New year, elevated me.

End of year reflections are always heavy for me this time of year. God has really blessed me with so many things money cannot buy, in ways I’ve never expected. I’ve set resolutions, trying to find ways to make myself a little better than the year before. Sure I’ve held onto a lot of those resolutions but this year feels different. I tried to set myself up for goals each year, plan things down to a realistic T, never really able to meet those goals because LIFE BE LIFE-ING. Still year after year I create these ideas in my head of how I need to plan for the new annual checklist of bullshit hypothetical visions of what I THINK I need to be happy. I’m so tired of setting expectations on my shoulders and bullying myself when shit doesn’t go right or it takes a little longer to achieve.

I am a go-getter. I am someone who is crazy obsessed with keeping a routine, no excuses or compassion for the act of human error. Sure, I’ve experienced and achieved a lot in my life. At what point do I have to stop and give myself credit? Have I ever? Have I treated myself the same way that I’ve regressed from others? Absolutely. It’s became an ugly cycle of self doubt and pessimism.

Last year I made my last resolution checklist, reality struck down quickly and changed any idea of what a life should be. Mental health has become background noise of existence, always there but somewhat unnoticeable. I hide my shit well. Things that aren’t evident hold your truest form, mine has become like a desert dry of life & full of ruins. I never wanted it to define the person I was but eventually I forced it in my mind. That’s who I was, no matter how far I’ve proven to take myself.

One things is for sure, my children have been my reason for change. As a parent our only goal is to make life a little better for the next representation of the family name. One fact stays true, you can offer tools to anyone but you cannot force any action. Same goes for me. How many times has God given me the opportunity to put His words into action? To lay things on the line for the sake of the bigger picture? To feel and trust and let go of any inhibition to try my own thing? When have I realized for myself before it became the problem my child had to endure?

Suddenly things become relevant and faith becomes necessary, now the enemy is attacking my generations and slapping the wisdom out of my kids. They see nothing but hatred & delusions. The world is filled with filth and disgust and they both soaked it up like a sponge, with more room to indulge. Who’s to say I deserved more, when all I want is for my sons to be okay? THERE IS SUDDENLY NO MORE ROOM FOR ERROR. I FEEL AN ATTACK ON MY HOME.

I never thought very highly of myself. How the fuck am I supposed to maintain two other peoples mental capacity and my own at the same time? Sure wasn’t in my resolution of losing 15 pounds in 2023. Suddenly the materials didn’t matter any more. I didn’t care if I gained 100 pounds, I would’ve gladly taken that to verify my kids health. There is seriously no pain harder than watching your child suffer & for the first time I knew I had to change my attitude and practice compassion on myself.

I could’ve blamed myself like always. I could’ve taken this feeling and chose to numb myself. I could’ve ran away and ignored what was happening. I could’ve gave up hope and allowed what was happening to take over my home. I could have chosen to let things pass, ignoring reality like I’ve done so many times before. Finally, I had to chose ME. I surely haven’t chose myself ever before, always thinking I wasn’t worth the fight but now I had to fight for my children. They needed their mom to be so resilient without fear, this meant war.

I’ll be the first to admit I never fought for myself. I didn’t think I was worth that fight, exactly what the enemy wants you to believe. I knew I had a love and faith for God but you really have to work hard to see what God sees in you. I’ve accepted a lot of ugly in my life based on these feelings of self hate. You really don’t notice being in the dark until a little light makes its way in. I have to fight every day to keep my light shining in, this year I fought mine and my families demons simultaneously. There’s no understanding of spiritual warfare until it’s attacking you at every level. Peace is something I have always worked for but the love of God has me on vacation while He does my dirty work. How is it that I’ve experienced so much turmoil but feel the unrelenting power of peace inside me?

I gave everything to God.

Being ready and willing to lose it all is a scary feeling to have. For a while, I thought I may have needed to take a real big step back from my career that I’ve worked so hard for. Something I would have never imagined sacrificing, it became completely unimportant. Making such critical life-altering decisions, it’s impossible not to want to call those you love, trust and confide in, however, I needed to speak with people who hold real knowledge. I have really found that God blesses through people who are willing to offer insight, information and compassion at the most distinct moments. This year has filled me with doctors, therapists, advocates, social workers, nurses, counselors, psychiatrists and staff that really put their hearts into what they do. These are the jobs that require more than knowledge but the love and art of what it takes to serve another human being. Outside of professionals, I’ve met moms, sisters, uncles and grandparents of individuals with mental health. It’s almost as if unless you have experienced it for yourself, you’ll never understand the gut wrenching emotions a person experiences. These people, some of whom I’ve never met before, offered me a space to really emotionally process what I was handling at each moment. Crying with me when I needed to just release the stress of the moment. That is how we heal. We offer compassion and a listening ear. We invite over and sit in silence. We encourage and offer solace. We call just to say I miss you. We check up on our loved ones, even if it’s a heart emoji text message to let them know you’re thinking of them. PEOPLE saved me this year. The words, acts of encouragement and love that made me feel normal when my world was flipped on its backside. Unbeknownst to me, kindness was appearing from unexpected individuals, not necessarily from those that I love and call family.

It sounds harsh but you really see people’s true colors when real hard times arise. Their actions or lack thereof can be detrimental to a persons mental, not because I hate them but because I love them. The only people that truly hurt you are people you love without barriers. Without boundaries you allow certain iniquities to be swept away under the pretense of love. Maybe they cut you below the belt so often it becomes white noise. Maybe they’ve embarrassed you to the core over and over, with age not giving wisdom. Maybe they disappear giving not so much as a phone call to check in, even when it’s life or death. Without boundaries protecting your heart and your mind, you get immune to narcissism and passive aggressive behaviors. You accept people’s inactive emotional intelligence as a trait, that’s just who they are, so you have to accept it.

Not true.

