Overcoming isolation: Stories of immigrant mothers in P.E.I.
- Judith Mendiolea Lelo de Larrea
- Feb 27, 2025
- 4 min read
(Story originally published by The Guardian on Feb. 11, 2025)
Abril Guardado stood by the window of her small apartment in Saskatchewan, watching snowflakes drift onto the empty streets.
It was 2019, the world was under COVID-19 lockdown and she had just given birth to her first child, Mateo.
Back home in Mexico, this moment would have looked very different. Her family would have gathered, her mother at her bedside, aunts ready to help. Here, there was only silence, broken by Mateo’s cries.
Guardado had come to Canada with her husband, José, searching for a better life. But nothing could have prepared her for motherhood so far from home. Her husband worked long hours, leaving her alone to navigate her new reality.
“In Mexico, parenting falls on the family,” she said. “But in Canada, it falls on strangers — daycares, babysitters, teachers. And even though they’re well-trained, they’re not your people.”
Guardado isn’t alone in learning Canadian ways of life.
More than 400,000 immigrants arrive in Canada each year, according to the federal government’s 2022 immigration report. Studies from Statistics Canada reveal that immigrant parents often experience heightened stress and isolation, especially in provinces like P.E.I., where the smaller population base may mean support systems for newcomers are limited.
Consumed by anxiety
The days blurred into nights, and Guardado felt like she was losing herself.
She started having “intrusive” thoughts. Was this how motherhood was supposed to feel? Was something wrong with her?
Mateo wouldn’t sleep more than 25 minutes at a time. Guardado felt irritable, consumed by anxiety, and overwhelmed by solitude.
One night, she went to where José was sitting and broke down in tears. He asked his wife what happened.
“I’m tired. I’m very tired.”
Dreams of a better life
At the same time, in Cancun, Yedid Cano and her husband were having long discussions about their future. They dreamed of giving their children better opportunities: education, safety and stability.
For three years, they prepared for the move, saving money and taking English lessons.
When they arrived in Charlottetown in 2022, the streets were quiet, the weather cold, and everything unfamiliar.
The first weeks in Canada were overwhelming. Grocery shopping felt like solving a riddle, and even small tasks, like filling out school forms, became challenges. Cano’s children struggled, too.
Her daughter, once confident and outgoing in Mexico, suddenly withdrew. One afternoon, she came home from school with red, puffy eyes.
A much older kid had been stealing her lunch money for weeks. Too afraid to speak up, she refused to identify the bully.
Cano and her husband wrote a letter to the school. After months of meetings, they resolved the issue, but her daughter’s confidence was shaken.
“We didn’t come to this country to write a tragic story for our children,” Cano said.
Postpartum diagnosis
For Guardado, everything changed when she flew back to Mexico to visit her family. Mateo was just a few months old, and her mother immediately noticed something was wrong.
Guardado sought help from a therapist, who diagnosed her with postpartum depression.
Her mother’s presence became her lifeline. While Guardado rested, her mother took care of Mateo, giving her space to breathe and heal.
That way, when Guardado became pregnant with her second child, she knew things had to be different. Her husband got a job offer at the University of Prince Edward Island, and they decided to move to Charlottetown.
Her mother flew to Canada again, and this time, Guardado felt supported from the start.
“Having my mom there changed everything,” she said. “It gave me the strength to be the mother I wanted to be.”
Impacts of bullying
Unfortunately, problems weren’t over for Cano’s family.
In the summer of 2024, her son suddenly started returning home with scraped knees. He claimed he had fallen, but the truth was much darker.
One day, he arrived home bleeding after a group of kids beat him at the park near their house. Worse, they had recorded it.
He wasn’t the only child assaulted by the same group of bullies. Cano’s family tried to speak with the group leader’s family, but it didn’t help.
With no support from the bully’s family, they turned to the school.
The administration was sympathetic but limited in what they could do. The principal explained since the incident didn’t happen on school grounds, the school couldn’t punish the bully. The most they could do is move the children’s desks so Cano’s son wouldn’t have to sit near his bully.
Days later, Cano’s son was threatened again — this time in their backyard.
The Cano family turned to the police, presenting video evidence collected by IRSA (Immigrant and Refugee Services Association). The police increased patrols in the neighbourhood and issued a warning to the bully’s father.
Despite these measures, the damage was already done. Cano’s son refused to go back to the park and became withdrawn.
“We moved neighbourhoods,” Cano said. “You are in a country where you pretend that they can enjoy what in your country, for safety, they could not do. This cannot happen to you or anyone else.”
Finding community
Both Guardado and Cano found solace in building connections with other immigrant families. Cano described how finding a Latino faith community in Charlottetown gave her a sense of belonging.
“We realized we needed a community for ourselves and our children,” Cano said. “It’s what keeps us grounded.”
For Guardado, working with IRSA became her way of giving back. She now develops programs for migrant mothers, creating the resources she wished she had when she first arrived.
“Immigrants often feel isolated,” she said. “But we are stronger together. There is always a way to find strength, even in the hardest moments.”
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