Celeste traveled from Peru to the U.S. two decades ago, then a young woman of 19, and overstayed her tourist visa. She had studied graphic design back home but, unable to work in her field without papers, instead found arduous work cleaning hotel rooms and offices in Los Angeles. She built a life here, making friends and taking courses at a local community college. She paid her taxes annually, hoping she could one day gain legal status.

But years passed without the dramatic reforms needed to reshape and unclog the legal pathways to U.S. citizenship. And in the months since President Trump started his second term, her American dream has imploded. She’s unnerved by the news images of undocumented immigrants being loaded onto planes, shackled like violent criminals, and returned to their native countries. The thought of being ripped from her home, without time to pack up her belongings or say goodbye to friends, shakes her to the core.

So, Celeste has made a tough decision: She will continue cleaning offices and saving money for just a few more months, and return to Peru by year’s end.

Even with a plan to leave, she feels vulnerable and exposed. She now avoids restaurants, her favorite dance spots, even trail hikes. She’s stopped enrolling in online classes, she said, because she’s apprehensive about registering her name or address.

“The fear that they could grab you is always there,” said Celeste, who asked that The Times not use her full name for fear of making her a target for immigration authorities.

Trump came into his second term promising the largest deportation effort in U.S. history. During the campaign, he focused his rhetoric on undocumented immigrants who had committed violent crimes. But shortly after he took office, his administration made clear that they considered anyone in the country without authorization to be a criminal.

In the months since, the new administration has used a variety of tactics — explicit and subtle — to urge immigrants to depart the country of their own accord.

The day he was inaugurated, Trump disabled the CBP One mobile app that the Biden administration had utilized since 2023 to create a more orderly process of applying for asylum from the U.S.-Mexico border. Thousands of migrants camped at the border had their asylum appointments abruptly canceled.

Instead, the Trump administration launched a replacement app, CBP Home, that allows immigrants to notify the government of their intent to leave the country. The Department of Homeland Security did not respond to The Times’ request for data regarding the number of people who have used the app.

Last month, the agency launched an ad campaign urging people in the country without authorization to leave immediately. “If you don’t, we will find you and we will deport you,” agency Secretary Kristi Noem says in the ad. This week, Trump told Fox Noticias he’s formulating a plan to give a stipend and an airplane ticket to immigrants in the country illegally who opt to “self-deport.”

The administration isn’t just targeting undocumented immigrants. In recent weeks, Homeland Security has messaged migrants who entered the country using the Biden-era CBP One app, telling them their temporary legal status has been terminated and they should leave “immediately.”

And then there are the images of the migrants deported to a notorious El Salvador prison, shackled one behind the other in prison garb, their heads bowed and shaven. The administration invoked the Alien Enemies Act of 1798 to remove the Venezuelan nationals without due process, alleging they were all gang members.

“One of the impacts of the various Trump policy measures is to strike terror and fear in immigrant communities,” said Kevin Johnson, a professor of public interest law at UC Davis School of Law. “It’s designed to show immigrants, ‘We’re out to get you.’”

Three months in, it’s difficult to estimate how many people are making the grueling decision to leave the lives and families built here under more lenient enforcement policies to return to home countries that many have not seen for decades.

But even in liberal-leaning California, where undocumented immigrants enjoy greater access to social services than in many regions of the U.S., advocates say they are fielding more questions from people who fear being plucked up and deported and are considering leaving on their own terms.

Luz Gallegos, executive director of TODEC Legal Center in the Inland Empire, said her staff members talk “daily” with folks who are considering leaving. Pummeled by the “constant attacks” on immigrants, she said, people are posing logistical questions: Can they take their cars? What happens to their kids’ education?

“What comes up a lot in the sessions is, ‘Prefiero irme con algo, que irme sin nada,’” Gallegos said. “I’d rather leave with something than leave with nothing.”

To significantly reduce the country’s unauthorized immigrant population, currently estimated at about 11 million, the administration and Congress would need to make dramatic changes, experts say. Rounding up and packing off millions of people across the country would require a massive deployment of resources and far more detention capacity. The extensive backlog of immigration court cases — there were more than 3.6 million cases pending at the end of March, according to TRAC Reports — also stymies such efforts.

“Given the current level of resources and the current strategies, you can’t remove 11 million people from the country,” said Johnson. “They need some people to just leave.”

That’s where the notion of encouraging self-deportation comes in. Mitt Romney proposed the idea during the 2012 Republican primary, suggesting his administration would make it so hard for undocumented people to get jobs that they’d leave for a country where they could legally work.

At the time, his embrace of the concept was widely viewed as a reason he lost among Latino voters in the general election. But more than a decade later, the strategy has gained traction.

NumbersUSA, a grassroots organization focused on immigration reform, says on its website that encouraging people to return to their home countries is “key” to reducing the number of unauthorized immigrants in the U.S. Requiring employers to use E-Verify to prove their employees can legally work is the “number one” way to give people an incentive to leave, said NumbersUSA director of research Eric Ruark.

Elena, an unauthorized Mexican immigrant who has lived in the Inland Empire for nearly two decades, said she and her husband are among those who have decided to self-deport. They will move back to their homeland in the southern state of Chiapas by Christmas.

She was out shopping recently when a store employee told her she had seen an immigration agent nosing around the neighborhood. Don’t go out if you don’t have papers, the employee warned. A few months before, she was traveling along Interstate 8 near the southern border and passed an immigration checkpoint where she saw people detained and handcuffed.

“My heart hurt so badly,” said Elena, who also asked to be identified only by her first name because she fears coming to the attention of immigration authorities. “I saw workers and people traveling with their families, people who had made their lives here, and suddenly this happens and their dreams are destroyed.”

In recent years, the couple’s ability to work has been limited by age and illness. Elena, 54, has fibromyalgia and arthritis, and her husband, 62, has had a heart attack. Still, he has found work fixing cars and trucks; together they cater birthday parties and baby showers, providing large buffets of meat, rice, beans and salsas. In Chiapas, they have nearly five acres of land, where they hope to build a ranch, raise animals and grow crops.

“Many people have said that maybe I will feel more free there,” she said from the kitchen of her tidy home, “because here you feel chained up. You want to do many things, but you can’t.”

She has three adult children — two born in the U.S. — and two grandchildren in California. She chokes at the thought of being thousands of miles away.

“I think about my grandchildren, and I cry, I suffer,” she said. “I love them so much. Who is going to care for them like their grandmother?”

About 100 miles southeast, Maria, also an undocumented immigrant from Mexico, said that after 30 years in the Coachella Valley, she, too, plans to return to her home country and try to forge a new life in the western state of Michoacán. Like the other women interviewed for this article, she asked to be identified only by a first name.

She lives with a paralyzing fear of being hunted down and deported without a chance to ensure her affairs are in order. She is hesitant to go to church, hasn’t visited a doctor in months, and can’t run errands with any peace of mind. The anxiety has, quite literally, sent her packing. Over the years, she has supported herself by selling enchiladas and tacos from a small food stand. She plans to bring her cooking equipment back with her to Mexico in hopes of making a living there.

She will be leaving behind three daughters and six grandchildren, but reuniting with two sons in Mexico.

“It’s as if I’m being divided into two parts,” she said. “I haven’t been happy here, and I won’t be happy there.”

This article is part of The Times’ equity reporting initiative, funded by the James Irvine Foundation, exploring the challenges facing low-income workers and the efforts being made to address California’s economic divide.