It’s incredibly difficult to handle emotional baggage. Nobody tells you when you start doing the work and breaking down your own barriers how soul crushing it is to rebuild and it doesn’t happen right away. I actively have spoken to my therapist for 8 years solid, learned meditation, bought crystal’s and sage, practiced yoga, got my cards read, started taking jujitsu and martial arts, creatively released all of my energy into an album and whatever new age guru hoopla that is available to get explored, I’ve tried to take away my pain. That is it. I never hated anyone but myself for the mistakes I’ve made. I’ve ate myself up over things that I couldn’t control, so I indulged in so much toxicity to numb it. I grew up knowing I had addict in my blood, those are thoughts that stay with you for life. I became obsessed with trying to hide my pain, doing everything I can to be a better person and make better decisions. Trying to not just say FUCK IT and ruin everything I’ve worked for thus far. I am one family party away from wasting away in a ball of coke. Minutes becoming hours. Hours turning to days. Days to weeks. Then all of a sudden I’m back to square one, hating ME. Not the world, ME.

I AM NOT PERFECT but I deserve to be loved.

2 weeks before my dads accident I started going back to church. I’ve always prayed to God and believed that Jesus Christ came and died for my sins but I never really read scripture to comprehend the purpose. I have gone to a number of different Christian churches in my life as my mom had always had her own journeys with finding her space with God. Each church providing a different experience to worship, of course with my musical interest gravitating towards Christian worship. Most don’t know, right before Frank was born I joined a worship team called Illumination. It’s amazing now when I look back how important God was during that period of my life. I was bad af. Although I had attended Catholic mass and performed my baptism and communion at a beautiful gothic revival styled cathedral, Catholic Church had never resonated with me. I think as children we have a slow attention span for time so the fact that I attend a Catholic Church now kind of surprises me. Not going to lie, it was daunting too. I think society puts a lot of stereotypes on the type of community that a Catholic Church provides. People that do not believe in radical progressive beliefs and are reluctant to people with a past. People that judge and condemn, instead of love and embrace.

Maybe all of that is true.

Maybe all the people in my church are prudes who wouldn’t approve of who I was if they really knew me. Well, I am not there for anything else but the word. I started going to a Catholic Church because I somewhat knew what I could expect. I had went a few times to a local Christian church which I liked a lot but the preacher started discussing politics and the “immigrant issues” so that was the end of that. Catholic mass is repetitive and scheduled. All Catholic Churches preach the same verses across the world each Sunday, I needed consistency and I knew that certain talks of upcoming elections would be off limits. I knew that I needed church and I needed it clean.

Todd and I had an issue at a local Catholic church who wouldn’t consider us married to baptize our youngest son when he was bored. It turned into something that hurt us both, pissed my husband off and made me NOT start my journey back there. For a few months, I went a little further up the road and started to get the hang of the routine. My mother in law, the angel on earth that she is, attended the church that denied us so one day I decided to attend 8am mass with her since I woke up early and didn’t want to wait for 11 am. Let me tell you, God has a real weird way of humbling you. Imagine walking into this church that denied you and your husband’s court marriage and having to listen to a once every 2 year sermon on the sacrament of marriage.

I finally got it.

I understood at that point that I would have to sit and listen to things that maybe I wasn’t prepared to listen to, things that had to sting hard in order to feel. To be honest, Christianity isn’t as cut and dry as people think. God demands a lot from us, just because Jesus came and died for our sins that doesn’t mean we are immune from hell. We lose our loved ones and automatically think that heaven is a right of passage but we have to take responsibility for the lives we live on Earth.

The hardest sermon I’ve had to sit through was on All Souls Day, a day to remember and pray for those who have died. Historically, Catholics have been incredibly against the act of abortion. It’s a well known fact, I get it. As someone who has had to make that choice myself, sitting through the gospel that talks about souls in purgatory and praying for the souls of aborted children, that would make anyone anxious. I think that maybe before I would’ve ran away and never returned. I would have shut down and became lost in my mind. I would have became angry. I listened. Thank God Toddie was with me that day, I cried like a baby. I weeped for the souls of my aborted children. My heart had always held that decision in my heart since I was 17 years old. I blamed my situation and my age and my inability to take care of myself let alone a child. However, NONE of those explanations made me feel good about the choice I made. Personally, the act itself traumatized me. It ate away at me every day of my life because regardless of any circumstance, I know now, I would’ve make it work. As that humbled me to my core, I poured out my pain during that mass. 18 years of unprocessed anguish is GONE. It was hard to listen to but I NEEDED TO HEAR IT. Todd wasn’t pleased, at all, yet I yearned for that reality check. A lot of my pain had been undercut with the thought that I wouldn’t be accepted into heaven. As I learn and grow in my faith I have realized that God doesn’t want me to hold onto my past pain. He wants to forgive me for my regressions but it’s up to me to own. Releasing that from my heart has only made me stronger, in all ways. I don’t feel the same way I did, pushing away the decisions I made based on my past circumstance.

I don’t want to hold this weight anymore, I deserve to be loved.

As God started moving inside me, so did my confidence. As my son’s mental health changed and I started noticing distinctive shifts in my home, it became a different type of responsibility. To be the best wife, mother and daughter I can be, I have to make myself a priority. ALL of me has to be in this. No excuses, just action. Having no room for error, that thought alone would’ve broken me. Fear of fucking something up again and destroying my child through my past trauma. Generational curses are real. This is no longer a ME problem this is a WE problem.  We as in ancestors from not only my line but his fathers as well. Chasing back where lines got crossed and family illness began.

Seeing my son strung out and delirious to reality takes another level of warrior-ish mentality. Looking in my child’s eyes and seeing something else, something deeper and demonic. There’s no other way to explain that and as hard as it is to say that about my child, it’s my truth. I watched him flip a switch like Jim Carrey from Me, Myself & Irene, completely oblivious while it was happening. From April to September this year, we were in and out of hospitals, rehab centers, psych wards and adolescent behavioral health homes. Due to Franks behavior we had to call the cops to alleviate issues while he was experiencing mania. I didn’t know what we were dealing with at first and I knew that despite the decisions that Frank was making as a now young adult, I still have a 5 year old innocent little boy that I had to protect at home. I can’t kick out a 17 year old on the street, it’s child endangerment. If I kept him in the home with the continued disturbances, arguments and restraints then I have the chance to lose my 5 year old.

