Houston exists on the unceded ancestral lands of the Sana, Karankawa, Coahuiltecan, and Atakapa-Ishak tribes. These Indigenous nations lived, thrived, and cared for this land and its waters long before any of us called it “Houston.” Their connection to this place runs deeper than borders, property lines, or city maps—it’s rooted in generations of stewardship, culture, and life. The truth is hard: this land was taken—violently, unjustly—from the original peoples through colonization and systemic erasure.

My presence here, and the systems I benefit from, are built on that legacy. I did not choose that history, but I have inherited it. And with that inheritance comes a responsibility. This land is not mine. The water is not mine. I live and work here as a guest, and I try to carry that awareness with me in everything I do. It’s uncomfortable to confront, but I believe discomfort is necessary. It opens the door to accountability, learning, and transformation.

To Indigenous readers: I know that no words can fully address the harms done—or the erasure that continues. This acknowledgment is just a small, imperfect gesture. But it comes from a sincere place. I am committed to unlearning the narratives I was raised with, to listening more than I speak, and to supporting efforts that center Indigenous voices, sovereignty, and leadership. I believe that truth-telling is a step—just one—toward healing and justice. I offer this statement not as a conclusion, but as an ongoing promise: to do better, to show up, and to keep learning how to honor the people whose land I live on.