♪ DILLAN DIGIOVANNI: And her eyes start filling up with tears because I realize she's in shock because I'm passing as male, and she has no idea.

CLARITZA ABREU: So I knew I was in trouble.

I'm concerned I'm going to lose my job.

So I said, "Claritza, you got to do something."

MOHBOBA AKHTARZADAH: I'm waiting patiently.

and then I asked dad, "Father, can I go to school?"

He says, "Of course you can."

THERESA OKOKON: Tonight's theme is "Fresh Start."

ANNOUNCER: This program is made possible in part by contributions from viewers like you.

Thank you.

Every breath that you take is an opportunity for change, and you can always begin again.

There's a new year, a new season, a new you.

Any of those phrases are things that you might hear out of the voice of a yoga teacher.

You might also hear them or see them splashed across your social media, like, to a really serene background photo of, like, the mountains or the ocean, or something like that.

And, you know, they're all clichés, but they're all true, right?

Because life is filled with opportunities for change, it is filled with this constant sense of newness.

Tonight, we're going to be hearing stories on the theme of "Fresh Start," real stories from real people talking about their real-life moments where they decided to begin again.

♪ DIGIOVANNI: My name is Dillan DiGiovanni, and I'm an integrative identity coach, and I lived in Boston from 2006 to 2016, and I just recently moved back home to New Jersey, where I'm from.

And what types of stories do you usually tell?

Most recently, I've been doing it, and I've been actually sharing from experiences of my, of my gender transition, because I transitioned so late in life that it's been a real eye-opener.

And I think I bring a sense of maturity to the process and just sharing how different that is.

So as you began to transition and going through your transition, how did you imagine your identity?

Hmm.

I never really transitioned with the idea of being a man.

I transitioned with the idea of being a transgender person as a solidly unique expression... OKOKON: Yes.

DIGIOVANNI: Of, of not the binary of male or female, but just being me.

OKOKON: Yeah.

Why do you feel like storytelling as a platform works for you?

There's a visible aspect of face, presentation, people being able to see a person, and then the vulnerability and the honesty of, of authenticity.

Yeah.

And... which is so rare.

And we see so much performance of fake, you know?

And, and we don't really see...

So, you know, storytelling is all about, like, just telling it like it is.

It's really refreshing, because that's really what we crave as human beings, is that connection, and being seen and being mirrored back, ourselves being mirrored back to us.

And so that's why I really love it.

It's 11:00 on a Tuesday, and I'm staring at a computer screen, working at a job, picking up some part-time hours at a job that I used to work at 15 years ago.

And everything's going fine, because it's not complicated technology.

But all of a sudden, my heart rate's picking up really fast, and my throat is closing up, and my chest, my heart is, like, beating, and this person who's trying to train me is talking, and she's using words, but, like, it's just not computing and, like, executions that... things I could just do, like, an hour ago, like, my finger just won't... it's like everything's in slow motion.

And I know when the scales tipped that made the anxiety attack-- that's, like, full-blown panic attack-- come on.

It was about 20 minutes ago, someone had walked to the front of this store where I'm working.

And she's so familiar, and she and I are, like, eyeing each other.

It's like I know her face, and I know her name, but was like 15 years ago.

and, and I'm like, "You know, I don't really know."

And she comes up, and she said, "Did you say you were a teacher?"

And I'm distracted, right?

'Cause I'm trying to learn this new technology, and I'm, like, trying to make good impressions with new people and, like, manage old acquaintances, and so my guard is down.

And just instinctively, I'm like, "Yeah, I taught middle school in Hillsboro."

And her head snaps back, and she's like, "So did I for 30 years.

Why can't I place you?"

And that's when I lost it.

Because I was completely terrified of what she was going to say next.

So I turned to the woman next to me, who's training me, and I'm like, "I'll be right back."

And I make a beeline to the back of the store, frantically searching for the HR person who I just met an hour ago-- I don't even know her.

And she's walking toward me with this plate, and there's, like, macaroni and cheese and something else, it's her lunch, the poor thing.

And I'm like, "Do you have a second?"

And she's like, "Yeah," probably thinking, "He's been here an hour, what could have happened?"

And we sit in this office, and these chairs are so close to each other it's like a closet, our knees are practically touching.

And I'm like, "Uh, you know," and these words are falling out of my face even though I'm trying to be profesh.

And I'm like, "Do people know, like... are people, you know..." And she's like, "Do people know what?"

I'm like, "Are they saying..." like, I don't really know, and I'm, like, just falling apart.

And she... and I realize she has no idea what I'm talking about.

And so I stop.

and I said, "I worked here 15 years ago."