There is poison out on the streets that come in colorful packaging marked 100% THC vapes that are KILLING our youth. It almost took my son, ALMOST.

The enemy couldn’t attack me directly but he sure tried to pull it with my son. Let me tell you how God works, He does NOT miss. To protect our home, He took Frank out of it. He helped me feel comfortable as I relinquished my control over to him. As we moved him from place to place, he blessed us with people. After 2 in patient stays, 1 rehab center, an additional in patient, a mental health hospital, a residential youth home and $500,000 in medical bills my boy is back home. Frank met an amazing woman who has become his angel on earth. She honed in on his talents and encouraged his personality. Frank completed the 12 step program and in the process found God. He had to experience his own journey and let God change his life on His terms. It sounds insane but had all of this not happened, I don’t know where he’d be. I had to stop going to the world with my problems, I had to give it to God.

You see, God gives me value. He finds joy in handling life for you. I don’t want to take that for granted anymore. I don’t want to set expectations that aren’t meant to be held. We need daily reminders that we aren’t alone. We aren’t our past. Our future is already written. I’ve got A LOT on my plate. I just want to be around good energy and light. I know that I can’t beg people to step up in ways they can’t handle. That isn’t fair of me. I also can’t ignore my need to live in the now. I have to hold people accountable because I deserve that respect. I can’t continue to keep my mouth shut when someone has hurt my feelings. My feelings are valid and I deserve to be able to speak about that. Whether or not you want to give me that opportunity is totally up to you but Xoch can’t ignore anymore.

My dad and Frank have gotten the best of all my abilities as a caregiver. I will leave everything behind in order to care for them wholeheartedly. They will never have to doubt my intentions or my will to provide. WE WILL MAKE IT HAPPEN. My husband has a wife that would risk her life for her man and he knows that. 15 years in and this self doubter has become a fucking bad ass wife and mom. As a businesswoman and creative, I’ve built my passion into a solid extra income. As an employee, I fucking killed my yearly review making this my highest paid year ever. At 36, I feel better than I ever have and despite my hardships have kept up with my 3-4 x a week lift and cardio plan losing 10 lbs and gaining great muscle definition. My passion for people has helped me build spaces for people to connect and give back to the community. God has opened up opportunities that have directly affected my heart during the hardest times. I have poured into so much art this year that I’m starting 2024 with a full roster of music, visuals and poetry, under the new management of a woman of God that I’ve looked up to for the past 10 years. An opportunity that arose because she was checking in on my son. GOD BLESSES US WITH PEOPLE.

I’m walking away from 2023 with no regrets at all. Instead of thinking about the past 2 years as a plethora of bad news and heartaches, I feel honored to be able to take on this role. God makes me feel like I’m needed and I’m apart of His plan. I know this sounds absolutely insane but as horrible as this year was, I really think this is the best year of my life. My therapist recently mentioned how confident I’ve been these last few months and I feel it. We’re walking into a new year but I’m walking into a new era. God needs me and I’ve stepped up to the plate.

My resolution this year isn’t on me, it’s what I ask of God. I don’t want a brand new year to inspire me to be better, help me work everyday single day. I have come to the understanding that life doesn’t always go as planned but I know with God I am powerful. I say that with confidence because that is who I am.

“You know him, for he dwells with you and will be in you” - John 14:16-17

As I move into this new year, I am no longer allowing fear to rule. I want to look outside of the norm and for God to take away any pessimism in my mind or around me that says “you can’t do that.” God dwells within me and He can do anything. I believe in divine miracles and find purpose in all things. I cannot preach to others without the reflection of myself. I pray that God continues to push my addictive personality towards GOOD. Use my perfectionist  personality. Let me completely engulf myself with love, music, art, health, rosary prayers, Christian music and podcasts, church, community outreach, poems, blogs, therapy sessions and time with my family so God can use me through His will.

With God all things are possible.

Happy New Year, be kind.

God loves you and so do I.

-XO

Today, I cry.

The bible says that God makes no mistakes, bringing people and experiences in your life to fulfill destinies. Maybe, even if it’s miniscule, every relationship that crosses your path has meaning and purpose. For years, I had a hard time understanding why I’ve experienced so much pain and hardship. Having to bear through tragedies that each have tried to deteriorate me into nothing but in the interim, created a beast that is indestructible. It is an oxymoron that has seemed to be a reoccurring act in this production I call my life.

When I was 16 years old I met the most broken kid I’ve ever met to this day and fell in love with his wounds. From that day forward there has been a part of me chasing to fix those imperfections, mentally and physically draining myself of all my energy to fix his inner child. The little boy who yearned to be loved so badly. The little boy who was abandoned by his parents. The little boy who never got what he deserved. At the time, I never realized how incredibly strong he was forced to be. I have been torn apart my adult life, forced to see the world through the eyes of a traumatized woman. He had been torn apart during his childhood, forced to see the world through the eyes of a traumatized child. 20 years later, piecing together these rugged edges of glass that has shattered into a million pieces, the finished product is finally visible.

Maybe my purpose in his life was to make him better through his generations. Maybe it’s my job to make right what so many people in his life made wrong. Maybe he was never given a chance so our son can have them all.

I’ve had a fog over my eyes since he came into my life, somehow never seeing how strong I’ve been because I couldn’t save him. Despite all of my wins, he was always the loss that I couldn’t get past. I held on to the thought that I couldn’t save him from his pain and his pain became mine. Slowly after the years passed, I watched as they became my sons.

I’ve always known who I was and where I came from. Comfortable in the skin of just knowing the basics of my background. When you’re not offered the space or time to know where you come from, there’s a void that becomes prevalent in the back of your head. It seems like such a small insignificant piece of a person’s life but when you aren’t warranted information from people that genuinely love you, you tend to ruminate on the idea of who you are from your own eyes. Viewing it from a traumatized child’s mind, Alex found comfort in his lies. Now that I look back at it, after years of research into mental health and traumatic stress, he created a world in his mind of who he was and it stuck. Any world outside of his reality was better than what he was handed for a life. Despite how much I loved him or fought to keep him off the streets, the façade he built around this story he portrayed was too deep to walk away from. I know that most people would see criminals as very one sided, evil even, however, we all have very complex layers to us. I was able to see him for the wounded boy he was and I felt lucky to be able to experience that. The rest of the world seen a monster and I seen a victim. There’s power in that.

