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Summary
Summary
" I'm Not Broken is a book for survivors and those who know someone they hope survives, bodhisattvas all."
-Sandra Cisneros
In this unflinching and inspiring memoir, Jesse Leon tells an extraordinary story of resilience and survival, shining a light on a childhood spent devastated by sex trafficking, street life, and substance abuse.
Born to indigenous working-class Mexican immigrants in San Diego in the 1970s, Jesse Leon's childhood was violently ruptured. A dangerous and harrowing encounter at a local gift shop when he was eleven years old left Jesse with a deadly secret. Hurt, alone, and scared for his life, Jesse numbed his pain by losing himself in the hyper-masculine culture of the streets and wherever else he could find it-in alcohol, drugs, and prostitution. Overlooked by state-sanctioned institutions and systems intended to help victims of abuse, neglected like many other low-income Latinos, Jesse spiraled into cycles of suicide and substance abuse.
I'm Not Broken is the heartbreaking and remarkable story of the journey Jesse takes to win back his life, leading him to the steps of Harvard University. From being the lone young person of color in Narcotics Anonymous meetings to coming to terms with his own sexual identity, to becoming an engaged mentor for incarcerated youth, Jesse finds the will to live with the love and support of his family, friends, and mentors. Recounting the extraordinary circumstances of his life, Jesse offers a powerful, raw testament to the possibilities of self-transformation and self-acceptance. Unforgettable, I'm Not Broken is an inspirational portrait of one young man's indomitable strength and spirit to survive-against all possible odds.
Author Notes
JESSE LEON is a social-impact consultant to foundations, impact investors, non-profits, and real estate developers on ways to address issues of substance abuse, affordable housing, and educational opportunities for at-risk youth. Since receiving a master's degree from the Harvard Kennedy School, Jesse has managed multi-million dollar philanthropic grantmaking for various foundations and banking institutions, managed over $1B in public sector investments for affordable housing, and built thousands of units of mixed-income housing as a real estate developer for Bank of America. Jesse recently moved back to San Diego to be closer to his mother and to pursue his dream of publishing this book. He is a native Spanish speaker and fluent in English and Portuguese.
Reviews (3)
Publisher's Weekly Review
Leon debuts with a staggering tale of survival in this raw account of his youth as a sex worker. The child of working-class Mexican immigrants in 1980s California, Leon was bullied relentlessly by his white peers at school and, at age 11, was raped by a storekeeper who would molest and traffic him for years. Embittered by his own closeness to his mother--whose love, he writes, "turn me into a sissy"--Leon turned to drugs in his teens to dull his pain, and began offering up his body for money to fulfill "the masculine male Latino sexual fantasy of white men." As he offers an unflinching account of his drug addiction ("I did more lines of crystal... smoked more heroin"), Leon renders in tender prose his mother's unflagging support, a constant that remained even when her own health began to fail her. Still, it wasn't until the author discovered "a whole world of Latinos I had not been exposed to" at a college event that he began his difficult path toward sobriety, found a home in his queerness, and eventually made his way to Harvard. Despite the grimness of his subject matter, Leon's story of resilience pulsates with verve and breathtaking grace. The result is a gripping portrait of perseverance that radiates with humanity. (Aug.)
Kirkus Review
A Mexican American social impact consultant looks back with raw honesty at his high-risk youth in San Diego in the 1980s and '90s. Leon opens this wrenching story with a significant triumph: his 2001 graduation from Harvard's Kennedy School of Government. The son of immigrants from the Sierra Madra region of Durango, the author endured his elderly father's abuse while his mother worked multiple low-paying jobs to feed her children. "While she was at work," he writes, "he would beat my brother and me with belts and TV wire hangers." Born in 1974, Leon grew up in a diverse, pre-gentrified urban San Diego, where people still kept gardens and farm animals. Labeled a nerd by his unhelpful brother, the author was bullied in school for his intelligence, social awkwardness, and Mexican heritage. After chronicling this harassment, Leon harrowingly describes how, at age 11, he was subjected to violent sexual abuse at the hands of a shopkeeper. Even more shocking, over the course of the next three years, he was "pimped out" by a band of sexual predators. "Until I was 14," he writes, "I would have a few hundred sex partners." Leon sought to numb the daily terror, shame, and self-loathing with drugs and alcohol, somehow managing to get through school despite being "high all the time." Readers will be astonished by Leon's ability to survive such unimaginable abuse, and he capably shows how a unique support system--his devoted friend Ariyel; a community college adviser; his Narcotics Anonymous sponsor--was vital to his ability to endure and eventually flourish. Following college and graduate school, Leon has worked with many nonprofits benefitting at-risk youth, and he has built thousands of mixed-income housing via his role as a real estate developer for Bank of America. Some readers may struggle with some of the narrative's graphic depictions, but this book is a viscerally moving story of inspiring transformation. A remarkable story of fortitude and personal transformation. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Library Journal Review
Leon is an abuse survivor and has written a powerful and heartbreaking coming-of-age memoir. Born to working-class, Mexican immigrants in San Diego, Leon's childhood was severely interrupted when he was raped by a shopkeeper at the age of 11. The encounter triggered a downward spiral into drugs, alcohol, and prostitution before graduating high school. Despite being disregarded by the systems put in place to help abuse survivors recover, Leon found a way to help himself thrive on his own with help from supportive people he met along the way. Leon's difficult and emotional journey from childhood to Harvard graduate is filled with overcoming obstacles such as poverty, racism, drug and alcohol addiction, and sexual abuse. Leon's journey leads to figuring out his own identity, coming to terms with his sexuality, and using his voice to help others who are suffering in similar ways. VERDICT A raw, emotional memoir filled with highs and lows. The inspirational ending gives readers hope when Leon uses his self-will and determination to change and accept the love from those around him.--Leah Fitzgerald
