Julissa Arce does not want to be hailed as an “ideal immigrant.”

Sure, her life story is extraordinary. She details how, as an undocumented immigrant, she worked her way up the ranks at Goldman Sachs to become a vice president in her 2016 memoir, My (Underground) American Dream, which she is currently developing into a network television series with America Ferrera. She is now a social justice advocate whose thoughts on equity are sought after by numerous journalists as well as Oprah Winfrey. And her memoir for young readers, Someone Like Me: How One Undocumented Girl Fought for Her American Dream, is now being taught in schools across the country.

But Arce knows how “good immigrant” stories can be weaponized against others—and she wants no part of it.

“I don’t want my story to be used as an example of what a good immigrant is supposed to look like,” she says. “I don’t want to be this model minority—like, See? If she can do it, you can do it too. The danger in perpetuating this myth of a good immigrant is I think it creates a lot of harm for immigrants who don’t go on to achieve all of these things. They deserve the same dignity as anybody else.”

In her latest book, You Sound Like a White Girl: The Case for Rejecting Assimilation (Flatiron, March 22), Arce argues that all Americans should be celebrated and that minorities should create their own spaces to make that possible. That includes maintaining control of her own story as a Mexican and an American.

“I tell reporters and documentary directors the nuances of my life—how it wasn’t all roses,” she writes. “I emphasize the thorns. But when I see their finished work, it’s like the Rose Day Parade. I struggle with how my life is used as inspiration for us, but also as a form of pandering to white people.”

Following a book tour stop in New York, the Los Angeles–based Arce spoke with us by phone about where these ideas came from and where she would like to take them. The conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

You write that your new book is “for the choir.” Why did you want to write a book that preaches to the choir?

I used to subscribe to the idea that the way that we would make progress, the way that we would create a more equitable society, would be to preach beyond the choir, to talk to people on the other side and try to come to a compromise. And while I still think that’s important, I personally don’t want to continue to do that work. I sort of fell into this trap of trying to convince people—what felt like, a lot of times, racist, White people—that I was human like them. And after doing that for some time, I felt like I was losing a little bit of dignity every time. When I wrote my first book, I thought, I’m going to use my book to change the conversation about immigration. I would say that everywhere. What happened, though, was that the best feedback was from people who read the book who had walked in my shoes, who saw themselves in the book, and who felt empowered by the book. That really created this big shift in my mind. Instead of trying to get somebody to see me as human, I empowered people who felt like I did [at] one time. Maybe they would feel less alone, seeing somebody else [with] their experience. I think many times we neglect the choir. I think it’s important that the choir feels seen, loved, understood. And a lot of change can happen by changing the way that we see ourselves.

Jeanine Cummins’ controversial book, American Dirt, also played a part in this realization?

I felt like the author was very much writing for White people to give them sort of an out to say, “Oh my god, I love this book. I feel for this character. I cried when I read this book.” But what about the actual real people? The nonfictional characters? I think so many times it falls on us to explain to other people. And I just don’t want to do that anymore. I hope that a lot of people outside my community read my book and that they learn from the book. But I definitely felt strongly that I didn’t want to explain who we are. I’ve already done so much of that my whole entire life; I’ve had to justify my existence in this country. And I don’t want to do that anymore.

One thing that surprised me in your book was the colorism you describe existing among Mexicans. It’s similar to the way I have experienced it among Filipinos.

Colorism is very much a result of colonization. And for me, it was important to just be gentle in the way that I called it out because I also understand that there’s a historical reason why this happened and that our parents and grandparents and their grandparents used it as a form of protection.

But you do call out the problem and raise the idea that in America, the privileges of Whiteness do not extend to non-White minorities.

Looking back, you see how many times Mexican Americans tried to be folded into Whiteness and how, each and every time, it backfired on us. I’m also really trying to pull us away from the desire to have a proximity to Whiteness because it only offers the illusion of belonging. It only offers the illusion of protection. And then one day, everybody realizes that is fleeting and temporary and that real, true justice and progress don’t come from proximity to Whiteness. I say in the book that I don’t want to be accepted because somebody viewed me as White. I want to be accepted because as a brown woman, I deserve to be accepted.

Can you talk about the process of writing this book? It must have been so hard to be so straightforward and blunt.

My first draft was so bad and so ugly. It took so much editing and really sitting with it while continuing to mold it. I read so many history books before I sat down to write. I had a list of questions that I wanted to answer for myself. And 50% of what I actually wanted to write didn’t make it in the book because we wanted the book to have a certain lens and for it to have a certain lightness. So I have material to write probably another two books like this. The really difficult part was, How do I structure the book? Then, this lightbulb went off when I realized, OK, the first half of the book has to be about the lies of assimilation. And the second part of the book has to hit a more celebratory tone, a more uplifting tone about the reclaiming of things. Once I had that moment, I knew what to do, and the process became easier because then the process really was just about refining and the actual writing.

What is your next project?

For the first time since I’ve been a professional writer, I don’t have a plan for what I want to write next. I have ideas. But I don’t have anything concrete. I’m honestly exhausted. This book took so much out of me. This time, I really don’t have the energy yet.

Glenn Gamboa is a writer in Brooklyn.