And she's like, "I know."

And I said, "And then I moved away, "and I transitioned my, my gender identity, and, and now I'm back."

And her eyes start filling up with tears, because I realize she's in shock, because I'm passing as male, and she has no idea.

and she's trying to make me feel better in the minute, in the moment.

She's like, "We're all very welcoming here."

And she actually starts to, like, tell me about another transgender person on the staff.

And I'm like, "Whoa, did the person disclose that it's okay for you to say that?"

And she's like, "Oh, I don't know."

And I was like, "You know what?

It's going to be fine, it's going to be fine."

And we kind of awkwardly wrap up.

And I stand up, and I leave the office, and she's kind of, like, shaking her head, you know, I'm like, "Oh, I just floored her."

And then I'm like, "You know, really, what I need is something to eat," because hunger always makes the anxiety worse.

So I go over to the café, and I'm, like, staring at the menu.

I'm, like, "I can do this, I can do this."

Vegetables always is a good decision.

I'm a health coach, I know that.

But I can't.

Like, my brain is just hijacked by this anxiety of like, "What are people going to say?"

And so people across the counter, like, smiling, like, introducing themselves, and like, "I can't even."

So I grab my phone, and I run outside, and I called my mom, who answers on the first ring, which is poignant, because we were estranged for four years because of my transition.

And so to be calling Mom in a moment like this is pretty profound.

And she answers; and I'm like, "Mom, I totally made the wrong decision."

And she's like, "What?"

"Why, what happened?"

And she knows what I'm talking about, because 24 hours ago, I was trying to decide between choosing two part-time jobs, starting to get my business up and running after doing it up here in Boston for ten years, got to start from scratch.

So what kind of part-time job do I pick?

Other people would factor in things like, "Well, how far is it?

"How many miles, you know, would you put on your car?

How much gas would you use?"

So that's what I tried to decide.

So I pick the one that's closer, and I pick the one that I used to work at as a different identity 15 years ago.

So there's this added factor of me being transgender.

And I realize what brought on the anxiety is my fear of people asking what my name used to be and talking about pronouns and asking invasive questions that for six years I've answered and I'm tired of answering.

And I just don't want to answer those questions anymore.

I don't want to talk about who I was, because what's the point, otherwise, if I don't get to be who I am now?

And my mom listens; she says, "Well, you had to know it was going to be like this."

And I say, "Well, Mom, at 34, I didn't really know it was going to be like this," because that's when I transitioned.

And she said, "Well, have you had lunch yet?"

And I say, "No."

She said, "Go get yourself some vegetables.

It'll make you feel better."

Which is adorable, that my mother, again, the one that I'm calling in a moment like this, knows what to tell the health coach to do.

So I go back inside, and I do get myself some vegetables, and I sit down, and the anxiety goes away because I realize that I can't control what people say, I can't control what people do-- who can?

All I can control is my response, and that's what transition has taught me, is that I'm going to do that one person and one conversation, and probably one anxiety attack, at a time.

(applause) ♪ I moved back home to New Jersey because I felt an intuitive pull to integrate my past self and my new self.

Since I transitioned up here in Boston, it often felt like I was playing a character in, like, the movie of my life, because it was far away from anybody that I'd really grown up with or known.

So it was relatively easy in this bubble.

And I felt like...

I felt like there was a need to kind of really integrate who I was now and who I had been to really powerfully move forward.

♪ ABREU: My name is Claritza Abreu.

And I'm an executive of an information technology company, my own company.

Started it three years ago.

I arrived here from Dominican Republican in... back in 1991, and have achieved a very successful career in technology and also as a community leader in my local community.

So when you think about the theme for tonight, how does it inspire you?

It inspired me because of the resiliency, in not giving up.

It was hard, it was painful, it was a lot of work, but I never give up.

And because of that, I was able to thrive and be successful.

So I think that's, that's the inspirational part of the story.

Yeah.

You know, I like telling them because a lot of us give up when challenges come up.

Mm-hmm, and why is this story in particular an important one for you to tell?

Especially at this moment in time, where the country is not necessarily, um, being so welcoming to new immigrants, I feel that telling the story will continue to educate others about the benefits that immigrants can bring, not only when they get here, but, you know, in the rest of their lives in the United States, so...

I come to Boston from the Dominican Republic with one suitcase.

My suitcase was full of books, and many dreams.

It was a very heavy suitcase.

When Dominicans emigrate to the United States, we give away all our clothes and our belongings.

We say, "Why bringing stuff to a country where we're going to find everything we need?"

And plus, bikinis have no place in the middle of the winter.