Excerpts
Excerpts
Prologue Espi, as my ama was named at birth, didn't stay in school past fifth grade in Mexico, where she grew up. She had spent most of her life in the United States working periodically as a nanny, a farm laborer, and a dishwasher. She didn't even know what Harvard was. But when I was four years old, she made sure to place me in Head Start, an early education program for low-income families, where she volunteered between her two jobs. When I was in elementary school, she was PTA president. She cared so much about our education that she got a part-time job at the school's cafeteria serving lunch. She became known as the Lunch Mom. During the two hours between her breakfast and lunch shifts, she volunteered at the school, doing whatever she could to make it a better place. She stayed there as I progressed to middle school and high school. When I was a kid, I never thought twice about the types of jobs my mom worked because so many of my friends' parents were farmworkers and dishwashers. I was happy when my mom got a job at the school cafeteria, because it made her happy. It gave her, and us, stability. At least, that's what I overheard her tell the neighbors. For me, though, that job became a thorn in the side. Every time I'd get into trouble, the teachers or other students would tattle to my mom. And my mom didn't talk quietly; she talked by yelling. So every time she heard I was up to no good, she would find me in class, pull me hard by the arm, and shout at me to behave. In front of other students and teachers, I would be filled with shame. It felt like my mom always had eyes on me. She was there to pressure me, to make sure I did well in school. I didn't like Ama yelling at me. Although she never told me this herself, I felt I was making her look bad in front of people, especially the teachers. So I tried my best to not disappoint my mom. Ama was a healthy, solidly built woman standing at five feet, five inches tall with a round face and glasses. I remember she had wavy black hair that flowed down her back. But at some point, while I was still a young kid, she cut it short for practical reasons. It was too thick to maintain while raising kids and was especially inconvenient when working in kitchens. She was working too much to care for her physical appearance. I've never known her to get a manicure or a pedicure. My father, who was fiercely Catholic, never allowed her to wear lipstick, makeup, or nail polish. So she looked like a simple Mexican immigrant with olive skin, big lips and cheeks, and a smile that lit up any room she walked in. As the years passed, she gained weight. She became diabetic and had high blood pressure. But she always maintained her joyful spirit, and she loved making other people happy. Most of all, she was never ashamed of being poor. When I got accepted to Harvard, I called Ama from my tiny apartment in Berkeley, where I was living at the time, to share the good news. I was giddy with excitement. "¿Y qué es eso?" she asked. And what's that? "¿Ay, mijo, pero por qué Boston? Es muy lejos. Tienen muy buenas universidades aqui en San Diego. Y en las noticias dicen que hace mucho frío allá y te puedes enfermar. ¿Por qué no mejor te regresas a casa y vienes a la escuela acá?" Immediately my spirits fell. I had disappointed Ama, who had never heard of Harvard or Cambridge. And I was angry at our life's circumstances. To my mom, Boston was a far-off place at the other end of the country. She hadn't heard of UC Berkeley, where I did my undergrad, my carrera, either. But she knew it was in California, and close by. She understood what that carrera was. In her mind, a bachelor's degree was all I needed to be successful in the United States. She reasoned that I simply didn't want to move back home. Even though she had little formal education, Ama learned the names of the local colleges and universities because these were the places the teachers she worked with talked about. San Diego State University (SDSU) was the best of the best, and she dreamed that I would attend there. She didn't realize that there could be better opportunities elsewhere. "Okay, Mom," I told her. "Thanks. I love you. I gotta go. I have a class that I need to get to." I lied just to get off the phone. "I am super proud of you," she assured me. I didn't doubt her pride in me, but I cried tears of anger and sadness when I hung up the phone. I was angry that we were poor. I was angry that my mom worked so hard and still she didn't have the luxury of knowing what I knew. I was angry at the injustice of it all. The day before I was to leave for Harvard, I picked up my mom from work, when the secretary at the elementary school explained to me how Ama finally accepted that I would be leaving. Ama was sitting in the school cafeteria during her break between the breakfast and lunch shifts when the school's secretary walked in. Ama was wearing her hairnet and a work apron over her usual flower-patterned blouse. She sat on a cold plastic school lunch bench in the middle of the cold, drab concrete room. She was crying, all alone, with her head between her hands. Shocked, the secretary asked my mom, "Espi, why are you crying? Are you okay?" "Mi hijo. Primero lo perdí a las drogas. Luego se me fue para Berkeley. Y ahora se me va a una escuela en Boston que se llama Harr-varrd . Por qué no regresa aqui a estudiar para estar cerca a la familia? Aquí esta la major Universidad en San Diego." Ama pleaded in Spanish. Why didn't I come home and go to school close to my family? The best university was here in San Diego! The secretary hugged Ama while she sobbed and asked her, "What school did you just say your son is going to?" "Se llama Harr-varrd . En Boston. Solo Dios sabe donde queda Boston. Me dicen que esta muy lejos hasta allá cerca de Nueva York. ¿Usted se imagina? ¡Nueva York!" The secretary held her by the shoulders, looked at her tear-covered face and directly into her eyes, and said, "Are you kidding? It's Harvard?" She then went directly to the teacher's lounge and wrote on the board: Please congratulate Espi. Her son just got accepted to Harvard! And so everyone did. Teacher after teacher, and even the principal, came by to congratulate Ama that day. Her tears of sadness turned into tears of joy. She looked up to these teachers, and she finally began to understand that Harvard was one of the best and most prestigious schools in the world. And her son, who she had sacrificed so much for, was going to be attending Harvard. Excerpted from I'm Not Broken: A Memoir by Jesse Leon All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