Today marks 15 years since his murder and I never expected to feel peace. This is a huge part of my life that has been such a difficult space to accept. I never thought I’d feel comfort in my ability to save him but I helped to save our son. Now, somehow, I feel like I am making a difference in his own story. Seeing my baby boy struggle to find his own peace with identity and create a world that he held inside for so long, broke me harder than his father could’ve ever done. Instead of ignoring it, we started asking the right questions. 

Now that our boy is better, on his own journey towards healing and finding his self identity, I’m able to see the similarities in them both. Alex created a character in which he acted on, he brought into the world the same chaos and pain he was presented with for so long. Frank, however, created a character in his head that was trapped. I started to see this new person start to show face and it scared me. The same way I seen Alex in his casket prior to his death was the same way I saw Frank in a penitentiary, lost in his own mind. Both were predictions, one of which I never had control over and blamed myself for. I now had a chance to make right everything in my heart that gave up hope so long ago. In a physical sense, God gave me a chance to heal both of us. Our child is such a perfect mix of who we were when he was born and now I’m wise enough to take care of business and make things right.

15 years ago, a 22 year old broken boy was murdered with his best friend while playing video games in his front room. Today, a 17 year old strong willed, smart and creative boy has found sobriety and the will to live. Today, he has an opportunity to change the entire outcome of his future in such a positive way, to join a program that will guide and encourage him to meet all the dreams he’s ever had and have a chance to live in Downtown Chicago surrounded by greatness. The same company I was working for the day he died. God really knows how to play mysterious games. 

Today I don’t cry for the boy that was left behind but I cry tears of joy for the outcome of our son. I cry because I know without the decisions Alex made, I may have never made it this far. I cry for the young girl who yearned for the love and care of a kid that never experienced love. I cry for the baby I had that never had a chance to know the sweet and funny person his father was. I cry for the life I live now, with the man that made me whole in all the best ways, who pulled me and Frank in his heart and never let go. I cry for my youngest son, who gets to experience life in full without pain, worry or fear. I cry today because I’m human and pain never really goes away from grief. I am no longer crying because I couldn’t save my first love, I cry because I saved our son.

God loves you and so do I,

-XO

Its Genetics.

“She’s battling things her smile will never tell you about.”

A big part of my healing the past few years has been the ability to write and speak freely, despite the fear that has consumed me for years. I’ve preached about vulnerability as if it has saved me, which it has in a sense but how can I heal from this? To be vulnerable, you need comfort in your own ability to explain the situation you’re facing with confidence. Without confidence, it’s hard to touch on subjects you’re still uneasy about. I’m extremely unsure and uneasy about my future at the moment, a feeling I’ve never felt before. I’ve never doubted my ability to get through anything, so now that I question myself on the daily, it leaves me extremely anxious.

While mental health has seen a rise in notoriety with more and more famous and not so famous people admitting to their unseen struggles, myself included, there still are so many unanswered questions that are still unknown. Physical ailments are a lot easier to recognize when you’re able to see a person in pain so when you see a person who on the outside seems like they have it all together and smile as if they are okay, perception is, they are okay. I smile a lot but I’m not okay. I smile to make other people feel comfortable, I joke to make other people laugh and I genuinely enjoy the feeling of bringing happiness to other people, despite my brain telling me constantly that I am not doing enough. I’ve had people tell me that I have inspired them on different occasions because of how vulnerable I've been with my own mental health struggles but how do I find inspiration for myself when it’s my child that is now struggling and experiencing symptoms beyond my reach of help.

Historically, the only explanation for mental health problems is “genetics” and there will never be a part of me that doesn’t blame my own bloodline for the struggles my son is facing right now. I’ve always struggled with my own abilities as a mother and the space that I have to accept that as long as I am trying my hardest, I am doing my best. What happens when your best isn’t good enough? Despite the work you’re putting in to make the best decisions possible, it still misses the mark. As someone who thrives on making people happy, my sons reaction to push me farther away is extremely difficult. I’m walking on a thin ledge of the unknown, not wanting to make things worse and still wanting to help more. Having to make decisions that I hate, to support my sons well being. I want to feel confident in my capacity to make the right move but when you can’t pinpoint an issue, its hard to have faith without conviction.

Unfortunately, I was raised in an environment where mental health was more of a personal struggle rather than an actual ailment. The generations before me barely went to the doctor for anything serious, let alone maintenance for issues that can’t even be seen. It’s like an unspoken fact that Mexicans DO NOT like the doctor. Whether going to a checkup or facing surgery, the fear and anguish is all the same. Again, the “unknown.” Before you go to a doctor you’re fine, then suddenly, in a single moment, your life can change forever. A year ago after one of the worst manic episodes I’ve ever experienced, right after my dad went home, my long time therapist brought up that she’d been toying with the idea that I may be Bipolar II. The information felt like a train hitting me at full speed and while I was still coming down from my episode. I hit a tailspin into information and TikToks with #bipolarII, ruminating on how this title just ultimately ruined my life. Automatically, I was self diagnosed by Google and had a list of every reason why I had this all along yet immediately ran in the opposite direction. I worked really hard to manage my PTSD, which I had a chance to blame on traumatic events in my life. This however, was genetics.

This was the perfect time to recognize that a lot of my mother’s side of the family dealt with different issues. My grandfather was an alcoholic who was literally the sweetest soul on earth. It sounds like such an oxymoron but I can relate to the humanity of my late grandfather. Despite his struggles, he thrived in public forums. Always happy and funny, his alcoholism was never in the forefront of my memories because he strived to make others happy, even if he was miserable inside. All 3 of his sons ended up having their own substance abuse problems, eventually to all become sober after their addictions ravaged through their early lives in such a horrible way. All of my uncles are sober over 30 years, my generation, however, is a tad different.