I come here to Boston, I had just got married and come here to start my new family.

My husband had immigrated here a year before with his family and was working as a kitchen aide at a local nursing home.

His family, nobody spoke English nor had a professional job.

I had learned English in high school, and I had just graduated from a bachelor's degree in computer science and engineering.

So I'm thinking, "I'm going to Boston, I'm going to find a job as soon as possible."

I start sending my résumé everywhere, but I don't hear from anybody.

Nobody's calling me for any interview, and I'm wondering what is going on.

I cannot understand what is going on.

But I also didn't have anybody to ask.

So the only person I knew had a professional job was my cousin, Angela, who was working as an administrative assistant at a local day care center.

And she said, "Of course, "I can refer you to my former boss.

She's looking for a part-time bilingual receptionist."

And I said, "Of course I can do that."

Days were going by, I was getting desperate.

We were living in a two-bedroom apartment with his family, and before the landlord kick us out, we needed to move out, so I head to that interview.

When I get to the interview, I meet Cathy, the manager.

She was a long-hair, hippie style... ...married to an African American guy, Cambridge resident, so she just loved me.

She, she just wanted to offer me the job right away.

And then she says, "But you still have to interview with my executive director.

"She's a little bit intimidating, "but don't worry, you'll be just fine.

"I know you'll be okay.

Just get yourself ready and go to the interview."

So I get very excited.

I get a nice, professional suit, and I head to the second interview with executive director.

I get to meet the executive director, a very tall woman, big personality, middle-age, expressionless white woman.

(laughter) She asked me all sorts of questions, and I'm answering-- very nervous-- I answered them all, I went home, and I just prayed I get that job.

A few days go by, and Cathy calls me and says, "Claritza, you got the job," and I'm like, "Yes."

"So, but you have to start right away."

And I said, "Of course, I'll start on Monday."

So I start my job, and two weeks go by, and the executive director comes back from vacation.

She walks in through the front door with her big bags, her big personality, and she looks surprised and a little bit upset.

She stares at me for a few minutes, and she goes upstairs.

Needless to say that I'm nervous.

Soon enough, I find out that she had told Cathy not to hire me because I didn't speak good English.

So at this point, Cathy thought that, because of my education and my energy, I was going to be able to do this job and of course gain the confidence of the executive director.

And I have to confess that I also thought I could do the job.

Soon enough, I realized I couldn't do that job.

Some of you may not know that in Spanish, words are spelled the same way as they sound.

We don't have to deal with those damn silent vowels that you have in English.

(laughter) And, plus, when you're learning a new language, the processing time in your brain, it's much slower.

So I was struggling.

I was disappointed with my own performance, because I couldn't pick up messages and the spell of the names of the callers soon enough before they would hang up on me or get upset because I had to ask them over and over again.

So I knew I was in trouble.

By then we have move out and get a rent-controlled apartment in Cambridge.

So I'm concerned I'm going to lose my job, and I needed to do something.

So I said, "Claritza, you got to do something."

It occurred to me to grab the white pages.

Do you remember those?

(laughter) I grabbed that book and walked down the street to the only person who spoke English in the family, my 12-years-old niece, Melissa.

And I said, "Mellie, "can you please dictate names and number of the book, so I can learn how to pick up messages?"

And she's, like, "Of course, Tía."

So for two or three weeks, we sat down every night for her to dictate names and numbers, and I became a master speller.

I was so proud of myself, I thought had secured my job.

So I come happy to my job every day, but one day, that proved that that was not enough.

Cathy comes down the stairs with tears in her eyes, and she said "Claritza, the executive director have eliminated your position."

I still can feel the sadness and despair of that moment.

By then, I was four months pregnant with my first son, and just the thought that I couldn't provide for my son and being able to pay rent that, as it is, a part-time, ten-dollars-an-hour job, I was making more money than my husband with a minimum-wage kitchen aide job.

I picked up my stuff, I went home, and cried.

I cried and cried and cried.

I just couldn't believe it.

And I picked up myself a couple of days later, and I said, "You know what, I'm applying for new jobs."

A women's organization, out of all places, called me up for an interview.

And I went to the interview, and when they saw me pregnant, they look at me like I had three heads, and I never heard from them.

Days went by, weeks went by, and I still cannot believe, up to this moment, the executive director herself called me back.

And she asked me to come back.

And this time, she offered me a full-time job.

(applause) I heard there was a lot of chaos in the front office.

And people were just asking, "Where is Claritza, where is Claritza?"

I worked there one more year, and as you remember, I was a computer engineer.

So I developed a software for them, and I used that experience as a reference to get my first software developer job.

