when you’re safe on paper, you’re never safe in your body.
Even when you're legal, you never feel legit.
You flinch at headlines.
You hold your breath at airports.
You memorize your rights like prayers.
You live with the quiet dread that a law might shift.
A tweet might spark chaos.
You could simply be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
You fit the perpetrator profile.
That ICE might knock—wrong address, sorry.
They’re hunting people like dogs in the streets.
They’re circling around like sharks.
They smell blood…
They’re on the nightly news…
There was a standoff the next town over.
I see them at the grocery store…
I tell myself I’m overreacting. But I’m not. I’m adapting to uncertainty.
And lately, that dread is rising again.
The other day, I emailed my immigration attorney, Jacelyn. Not for legal help—just reassurance. I wanted to know:
Am I still okay? Is there anything I missed?
Here’s what she said:
“Fortunately, in your case you are already a permanent resident and at this stage we are removing the conditions on your status... I believe you are safe from any troubling policies the administration might put out.”
That should be enough, right?
And yet, it wasn’t.
I emailed her again a week later:
“The news cycle is brutal. I don't know how not to panic. Are there any updates I should be aware of?”
She was kind. Reassuring. Empathetic. She told me not to worry unless I’m traveling—just carry my paperwork and I should be fine.
But here’s the truth:
This isn’t just about paperwork.
It’s about power.
Because when you're an immigrant under a government that treats the law like a mood swing, you don't feel like a resident. You feel like a tenant.
Temporary. Conditional. Exposed.
And what’s wild is—technically, I’m one of the lucky ones.
I’m not undocumented. I’m not on DACA. I’m not appealing a removal order.
I have my green card. I pay taxes. I’ve committed no crimes. I help people for a living.
But I still worry that if the wrong person gets bored and angry, I could lose everything.
There’s a toll that comes with this “conditional belonging.”
It breaks my nervous system.
It makes me feel like you have to be perfect, quiet, invisible.
It teaches me to flinch when politicians speak in generalizations.
I’m writing this because I know I’m not the only one.
If you're waiting on your I-751.
If you’re afraid to leave the country even though you’re "legal."
If you feel that sick tension between the law and your lived experience…
Just know that you’re not paranoid. You’re attuned.
And you are not alone.
Protect yourself.
In solidarity,
Anton
Permission to Be Powerful
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