What I Carried From Ecuador

Some parts of our story do not fully make sense until we are older.

As children, we live through moments without always understanding their meaning. We feel the change, the distance, the tension, and even the sadness, but we do not yet have the words to explain what those experiences will come to mean in our lives.

I was only 9 years old when my mother made one of the hardest decisions of her life. She could no longer care for me, and with courage and love, she sent me to live with my father in the United States.

At that age, I did not understand the weight of what she was carrying. I only knew that something felt different.

I still remember the day I left.

That morning, I woke up and saw my mother crying with her best friend. Her friend was comforting her, telling her that everything was going to be alright. At the time, I did not understand what my mother was going through. I was too young to fully grasp the depth of her pain, the fear she may have felt, or the internal battle she was fighting in order to do what she believed was best for me.

After that, I got ready to leave.

I remember saying goodbye to the neighbors who came out to see me. Even as a child, I could sense that this was not like the other trips I had taken. There was something heavier in the air, something I could feel but could not yet name.

When we got to the airport, I remember the excitement I usually felt about flying. I had always loved being on a plane. But this time was different. This was not my first flight, but it was the first one that would take me away without bringing me back home. What once felt exciting suddenly felt heavy.

And the moment I realized my mother was not coming with me, everything changed.

That was the moment it became real.

I remember looking at her and seeing the sadness in her eyes. I remember, even then, sensing that she was trying so hard to hold herself together so that I could leave with ease. Looking back now, I understand that in that moment, my mother was carrying her heartbreak quietly so I would not have to carry the full weight of it myself.

What I experienced as confusion, she experienced as sacrifice.

What I felt as departure, she lived as heartbreak.

And what I could not fully understand then was that beneath all of it was a mother’s love strong enough to let go, even when it hurt.

I flew on that plane alone as an unaccompanied minor. At 9 years old, I did not know that I was saying goodbye not only to my mother in that moment, but also to the country I called home. I did not realize then that it would be the last time I would be in Ecuador for a very long time.

The last time I would see the place that held my earliest memories.

The last time I would know home in the way I had known it as a child.

Years later, I would come to understand that what I carried from Ecuador was much more than the memory of leaving.

I carried my mother’s love expressed through her letters while she underwent treatment.

I carried the strength of a woman who made an impossible choice with the hope that her daughter would have something better.

I carried the memory of her presence, even after her physical presence was gone.

Four years later, my mother passed away from ovarian cancer.

She was only 47 years old, the same age I am today as I write this blog.

At just 13 years old, I said a final goodbye to her over the phone.

Losing her so young changed my life forever. But even in that loss, what has remained with me most deeply is not only the pain of her absence, but the power of her love.

As a child, I may not have fully understood her decision. As an adult, I see it differently.

I see the courage it took.

I see the heartbreak it must have carried.

I see the love behind it.

Sometimes, when we are young, we interpret painful moments only through the lens of what we lost. But with time, healing, and maturity, we begin to see what was also being given to us in those moments. My mother’s decision was not a lack of love. It was love expressed through sacrifice. It was love that trusted she had to let go, even while her heart was breaking.

That kind of love leaves a mark on you.

It shapes the way you see resilience.

It shapes the way you understand motherhood.

It shapes the way you carry people with you, even after they are gone.

When I think of Ecuador now, I do not think only of the place I left behind. I think of my beginnings. I think of my mother. I think of the love that held me before I even understood what it meant to be held through sacrifice.

I think of a woman who, despite her own challenges, loved me deeply.

I think of the tenderness of her presence.

I think of the sadness in her eyes at the airport.

I think of the strength it took for her to let me go.

And I think of how that love has continued to live in me.

Her life did not end with her passing.

Her love continued in the life I have lived.

It continued in the resilience I had to build.

It continued in the woman I have become.

It continued in the way I love my own children.

It continued in the way I have learned to rise through hard seasons, rebuild after loss, and keep becoming.

What I carried from Ecuador was not just grief.

It was love.

Love that sacrificed.

Love that endured.

Love that shaped me.

Love that stayed with me across distance, illness, loss, and time.

And for that, I will always carry my mother with me.

Rise. Rebuild. Become.

Zully Gisella Goya Paz

Founder & CEO | GiMeZu

A gentle note: This reflection is shared from my personal lived experience. It is not intended to provide mental health, legal, or crisis advice. Stories of childhood separation, illness, and losing a parent can affect each person differently. If this brings up something tender for you, please consider reaching out to a trusted mental health professional, counselor, or support system.

If you need support: If you are grieving the loss of a loved one or carrying unresolved pain from childhood experiences, support is available. A therapist, grief counselor, or community support group may help you process those experiences with care.