I didn’t expect to feel out of place.
When I moved from Los Angeles to Pittsburgh, I told myself it would be an adjustment but nothing I couldn’t handle. I had always been someone who took risks and tried new things. I came from nothing and was raised in the center of Los Angeles, a true melting pot. Rich or poor, it didn’t matter. We all had stories to share, experiences to compare and families that grounded us.
In LA, I was constantly surrounded by energy, culture, diversity and traffic, of course. My life there felt like an extension of who I was: fast-paced, social, always in motion. It gave me a sense of belonging. I felt free to be whoever I wanted to be.
I knew how to exist there. I knew how to belong.
So when I moved, I didn’t anticipate that something as simple as geography could shift my sense of identity so deeply.
But it did.
I moved to Pittsburgh for a job right after graduating college during COVID. A leap of faith at a time when the world felt paused, but my life was ready to move forward.
When I moved here, the first thing I noticed was how quiet it felt. Not in a literal way, but the social kind. In LA, connection felt constant and almost effortless. In Pittsburgh, it felt different — slower, more closed off. People already had their circles, their routines, their history here. I wasn’t stepping into something new alongside everyone else; I was stepping into something already established.
For the first time in a long time, I felt like an outsider.
And that feeling stuck with me more than I expected.
I remember one night early on, at a women’s social event in Lawrenceville. Everyone around me was laughing, hugging, running into people they clearly already knew. The flyer had said, “Come meet new friends, leave with genuine friendships,” and part of me believed it.
I stood there, with a drink in my hand, scanning the room, trying to figure out where I fit in. I made my rounds, introducing myself, trying to join conversations. But the more I mingled, the more I realized how many people already knew each other: same hometowns, same schools, shared histories.
The hardest part wasn’t trying to insert myself into those circles. It was when people asked where I was from.
“LA.”
Almost every time, the response was: “Ew, why did you move to Pittsburgh?”
I would laugh it off, but inside, I didn’t have an answer.
I left earlier than I planned that night, feeling more out of place than I had in a long time.
It was a strange feeling trying to feel seen.
I found myself questioning things I had never questioned before. Was it me? Was I doing something wrong? Why did it feel so hard to find my place here?
I wasn’t a stranger to unfamiliar environments. As a first-generation Latina raised in a low-income household, I was used to figuring things out on my own and walking into rooms where I didn’t know anyone.
It wasn’t discomfort that scared me.
It was the realization that, for the first time, I truly didn’t feel like I belonged.
Not in those rooms. Not in those spaces. Not in this city.
I hated that in Pittsburgh. I hated that I had to try so hard just to feel seen.
And I didn’t always know how.
In Los Angeles, that identity felt reflected back to me. It felt understood without explanation. Here’s the truth: As a first-generation Mexican American, my roots are everything. They taught me resilience before I even had the words for it. I carry my culture with me in every space I enter not quietly, but with pride. I wasn’t given shortcuts or handouts. I was taught resilience, discipline, and how to work for everything I have, at a very young age. Because of that, I don’t fear challenges. I have always welcomed them.
In Pittsburgh, that didn’t feel like that was the case.
There were moments where I felt not only new, but different, more aware of my identity in rooms where not many people looked like me or shared similar experiences. It wasn’t said out loud, but it was there.
Subtle, but present.
Learning to say yes
There were moments when I felt deeply alone. Moments when I questioned my decision to move. Moments when I wondered if I had made a mistake.
There were days when I didn’t recognize myself, days when I felt smaller, quieter, less sure.
But somewhere in that discomfort, something began to shift.
I began to understand that feeling out of place wasn’t a weakness. Instead, it was something I needed to see as an opportunity. In Pittsburgh, I had to be more intentional. More vulnerable. More willing to put myself out there even when it felt unnatural.
“I began to understand that feeling out of place wasn’t a weakness. Instead, it was something I needed to see as an opportunity. In Pittsburgh, I had to be more intentional. More vulnerable.”
Brenda sanchez
Especially when it felt unnatural.
So I started saying yes.
Yes, to networking events.
Yes, to dinners with strangers I had met at fitness classes.
Yes, to new branding ideas.
Yes, to pitching myself to brands with no guarantee of a yes.
Yes, to wanting to create a space for others even before I had fully found my own.
Yes, to trusting my vision even when others fully didn’t understand it yet.
And slowly, things began to change.
I began stepping into rooms that felt unfamiliar, introducing myself to stranger after stranger, and slowly discovering that connection was possible even here — all I had to do was figure out what was missing.
And then I realized something: I wasn’t the only one feeling this way.
An unexpected find
That realization led me to create something I had been searching for: For The Girls Pittsburgh.
For the Girls Pittsburgh (@forthegirlspgh) is a community group that creates events and connections for women and their friends in the Greater Pittsburgh area by partnering up with different brands and companies. Some of these brands are local businesses in Pittsburgh, but some are major brands like SUBTL Beauty, ZenJoy and Truvani, just to name a few.
What started as a small idea turned into a growing community. Women showed up. Then they came back. Then they brought friends.
Our first event was small, just six women showed up. A simple morning yoga session out in Mount Washington with mats laid out. It truly wasn’t anything fancy. It was a small fun group. We first practiced some basic yoga, and then we stayed after to socialize. One of those six women asked, “So when’s the next event?” That moment was the moment I now realize sparked curiosity and excitement. We all began to discuss ideas of what would be great and what type of activities we all enjoyed. Suddenly, we found one thing in common: women-based fitness events.
By our second event, 10 women were in attendance. By the third, 36. The more we hosted, the more our audience and attendance grew. By our one year anniversary, we had over 100 people in attendance at the top of the Etage Athletic Club’s rooftop.
When we first started we only had 50 followers across our platforms and no one wanted to work with us. In one year, that number grew to over 6,000.
And in the midst of creating something new and stepping into the unknown, I found the last thing I expected: love.
In a time when everything felt uncertain, when I was still trying to figure out where I belonged, I met someone who supported me through it all. Someone who saw me clearly, even in the moments I felt unsure of myself.
One cold January night, three weeks after moving here, I showed up 40 minutes late to a Hinge date expecting the worst. Instead, he greeted me with a shot of tequila.
This year, we’re getting married.
Let this be a reminder that there is hope out there ladies.
And when I think about that, it feels like another reminder of everything this chapter has given me. Not just growth or community, but a life I didn’t even know I was building when I first moved here.
The power of showing up anyway
Looking back, I see that the culture shock wasn’t just about the city. It was about growth. About identity. About learning how to carry where you come from into places that don’t always reflect it back to you.
As a first-generation Latina, that matters deeply to me.
There is a unique challenge in navigating spaces where you don’t always see yourself, but there is also power in showing up anyway. In creating space anyway. In making it easier for someone else to feel like they belong.
For The Girls Pittsburgh was never meant to exclude, it was meant to include.
Because belonging shouldn’t feel limited.
It should feel shared.
This experience taught me that belonging isn’t something you find. It’s something you build.
Moving here wasn’t easy.
But it gave me strength. It gave me confidence. It gave me purpose.
And it showed me that even in the moments you feel the most out of place, you can still create something meaningful, lasting and full of connection.
Nothing about this was easy.
But I would do it all over again.
Brenda Sanchez (@latina.creatorrco) is a first-generation Mexican American Latina from Los Angeles and the founder of For The Girls PGH, a community-building initiative that creates inclusive spaces for women in Pittsburgh and can be reached at forthegirlspgh@gmail.com.
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