The situation of migrants is tragic and cruel. However, in narratives about the migration crisis, the focus is on people who left their countries due to push factors , such as violence, poverty, and lack of opportunities, as well as pull factors , such as the famous “American Dream.” Furthermore, the media places greater emphasis on the tragic stories people experience during their migration journey. And rightly so. We must shed light on the cruelest and most painful reality of human mobility. Nevertheless, we must also tell other stories that often go untold because they are not as tragic. These are the stories of displaced children.

In his message for the 2026 World Day of Migrants and Refugees , “ Even one of these little ones (cf. Mt 18:10) ,” Pope Leo XIV pointed out that “children are the most vulnerable within global migration flows. They are real faces, unique stories, that appeal to our conscience.” Yes, those who suffer and are most vulnerable in this reality are displaced children. Therefore, the Holy Father encourages us as Christians and people of goodwill to learn about their stories, their fears, and their dreams. As the Successor of Peter tells us: “Even one of these little ones calls us,  in our personal lives , to open our eyes and hearts to listen deeply to their stories, their fears, and their dreams, overcoming that indifference which reduces human beings to a statistic that does not directly affect us.”

In this article, I want to bring up those children who, like me, were fortunate enough to immigrate without a tragic history, but who were also affected by migration grief. I think many of these children and young people don’t feel included when the migration crisis is discussed, since, thank God, ” we didn’t fare as badly ” as some people say. And even though our migration experience wasn’t as tragic, many of us who immigrated as children experienced migration grief years later, when we were teenagers and/or adults. Even so, our traumas and experiences as immigrants were real and difficult. 

I emigrated from Puebla, Mexico, at the age of seven. When I arrived in California, my life changed completely. A new culture, a new language, and a new way of life. Like any large immigrant family, we all lived in a small apartment and moved around with the grape season. I started at a school where there were no teachers who spoke Spanish, and that was very traumatic for me because I didn’t understand anything. I only liked going to school on Tuesdays and Thursdays when the teacher’s assistant, who did speak Spanish, was there. 

For four years of high school , I did everything I was told to do to be able to go to college. In my senior year, I was so happy because a university in California offered me a full scholarship; however, I couldn’t accept it because I didn’t have legal status. That was devastating for me; no one told me I needed legal status to receive the scholarship and go to college. I still remember them telling me, ” Yes, you can go to college, but you have to pay your tuition .” I thought, ” My parents don’t earn in a year what one year’s tuition costs. How do they expect us to be able to pay for four years of college? ” And even though I knew my paperwork was being processed, I had to miss out on this and many other opportunities. I was always aware of my immigration status. However, many young people only learn about this reality in their senior year of high school when filling out college applications. 

In the school system, these stories are more common than you might think. These stories are tragic and incredibly difficult for these undocumented youth. They are stories that go unspoken and are often lived in silence. I believe that, as in any other area, the emphasis is placed on “the crisis.” And as an educator and psychologist, I see this very often in the educational field and in the psychological support offered by schools. If someone seeks help but isn’t experiencing a crisis, they don’t receive any support. 

The question is: what can we do in the face of this reality? Perhaps we can begin by practicing a pastoral approach of listening: a close and present pastoral approach, willing to walk alongside undocumented children and young people; a welcoming pastoral approach, capable of embracing their stories, their fears, and their dreams. We need to learn to accompany them and receive them with dignity, without judging them or making them feel less than. They, too, have experienced the losses, grief, and ruptures inherent in migration. Their immigration status does not define their worth or diminish their dignity. 

With God’s help, the support of my family, and so many people I met along the way, I was able to honor my parents’ sacrifice by graduating with a doctorate in education. Sometimes it’s incredible to think that the seven-year-old girl who crossed the border without papers and, years later, worked from sunrise to sunset in the fields of California picking grapes, is now a doctor of education and dedicates her life to supporting the immigrant community, especially displaced children. 

Dr. Senorina S. Saldivar serves as a counselor/professor in the counseling department at the College of the Desert in California. She earned an associate degree in psychology from the College of the Desert, a bachelor’s degree in psychology from California State University-San Bernardino, a master’s degree in psychology from Chapman University, and a doctorate in organizational leadership education from the University of Massachusetts Global. Eleven years ago, she began her theological training and earned a certification in pastoral care. She is currently in her second year of a bilingual master’s program in Pastoral Studies at the Institute for Pastoral Studies at Loyola University Chicago.