Why I Created The Caribbean Diaspora Experience Model
I’ve always been the one asking questions—the kind that start with “You ever notice…” or “You think that’s because…”
I’m naturally observant. I spot patterns. I listen and I reflect often and when I do share what I’m seeing, I usually get the same response:
“Hmm… I’ve never thought about it like that before. I need to sit with that.”
For over 30 years, I’ve been living in the U.S., and for the past 12+ years I’ve been running Carry On Friends—first as a blog, then a podcast, and always as a space to explore what it means to be Caribbean American. These years—10 of them podcasting—have been filled with conversations, both on and off the mic. And slowly but surely, a model started to take shape. Not from research papers. Not from theory. But from lived experience.
It Started With Work
I started the podcast because of something I was navigating professionally. I didn’t just want to talk about career success—I wanted to talk about what it meant to be Caribbean in American workspaces, how our cultural values shaped our ambition, our silence, our boldness, and our discomfort. This was the seed of what would later become Lens 5 of the model.
But as I kept podcasting, it became clear:
I wasn’t just talking about work. I was talking about how identity, culture, and family history show up at work.
I was talking about how we carry home with us—into boardrooms, classrooms, interviews, and conversations with ourselves.
Watching the Model Unfold
At the same time, I was watching something unfold in my own family.
The way I saw my Caribbean identity—having migrated as a teenager—was different from how my younger siblings experienced it. Different again from my kids, who were born here. Different from my mother, who migrated as an adult.
It wasn’t just about personality. It was about starting points, location, and life stage.
And then the podcast gave me more. Listeners would share their stories. Guests would speak about their childhoods, their migration experiences, their sense of disconnection or pride or guilt around culture. I started meeting people in person—at events, in casual conversations—who echoed patterns I’d been observing quietly for years.
The model began to clarify itself. It didn’t come from a textbook.
It came from life.
The Lenses Were Already There
I didn’t name them all at once.
I lived them.
Lens 5—about how cultural identity influences our professional lives—was my entry point.
Lens 4 came next, when I noticed that I no longer kept up with music, parties, or pop culture the way I once did. It didn’t mean I was less Caribbean—it just meant my expression of culture had shifted.
I started asking friends about it. I mentioned it on episodes. I even found the same idea reflected in notes from a 2021 audience focus group.
The other lenses emerged as I connected more dots—about where people live, what motivates them to stay connected to culture, and how identity can never be fully captured in an either/or label.
What the Model Captures—and What It Continues to Hold Space For
The Caribbean Diaspora Experience Model (CDEM) is built on six core lenses, each offering language and structure to help us understand ourselves and each other—not by measuring who’s “Caribbean enough,” but by recognizing the many ways we inherit, reshape, and express culture.
As the model developed, it became clear that our starting point isn’t just about where or how we entered the diaspora. It’s also about what was happening when we did—the decade we migrated or were born, the political climate, the safety concerns, and the ways our families protected us by softening or silencing our cultural identity.
That’s why I added the sub-lens:
“What Was Happening When You Started.”
Because someone migrating in the 1980s versus the 2000s, or coming of age pre- vs post-internet, experiences culture differently. Those external pressures matter—and now, they’re acknowledged as part of the story.
Similarly, “How You Show Identity Changes Too” recognizes that cultural expression exists on a spectrum—from hiding to pronounced visibility—and that spectrum is shaped by both personal comfort and the environments we move through.
These additions don’t complicate the model—they make it more real. Because identity isn’t static. Neither is how we carry it.
Why This Model Matters Now
The beauty of CDEM is that it’s alive. I’m not just teaching it—I’m living it. So are my kids. So are you.
It’s not a rigid model—it’s a reflective tool. A way to ask better questions. A way to give ourselves more grace. A way to see that our differences in expression, language, or connection are not threats—they’re truths.
Creating this model wasn’t just about organizing what I know.
It was about making meaning, honoring what we’ve all lived—what’s shaped us, challenged us, and continues to evolve within us.
This is just the beginning. I’ll be going deeper into each lens in the coming months. But for now, I wanted to share the why—the roots beneath the model.
If it resonates, let me know.
If it reflects your experience, I’d love to hear.
If it helps you see yourself more clearly, then I’ve done what I came to do.
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