The first generation to actually dig deep. The 27 grand kids that came from 9 very opinionated and overwhelmingly emotional beings, that came from 2 very complex and nonconforming socialites. All very different in our own ways, we were the first to seek help for the extreme depression, addictive personalities and mania that have plagued us since we were kids. A number of us after seeking professional help have been diagnosed with a slue of different titles that would scare anyone. Hearing a diagnosis that you really can’t pinpoint to any single thing or person because nobody did the work prior, is so incredibly brave. While everything is a work in progress and nothing changes immediately, our addictive personalities can be a downfall. Alcohol just does not work well for us. Unfortunately, not all of us have learned from our ancestors.

By all means, I don’t want to blame my current situation on my genetics but I do want to acknowledge the consistencies that I’ve seen over the years with those that share my bloodline. Not to mention, I can’t definitively say that the gene that my son has did not come from his father. Again, because our culture didn’t go to seek help, I am now left with so many unanswered questions in regards to my son. 

Right now, my future is unknown. The thought of having to sacrifice the career I’ve worked so hard for to take care of my son really is a scary thought but if that’s what it takes to meet the needs of my kid, I’m willing to give it all up. If it means that I have to spend every dollar I have to find the right treatment to get my son stable, that’s what I’ll have to do. If I have to take every verbal beating, every bout of insomnia, or every manic tantrum, that is what I’m going to do. 

My heart right now hurts harder than I’ve ever experienced. I’ve had to work really hard to keep an optimistic mindset. Actively being overly positive knowing that at any moment, my depression can take over. Right now, I am not optimistic or positive. I am hurting, really really bad. Not only am I watching my child’s mind change, I’m also watching my father’s health deteriorate. This time has pulled me back into a very strange and uneasy place, a place that I thought I had control of. After my therapist gave me that title a year ago, I ran so far away to prove that I was capable of not letting my mania turn me towards the chaos I chased for so long. During the time without her I tried new things, started praying the rosary daily, significantly decreased my alcohol intake, saved thousands with discernment and grew my business to a valuable additional source of income. All of that did not prepare me for the heartbreak I feel right now. I haven’t thought about suicide in a long time yet all of a sudden, here it is right in my face telling me that life would be better if I wasn’t here. I hate watching the people I love most suffer and there’s nothing I can do right now to make it all better. I’m the one my family relies on for help. I’m the one my friends lean on for support. I’m the person people look up to for positive vibes. I’m the mentor and leader that helps my community. Yet here I am, feeling completely alone. 

Triggered. Time to call my girl.

That is the power of therapy. Had I not put in the work these last 8 years, maybe I wouldn’t have been able to write this. Maybe I would have ran away like I always have, flying to a faraway destination and drowning myself in debt and alcohol. Maybe I would’ve jumped back into hard drugs, something that I only did when I was extremely depressed. Maybe I would’ve spent all my savings on a shopping spree at Niemann Marcus solely because I could, not because I wanted to. Maybe I would have followed my brain to swallow a bottle of pills, despite knowing that my mind is a liar. But I didn’t, I called my therapist.

Sometimes we over analyze the things we have to work on, so much so that we are forgetting the things we’ve already conquered. Yes, life is kind of miserable for me right now BUT I am NOT who I was when I started my journey. Whether anyone else sees it, I KNOW IT. I am a woman who is putting her family and community first, regardless of the hardships I am facing. I am no longer accepting any opinion that says otherwise, whether you see my growth or not, I have been a pillar in my family that has taken control of every trial and tribulation that has came my way. 

And I will continue that. One day at a time.

God loves you and so do I.

-XO

The Island

I left my childhood early to raise a child of my own

With doubts of anguish and brindled fear to build a happy home

My age had always been a curse with eyes of unyielding doubt

But no one was more scared than me while leading down this route

The sea was filled with sorrow & the ghosts that haunted my past

I watched as boats just sailed on by, with you hanging on my back

The route to peace was choppy as I swallowed the pain deep down

I held it all inside so long, worried you’d see my frown

I made it look so easy, never wanted you to fear

But mom was just an inch away from no longer being here

We made it to the shore in time for me to catch my wind

But the journey had defeated me, it led me deep in sin.

Here I thought the worst was done as we made it to the shore

Just to find it’s just begun and I’m bound for so much more

I’ve learned a lot along the way but in time I guess we’ll see

If the struggle I endured so long will bear my hearts defeat

I’m no longer who I was but Lord knows I’ve tried

To be a mom you can be proud of to see the benefit of my lies

I lied so I can save you, away from the hurt and pain

I’ve seen enough for both of us, it lingers everyday

I work my smile to the bone so you don’t see my tears

Yet those tears are taken for granted as you get older every year

The love I have for you is solid, its passion will never fade

A sun who provides endless light and a tree with endless shade

I know my mind starts wandering & I act out with rage

It’s only cuz my love is pure, this job I’ll never trade

So as we lay here stranded on this island of despair

Always know I’m here for you, any hurdle, everywhere.

Daddys Little Worker

Booker T. Washington once said, “Nothing ever comes to one, that is worth having, except as a result of hard work.” Hard work had always been a verb in the home I grew up in, not just a phrase but an action in which we all were accustomed to. From an early age I knew that I had to work hard for what I wanted, whether that was a good grade or a career, life without work wasn’t worth having.

My father was the hardest working person I have ever met. I watched as he worked his way up the ranks as a maintenance mechanic, eventually managing subordinates as an assistant to the director of maintenance at Columbia College. He spent his weekends dragging along my sister and I to his many loyal side job customers at local restaurants and family homes around the Chicagoland area. Despite his busy schedule, I never felt as if I was missing any time with my father. Here he was, this incredible figure that worked full time, had a side hustle and was the lead singer of a legendary punk rock group that shed light on the devastation of the steel industry and gave a face to the thousands of workers that were left to rebuild through the ashes. He is the epitome of what I seen as successful, a family man with a rockstar soul. Everything I know myself to be has been built off of his personal view of the world. After his first slip and fall accident in 2005, I watched him suffer the loss of his dream job at the Illinois Institute of Technology because he suffered a freak accident during his 3 month hiring probation. With no steady paycheck and a neck brace required for healing, he pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket and said to me, “no matter what happens to your dad, I’ll never go without.” That is a memory that has been embedded in my brain ever since and will always be one of my favorite moments with my dad.

