This toxic Latin American mentality stopped me from storytelling
For Mental Health Awareness Month, we asked Latino comedians and creators we admire how comedy has helped them overcome trauma and face life's biggest challenges. Read the pieces here.
Within Latinidad, there is a cultural maxim that has always left me somewhat unsettled: “Lo que pasa en casa se queda en casa.” It means that what happens at home stays at home – so loyalty above all else.
Growing up in a subjectively funny family taught me valuable lessons about the power of humor and its role as a survival tool, especially during difficult times. In my Ecuadorian immigrant family, our primary coping mechanism was finding solace in humor in the midst of chaos. But there was always a limit, an invisible limit, to how widely we could share, drawn by the “lo que pasa en la casa” mentality – the idea that certain things should never leave the confines of our home. I realized early on that this mentality stemmed from a desire to keep up appearances, protect the family's reputation, and preserve the value of privacy.
The “Lo que pasa en la casa” mentality always felt like a kind of silence or secrecy that prevented many of my tĂas, tĂos, cousins, and older siblings from seeking things like therapy. It was also an invisible shackles placed around my artistic creation before it began. Some may argue that “lo que pasa en casa” is all about “privacy” or “protection,” but it is a double-edged sword. There are situations where it is crucial (for example, if someone in the family wins the lottery and you don't want everyone to try their best to get a piece of the pie). In these cases it is about protection. But for me, the weighty subtext demanding loyalty rears its ugly head when “lo que pasa en casa” is presented as privacy. It's always annoyed me how Latin American culture seems to value what other people think over the actual truth. This is all about “el quĂ© dirán!” – the fear of what other people will say – which haunts me as a creative person. And believe me, after over a decade as a social-first writer and producer, I think I can't be alone in this.
As a comedic storyteller and griot who has used the internet as a personal testing ground, much like a stand-up comedian uses the stage, I have often felt the weight of this mentality weighing 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, I found getting into personal perspectives much easier in concept than in practice. It was handy to start with truths that always put my family in the best light—for example, a story about how my mother's fearless determination got me a nose job at age three to stop childhood bullying.
It was natural for me to tiptoe through the simpler stories with a touch of reality; This is how I moved through the world in my formative years, without really being able to acknowledge how difficult it was economically, how violent my father was toward my mother, or how hostile one of my sisters would eventually become toward me. Although my mother refused to let us share the truth with teachers, friends, or even extended family, I was fortunate that because of her strength and wisdom, she decided to enroll us in family counseling when I was about 6 years old. Unfortunately, my sisters were also at that time. They were so consumed with fear and the consequences of “lo que pasa en casa” that they refused to talk until they stopped participating altogether.
As the youngest who longed to be understood, I persevered. Still, I spent years perfecting the art of omission to ensure that my mother would never have to face her greatest fear in “me las van a quitar,” a phrase that translates to “they will take her away from me.” For 13 years, I spent my therapy sessions feeling mentally limited in how real I could be, which ultimately prolonged my healing and creativity.
Still, my first therapist must have noticed that I was struggling with unexplainable truths and suggested that my mother enroll me in acting classes. In the theater I found the first creative outlet for my pain. The words on the page were never mine, but the feelings were, and that was enough for many years. At one point, I longed to tell my stories, but the fear of embarrassing others by telling my truth stopped me from exploring the matter.
There are many different types of comedic griots: stand-up artists and sketch artists, to name a few. The one I always admired the most was the solo artist. I've always been a long-time fan of one-man show icons like John Leguizamo. But he also paid the price — and confirmed my “Lo que pasa en casa” worries when I learned that his father almost sued him for defamation for portraying impressions of his dysfunctional family on his 1998 show “Freak.” had made.
The Internet has been the most remarkable source of my creativity, but now I'm finally ready to explore more. That's why I recently decided to challenge and nurture my inner artist. The idea of ​​“lo que pasa en la casa” has forced me to stay on the surface of my truths, but the tides are changing. I think one of the best examples of someone who is committed to her truth is Mayan Lopez, co-creator of Lopez vs. Lopez, with her willingness to reveal parts of her family that are arguably private matters. Her decision to do an entire series called “Why Do My Divorced Parents Still Act Like They're Married?” got her to get the green light from a studio. She told the Los Angeles Times: “Culturally, we don't spread things like that. But that’s part of some of the problems in our community – the generational trauma and machismo isn’t being addressed.”
One can easily say that her content went viral thanks to the great help of her famous father. Still, it was the behind-the-scenes look that only she had the right and courage to share, along with her father's support, that helped her question the “lo que pasa en casa” mentality . In the series, Lopez tackles themes of abandonment and paternal issues in a way that renegotiates the narrative of the “united Latin family.”
Given that we are a wonderfully diverse community, it is time to prove that Latin Americans are not a monolith. Some of us have darkness, awkwardness, rawness, realness, and unknown stories that need to be told to give our community its true, diverse humanity and to help us all heal through laughter. Our art will expand as we as artists embrace our messiness.
So here I am at a crossroads, throwing caution to the wind and ready to share a few unfavorable stories with the world. I am learning and inviting others to join me in challenging the “lo que pasa en la casa” mentality. My “content” develops into monologues without restrictions. I have returned to the theater and this time I will tell my true stories. I took some risks and joked about, for example, being the daughter of a father who supported my mother's failed abortion to avoid his responsibility. While I realize that many family members and bystanders will judge my decisions, I must respect my truth, even if it causes some upset.
I will always start by respecting the humanity and fallibility of others. Culture and family are important, but so is my right to share my story. Some of us use humor to hide our darkness, but we can't be afraid to let our bold truths shine through. So what if people don't understand me? For those who resonate with my story, I make comedies.
Honestly, I think you can decide what you keep private. Humor is personal, but we are approaching an age where authenticity is essential. And comedic storytelling isn’t a one-size-fits-all solution. I strongly believe that creativity lies within each of us, but some of us keep it hidden behind secrets that we are forced to keep. Art thrives when it is relatable and healing, regardless of how it is perceived. It's not about putting on a facade; It's about embracing the truth and having the courage to challenge the norms that “lo que pasa en casa” imposes on us so that everyone else feels comfortable. And hey, sure, “lo que pasa en casa” has its place, but it’s time to banish this custom. It's not all bad – it's like a coin with two sides – but man, that “el que diran!” part! It is one of the many things that holds us back as a community.
Katherine G. Mendoza is an experienced Ecuadorian-American writer and producer with over a decade of experience in social-first storytelling. Her work has graced the pages and screens of renowned publications and media outlets, including PS, The New York Times, Entertainment Weekly, Variety, Univision, Telemundo, Huffington Post and Uproxx.