Fast forward many years later, I am an executive, at technology companies, and I have my own company.

So my story... reminds me that we always have to be understanding and tolerant of others, because we really don't know the trials and challenges that they're going through.

(applause) ♪ AKHTARZADAH: My name is Mohboba Akhtarzadah.

I grew up in Afghanistan.

And I came to United States in 2013 with full scholarship.

And I study here and graduated from Southern New Hampshire University, degree in I.T.

And now I'm working.

- Well, that's wonderful.

- Thank you.

And Mohboba is your first name?

Yes.

What does your name mean?

So it means love or if you love someone, and... because my grandfather loved me so much, he named me Mohboba.

- Oh, that's beautiful.

- Thank you.

So what is it that you enjoy the most about storytelling?

You connect with people.

If it's a book, then you just kind of read it from the book and then you forget.

But when you put a face to a story, people will always remember.

And also it will be... it is happening and it's there And is storytelling a part of Afghani culture?

It is, and my grandfather used to say story for us and we would sit outside in the dark sometimes, and he will say religious stories, traditional stories, sometime he would just make it up and he will just say all sort of stories about different things.

Now, I imagine that most people, perhaps especially Americans, have a very limited knowledge about Afghan culture.

So what is it that you want people to understand about the life of an Afghan woman?

That's true we grew up in a war, but we are very hardworking people.

Our family loves us, and we want peace, we want love, and we want education, and we want the opportunity as other would have it.

- Yeah.

- Yeah.

The school registration was tomorrow.

Girls were so excited, because they could go to school after Taliban regime.

I was not sure if I can go to school.

My father was off-site and I was waiting for my father to come home to ask him if I can go to school, because I have polio.

I'm waiting patiently.

So my father walks in and he is typical Afghan guy with white clothes, a vest, average height, and a beard.

And then I ask dad, "Father, can I go to school?"

He says, "Of course you can."

Tomorrow, next thing, we did.

We went to school.

Every... no one pays attention to me.

Everyone is busy on their registration.

And there's one of my father's friends comes and asks my dad, "Is she going to school as well?

"People will make fun of her.

She shouldn't go to school."

I'm behind my dad, standing, and I heard everything.

As I was walking to school-- it was 30 minutes' walk, but it will take me two hours because I was on my crutches.

My siblings were ahead of me, and as I'm walking, it is hot, it is so humid and I... it's hurting, people are saying horrible things to me when I'm on my way.

I arrive to school, I'm happy, so I can see my friends.

I will learn about my favorite subject.

Years later, when I go to school, I see one of my teacher talks about me, gossiping to other teachers, and say, "She shouldn't come to school.

"She can learn, she can stay home "and she can read and write.

And this is such a shame, the way she walks."

I heard everything.

It just affected me so bad, and I sat on the bench, and I cried.

I had nothing else to do.

I cried.

That was the hardest day of my life.

I went home and I told my dad, "I'm not going to school anymore."

Because my dad saw me so disappointed and sad, he said, "Okay, fine, you don't have to go."

Because I wanted to be busy, I start sewing clothes.

I was not happy, that's not what I wanted to do.

That's... that was not my future.

I didn't like going towards unknown future.

So one day my father decides and tells me that, "I will take you to school every day."

So he has a bicycle.

He lost his leg during Russia war, so he is disabled.

And he takes me in his bicycle with a wooden pad.

And I sit in the back of the bicycle and I hold to him.

I'm happy because I am with him, no street harassment anymore.

But as I arrived to school, because my class were in a higher grade, they took my class to the second floor And as I was walking in the hallway on my crutches, I asked my principal, "Can you please bring my class from upstairs to downstairs?"

She says, "No."

I didn't think so, but I just wanted to ask.

So I look at the stairs, and I had to decide whether I want to climb the stairs or not.

I decided to climb the stairs, because I want to graduate from my university and work and be independent.

That was only possible for me through education.

So I lean against the wall, and I put one crutch in one stairs, my two feet in another stairs and another feet in another stairs.

And I pulled myself up, and I did this 30 times.

I made it to the top of stairs.

I was happy.

And I did this for five more years.

I got full scholarship, and I came to States.

My graduation day came finally and my father was watching it livestream.

He was so happy and proud, and I made it through.

(applause) ♪ Because I am a woman, I am a Muslim, and I have a physical disability, and by having all those, people will think I am not strong.

But if I tell my story, I connect with people.

I show emotional, I show connection and that's why it's very important.

Because they are very unique stories.

And there are few stories that people know about it, and mine is one of them.

ANNOUNCER: This program is made possible in part by contributions from viewers like you.

Thank you.

♪ ♪