My mother, in her own right, has the most unfiltered brawn I’ve ever seen in a woman. Regardless of any comfort my father may have provided for the home she ALWAYS held a full time job of her own, at one point making more than my dad did as a liquor store clerk. Since my sister and I were little she would instruct us to never rely on a man to take care of us, that having your own money and your own identity was key to living prosperously. She married a great man that worshiped the floor she walked on and she’s still telling her 6 year old daughter the importance of having her own. I’ve always respected the space that my mother held in the home, never afraid to get her hands dirty and always willing to put up a fight for what she believed in. She always believed in my father but she relentlessly believed in herself and knew the foundation that she laid to make sure everything worked smoothly in our home. Lets just say that if my father would have ever made the mistake of putting his hands on my mom (which he never would dare), 1000% my money would be on my mother.

Growing up in a home that was built off hard work and brawn left me neurotic. I love my parents but I had grown this unrecognized fear of failure. My persistence to win had no room for loss, I excelled in my studies, in piano, in sports & at home. I made sure to be the perfect example of what they expected. By the age of 14 I had knabbed my first paying job, helping to serve food at a local banquet hall where my dad was their handy man. Before I was 16, I walked up and down 106th street applying to local businesses to get my first interview at Jewel/Osco a mere days after my 16th birthday. Even after I went rogue and became “bad,” I always held a job. I was living from place to place, still taking the bus from Lansing to South Chicago to maintain my work status. Work was all that mattered. When I got pregnant with my oldest son, a big part of who I was in my parents eyes was dead but somehow, I believed that a hard working mentality could get me back on track and far away from any statistic that loomed over my head as a new single mom.

So I worked. I worked persistently and without waiver. As my dad always said, one job got me another. I went from a bagger to telemarketer, a Claire’s shift lead to a data entry clerk, a cashier to an assistant manager, a bank teller to an office assistant, eventually leading me to an entry level legal assistant position to a single practice lawyer that lead me to be a third shift coordinator in document services for the biggest law firm in the world. My lowest of lows led me to jobs others would be ashamed of, a seasonal worker at Party City selling costumes for Halloween and even a liquor store clerk in one of the hardest neighborhoods in Gary, Indiana. When I tell you that I am relentless, there is nothing or nobody that can stop me from making a living and taking care of mine. The goal has always been to climb the corporate ladder and become the ultimate boss at any cost. Throughout those years, I paid a heavy price at the hands of my home.

I wish I could say that becoming a mother made me more attentive but it created more of a beast. As any other parent would say, I did it for him. Yet selfishly, deep down, I did it for me. Imagine living your entire childhood afraid of failure, just to get pregnant at 18. The pressure was on and I had every intent to show the world that I was not meant to be placed in the same category of so many other teen moms from my neighborhood. If I could just find a way to work harder than everyone else, surely good things would happen.

Fortunately, it did happen but it did not happen in the way I originally thought. Sometimes we have to thank God for not only the things He’s done but for all the things He didn’t do. For instance, back in 2008 after losing my sons father to gun violence, I decided to leave my job as a data entry clerk to go back to school. After Chicago State University lost my transcripts, I was left without a job and rent to pay. I got a recommendation to work at the same liquor store my mom did growing up. I was interviewed for a basic full time cashier position that started me out at $7.25 an hour. As horrifyingly scary as that time of my life was, it set me up for life. That man that I interviewed with ended up being my husband and 14 years later, we’re still together. After having our first son together, I went back to work unknowingly into an abyss of unresolved cases and no money. Literally, none. I started working without worry, unbeknownst to me that I wouldn’t be able to get paid for weeks. I was so loyal to my lawyer, I didn’t ask for anything. I spent 6 weeks unpaid and still showing up daily. After I asked for a “bone” to get me back and forth to work and my boss ignored the request. As a way of being rebellious, I applied for a Legal Assistant Trainee position at the biggest law firm in the world, which gave me 6 weeks of training prior to jumping into the field. They called me in 2 hours, I had hit the jackpot. That move, led me to the role I have now. This space was not expected but has been the biggest career move of my life. All because my boss didn’t pay me $100 that would have kept me in his office for God knows how long.

Shedding light is so nice to do on the winning moments of our lives but my life has been drastically changed by heartache. I lived my early years working endlessly to meet a goal that I didn’t realize was unachievable. The more success I got, the higher the stakes. You get more money and now the money flows faster, to a point where you are chasing the dollar that you thought you caught. We all have this idea that once you hit a certain tax bracket, all of your money problems will be erased. That once you get a certain title, things will be smooth sailing. Sure, I am able to do things I’ve never been able to, travel the world and rock the dopest gear, yet somewhere in between all the chaos I felt a pull for change. Like a car, as we run our course wear and tear needs maintenance. You keep driving without oil changes & tire rotations, you’re going to break down.

Here I was, working on the executive floor in the headquarters of the biggest law firm by revenue in the world. I was assisting 8 corporate attorneys & backing up 2 other assistants with an additional 15 attorneys should my coworkers take a day off. Due to the hierarchy of the floor I sat on, I was passing halls with some of the most prestigious attorneys in the world. Walking into offices that had signed ‘Make America Great Again’ hats & personalized photos with the Dalai Lama & Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Men and women who had so many accolades, between their educational accomplishments and hefty million dollar a year salaries, a lot of them looked miserable. Barely spending times with their families and billing 20 hours a day, 7 days a week. As I watched these people grind to meet their goals I noticed how my original views on success changed. To the naked eye their lives seemed desirable, yet under the surface as I am running their daily errands or picking up an anniversary gift for their wives, you realize how important it is to hold onto what gives you peace. I was overworked, stressed beyond belief and desperately wanted out of this machine I worked so hard to be apart of. Starting my day at 6 am, out the house at 7:50, hour train to downtown, 2 mile walk to the office, work 9 to 5, 2 mile walk back to the station, 1 hour train ride home (if I was lucky there were no delays), and drive from the station back home. If I was lucky enough I’d make it home by 6:30pm, just in time for my baby’s bath time in prep for sleep. Out of a 24 hour day, I’d have 2 solid hours with my restless baby. Should I want a workout in, the minutes dwindled down even more. My life was dedicated to high paid, incredibly successful workaholics as my family waited patiently for quality time.

