Growing up, our parents migrated from Mexico with nothing but hope. They didn’t know what to expect in the United States-it was all unknown. But they knew one thing: being here was a privilege. They had won the lottery just by being allowed to stay. And the unspoken message was clear: Don’t screw it up.
That’s where the mask of perfection started. There was no room for error. Not when your parents had sacrificed everything. Not when your opportunities were born from scarcity. We couldn’t mess up. We couldn’t waste what they had given us. So we put on the mask.
It wasn’t our parents’ fault-they wore the same mask themselves. They had to. Everything they built was born from fear, grit, and survival. Our father helped open a Mexican restaurant with our godmother. Later, his friend-who had also won the visa lottery-offered him a space inside his restaurant to launch his concept, charging him only CAM fees and not rent.
In many ways, our father won the lottery too. He sunk everything we had into opening the original Los Dos location. And just like that, the perfection mask was sealed.
Don't mess this up. Be perfect.
Fast forward to my own life. The cancer journey. The identity crisis that came with letting go of the version of myself I thought I had to be.
I had grown up with this belief system that being perfect meant being strong, healthy, masculine, relentless. Quitting football (or let’s say, retiring after 14 years) challenged that. Going out of state for college challenged that. Majoring in Exercise Science while battling body image issues-and trying every supplement or IV therapy on the market to “lose weight”-challenged that.
I was still the recovering “fat kid” inside. I wanted to try everything to feel worthy.
Then came Easter weekend, 2021. My son stepped on my groin while playing, and my right testicle got inflamed. It may have been a reaction to everything I’d put in my body over the years, but I was scared to go to the doctor. Why? Because it challenged my perfection mask.
What if something is wrong with me? My body is supposed to be perfect. How could this happen? But I went anyway. And it saved my life. Had I stayed hidden behind the mask, I probably wouldn’t be alive today.
Then came IVF. My daughter Josie Lynn.
My perfection mask told me kids were supposed to come the “natural way”-have sex, get pregnant, have a baby. But reality hit.
- Chemo likely killed my sperm.
- It was already difficult to conceive Danny, my firstborn.
As a Christian, this tore me apart. Is IVF even allowed? Is this right in God’s eyes? But again, it was the mask talking. I had a conversation with one of my pastors, who reminded me: there’s not only one way to bring a child into the world. Every child, no matter how they come, is a gift from God.
And then came the lawsuit. This one hit differently.
In the areas of self and family, I had already made peace with imperfection. But in business? That’s where the old belief system came roaring back. Be perfect. Don’t mess up. Don’t tarnish the name. You can’t afford mistakes. That was my old script.
But this time, I didn’t run from it. I leaned in. I reminded myself: We are phenomenal operators. We are not perfect-and that’s okay. Our systems, our people, and our operations are getting better every single day.
Here's the Truth:
If I had let the mask of perfection control me, I’d be dead.
We wouldn’t have Josie. We wouldn’t be growing in business. We wouldn’t be healing as a family.
The Mask is Heavy
It’s killing us more than our mistakes ever will.
Let's take the Mask Off
Let’s embrace that we are not perfect-and that’s where the power really begins.
