Rocio Rivera started at Northern Essex Community College in 2013. She was working full time, raising two kids, navigating life as a first-generation immigrant from the Dominican Republic— and she had no idea that, over a decade later, her son Izeah Rivera would be sitting in a classroom on the same campus as her, earning his own degree at the same time.
“It shouldn’t have happened that way,” Rocio says, laughing. “It just ended up happening by sheer coincidence.”
This spring, both Riveras cross the stage as part of the NECC Class of 2026— Rocio with an Associate in Human Services, Izeah with an Associate in Liberal Arts: Psychology. Their paths to graduation look nothing alike, which is exactly the point.
Rocio’s journey has not been linear. She emigrated from the Dominican Republic at age five, grew up in New York before her family settled in Massachusetts, and became a mother at sixteen— returning from maternity leave to finish high school on the honor roll, eventually graduating as vice president of her class.
Mother and son Rocio and Izeah Rivera at NECC’s Commencement 2026
College came later, in fits and starts: one class, then two, then life would intervene. She worked as a phlebotomist at Lawrence General, then spent over a decade working in dental management. A traumatic car accident, a late ADHD diagnosis, and a cascade of chronic illnesses eventually made working full time impossible.
What those circumstances opened up, unexpectedly, was time—time to come back and finish what she started.
“People often see the graduation photos, but not the years behind them,” Rocio says. “Success doesn’t always happen on a schedule. Mine took detours. And a lot of healing. Finishing my degree after thirteen years taught me that ‘delayed’ doesn’t mean ‘denied’.”
Her YouForward internship through VinFen’s Young Adult Access Center in Lawrence, made possible in part by NECC’s internship stipend program, crystallized what she had been working toward all along: advocacy— for herself, for her community, for people who don’t know what resources exist or how to reach them.
“I’m from an immigrant family,” she said. “My mom was too ashamed to ask for help, too overwhelmed to navigate systems that weren’t built for her. I realized that’s exactly the work I want to do.” Her goal: to become a licensed mental health counselor, serving people who have been through what she’s been through.
Izeah’s story begins in a different era entirely— one where talks of free community college is looming and the choice to attend is less about survival and more about strategy.
He graduated from St. John’s Prep in 2023, having worked part-time through high school to stay financially independent, having lost his sophomore year to COVID, and having discovered a genuine passion for psychology through an AP class that earned him his first college credits. At a school where most of his peers were headed to well-endowed four-year universities, choosing NECC felt like a social risk.
“The stigma of going to a community college really dwelled on my mind,” he admits. But it didn’t last long.
What he found instead was the PACE program— “my guardian angels,” he calls them— and classrooms where the student sitting next to him might be eighteen, or thirty, or sixty. That mix, he says, changed the way he thinks about people entirely.
“The diversity in my classes makes me challenge myself. It makes me feel like I can connect with anyone, regardless of generation. We are all students here.”
Izeah is planning to become a Board-Certified Behavior Analyst in the field of Applied Behavior Analysis.
What makes Rocio and Izeah’s story more than a feel-good coincidence is what it quietly models. Rocio didn’t go back to school to set an example— she went back because she needed to finish something for herself. But Izeah was watching. When his mother was too sick to drive to class, he drove her. When she pushed through migraines and chronic pain to submit assignments, he saw it. When she nearly didn’t make it through last semester — dealing with housing instability, health crises, and more— she showed up anyway.
“Illness doesn’t stop passion,” Izeah said simply.
For Rocio, watching him walk alongside her is the whole point. “That’s my story,” she says of her long road. “But it wasn’t his experience. And that was the goal.”
She didn’t want Izeah to have to fight for every foothold the way she did. She wanted him to be able to choose freely and confidently, knowing that support existed and that he was worth using it. Northern Essex, she says, was part of making that possible.
“Growth doesn’t happen in a straight line,” Rocio said. “I wanted him to see that setbacks don’t have to be the end of your story. Perseverance matters more than perfection.”