One day, my boss had a meeting for all legal secretaries and announced that the document services department were looking for after-hours operators to help with overnight document requests. The job would be Tuesday thru Saturday from 12 am to 7 am in the morning. Since it was a special shift there was incentive with not having to take a lunch and technically only working 35 hours to meet full time requirements. I thought about how my life had been fully immersed in corporate life and saw a way out without leaving this company I loved. It was time to sacrifice the life I’ve always wanted for the life I truly needed and after months of debate, prayer and discussion I decided to take that leap. 

Leap I did into a life nobody quite understands. I literally went to the “dark side” working graveyard shifts in an office setting, a job people question on a daily. I went from working smack dab in the middle of the highest executives to working in jeans along side a group of amazing women who were sacrificing their sleep for extra time with their families. As unappealing as that may seem to others, it provided a space for me to see life in a different light, making great money while also having a life of my own. Sure it wasn’t glamourous but finally I was given a chance to make right the years of overworking and self loathing I felt making boss moves over spending time with my children. That is the worst sacrifice working moms deal with, the guilt of working hard at the price of broken memories with their families. I never reduced the special job requirements of stay-at-home moms because I have always chosen to work but that guilt is gut wrenching. No longer were the days of overworking to find a way to the means, it was time to sleep while my kids were at school and make dinner by 4:30, a simple but incredibly powerful luxury I wasn’t offered until now. Working in the office 5 days a week at night was still so much more time easing than any job I had prior to this moment. 

Then came the pandemic. March 15, 2020 the world started shutting down as work-from-home programming built itself up. My company started sending home equipment for our team to operate from our home turf and an entire generation of free thinkers began. While Covid-19 was extremely difficult in so many ways it gave millions of workers the opportunity to find balance at home and at work. Productivity was up and so was individual value. It was the workers chance to find their space out of the office and in the comfort of their own homes. The taste of freedom within my own walls gave me power to see success in other ways. I sacrificed my Saturday nights to work 4 days instead of 5, a schedule that proved my loyalty to become the coordinator I am now, working Monday through Thursday and enjoying my weekends in leisure. Thankfully due to my shift I have been working from home ever since. 

As my interest in corporate climbing dwindled, a single moment changed my ideals for good. The hardest worker in the world fell. It’s been a year and a half since dad’s accident and the hardest pill to swallow is knowing he never had a chance to relax.  He worked from the time he was 8 years old, shining the shoes of the hard working men ending their shifts at Wisconsin Steel and ending his career at Columbia College as second in command for their Maintenance Department at a mere 56 years old. His dreams of retiring in his birthplace of Jamay, Jalisco were done in a matter of seconds. The hardest working man I’ve ever met in my life, was down. Now it became my chance to work for him. 

While it may not be the storybook ending he hoped for, this isn’t a story of good and bad. This is a story of reflection, how a daughter rose up to see that success is not based off awards or accolades but of happiness and peace. The sacrifices that a young father made 36 years ago for the sake of his daughters that have paved the way for me to speak on resilience now. The inspiration my father has given me did not stop the day he fell. His hard work is still prevalent in the strength he holds daily as a now quadriplegic disabled man. He still speaks on the importance of work and constantly praises my ethics, a trait that descended directly from him. Although his body may not be what it was, his wisdom stays active within all of us. THAT is my new vision of success.

Hashtag, Me Too.

It’s amazing how the mind works. How time and experience remolds memories from your past that you have ever so quietly tucked away in the deepest corner of your closet. I have spent the last 8 years reorganizing that closet and there’s one experience that I have intentionally left dusty in the corner. It’s easy to clean up the chaos you feel has been placed upon you by others but the chaos you feel has been placed on your own, continues to pile up and gain grime. I admit, the vulnerability that I have made available to my readers has been empowering but there are still moments in my life that have not sat well in my heart.

Among the many skeletons that the world most recently uncovered about the ugly truth of our reality, sexual assault has been a trailblazer to uncover a mask that has plagued society for centuries. #MeToo became trendy after a number of high profile millionaires were called out for sexually assaulting women into quid quo pro advances that made headlines in 2017. Despite the sudden blast of intimate and horrific details of abuse at the hands of these well known actors and businessmen and the trickle of information coming from people I knew and loved myself, it never clicked. That’s how deep this scar tore down to my soul. I identified my rape as a one night stand for almost 12 years because I was too embarrassed to accept the reality of my assault, a blame I held for so long as fault of my own. I trusted in a person I thought was my friend, who played on one of my biggest insecurities at the time and used that to coheres me into a bathroom so her friend could rape me on the floor.

I have never considered myself a victim. I was the person who would stick up for those who had no voice to speak up. I was the friend that was intentional with my words, without fear or anguish. I was the one people came to for advice and comfort. That night, however, I was the little girl who was just violated on a bar bathroom floor and walked away from it with no emotion at all. I played it off so well, I didn’t even make it known to the other group of girls I had gone there with. I was so embarrassed, I never even mentioned it to “my friend” who walked out of the washroom as my rapist entered without word. I blocked everything out the moment I got up off that floor. Never looking back. To this day, I have no idea who that man was, even after he lingered around our group for hours after my assault. I was highly intoxicated, I had willingly entered that bathroom and I was embarrassed of the outcome.

Eventually, as it played out, I ended the friendships I had with each of the people I attended that local neighborhood bar with. For one reason or another, I now hold no ties to any of them. Yet, this has never been a topic of any of my conversations or our falling out. How could I have been in such a horrible space to not feel comfortable opening up to someone at the time? How could I have been so naïve to not recognize the space I was in and allowing this horrible moment of my life to become a burden of self hatred for so many years? HOW DID I JUST LEAVE THIS ALONE?

The answer is survival. I hated myself so much after this happened to me. The definition of embarrassment is an emotional state that is associated with mild to severe levels of discomfort, and which is usually experienced when someone commits a socially unacceptable or frowned-upon act that is witnessed by or revealed to others. This unfortunate circumstance was so embarrassing, not because the whole world knew about my shortcomings but because I KNEW I did nothing to protect myself. I stood complacent for years after, with people I didn’t even feel comfortable telling that I was victim of rape. I allowed the only person that knew about this to stay in my life without consequence or even an apology. I was so uneasy with humiliation that I held not one person accountable for this, except myself. For the first time in my life, I felt weak and damaged. It never showed face in the light but deep down in the dark, I was raging.

Growing up, my mother was never quiet about her experiences with dangerous men. She had a number of scares while hitchhiking in the 70’s, including a run in with John Wayne Gacy who picked her up after being stranded by her friends at the Congress Theatre. At the time, she had ditched her long locks and opted for a short pixie haircut, a trait she knows was reasoning behind him stopping. Thankfully his kink for young men was derailed after he noticed she was in fact a woman and he dropped her off safely at my godfathers home in South Chicago. She was fortunate enough to still be alive after one of the world’s most notorious serial killers flashed around every news broadcast in the nation, showing the same big bodied blue Cadillac that stopped to pick her up in Logan Square months earlier. As luck may have it, it was only a mere 3 years later, while pregnant with my sister, that she was forced by knife point into an abandoned building and raped by an assailant who told her he’d kill her if she made any noise. Her calm nature and pleas made him feel comfortable enough to let her go, not before letting her know that he’d killed a store clerk earlier that day. My mother’s strength and resilience had always made me feel a little more conscious of situations that may be harmful to me. I felt I had the knowledge and tools I needed to protect myself in high stress level situations. Sure, her resilience has been shown in me throughout other horrible experiences in my life but for the first time, my silence became my only source of defense AND I WAS ASHAMED.

Silence saved me from the judgment of the world but nothing could have saved me from the ruminating thoughts of my mind. I was stuck with the idea that the access that was given to this man, despite the role this “friend” had given him, was all on me. A few years after this happened, I hadn’t spoken to anyone about it. My now husband and I had a conversation about past relationships and I told him about my “one night stand” that happened in a bar bathroom less than a year before we met. Even after repeating how I didn’t know his name and spoke through the embarrassment of my own words, it never clicked to me that I was a victim. I graciously sugar coated the single most gut wrenching moment of my life, placing all the blame on my own misfortune. How sorry I now feel for who I was during that conversation, a mere shadow of the fearless woman I am today. More focused on saving the reputations of people that violated my trust, that I would demolish the reputation of myself. He stood quiet in shock for a while, careful not to place blame on me but also gave me the space I needed to tell my story.

It took me 11 years to ever speak of this again. Even after 6 solid years of therapy with a woman I trusted wholeheartedly, it never came out. I tucked this away in my closet so deep behind the mess of the rest of my life, I never gave myself the compassion I so desperately needed. The very first session I had with my therapist, I gave room for every hardship that had hit me thus far. My robberies, the loss of my cousin, my substance abuse, my mother, my anxieties, my insomnia, and most of all the thought in my head that I was unable to hold any promising relationships with people. because I was that “messed up” and miraculously none of this prompted a discussion of the rape I experienced in 2008. I was diagnosed with PTSD and my therapist didn’t even hear once about this incident. It took a very vulnerable conversation with a close friend, who shared with me her own abuse story, for me to realize that I had been mistreated. 12 years had passed and that was the first time I had felt sorry for what happened to me and that was the very first time I had ever shed a tear over the matter. Releasing the angst of resentment and guilt is one of the most powerful feelings in the world. I had blocked this out of my brain so long, I didn’t even recognize the misery and overly cautious nature I had developed over the years. We cried together for hours, something that felt so essential to our growth as individuals. I needed to finally feel mercy and sympathy for that young inexperienced girl who got up off that floor and acted as if she was okay. This one discussion led to other open conversations, with my therapist, with my sister, with other trusted friends, with my husband and with my oldest son. Todd admitted that when I first told him about what happened to me, he knew it wasn’t my fault but couldn’t bare to throw a dagger farther into the stone cold nonchalant nature of my attitude at the time. Letting out the details of my account and what I remembered to my therapist, further confirmed that I was not only raped but set up. No actual friend of mine would have allowed this to happen to me and who knows what sort of pleasure she got in knowing I was in there, helpless and alone.

Now the real question begins, how do I let go of something I’ll never be able to get full closure on? I’ve asked myself this question several times since I’ve come to terms with my sexual assault. I thought that blasting my perpetrator on social media would do me justice, that all my problems would go away if the world put a face to my story and for some reason, I recently had been contemplating on writing this passage. Something in my heart made me desperately mad and instead of dwelling on all the things wrong with this picture I stopped and prayed the rosary. God has shown me that although my silence has saved the reputation of others, it will not have a place in my heart anymore. I had no idea why I had even thought about this incident after another 2 years of being placed on my backburner but a few days after, I seen. Right now, my vulnerability has helped me to help others. The life I have built outside of my own misfortunes is admirable because I am willing to show my own face in despair than to put light towards the darkness of others. I refuse to make a platform for anyone to stand on to refute the actions taken against me, I don’t need an apology nor do I care for any conversations to rectify the motives of people that were never my friends to begin with. What I did need, was to face the evil that wronged me. I was placed in a room recently that I had a chance to show the best parts of myself and guess who showed face?! You know what I did? I continued to speak on the work God has planted me on this earth to do. I continued to speak on the lives I am planning on changing despite the evil that had been placed before me. I showed up and I showed out on every last single piece of hatred I had in my heart because at the end of the day, THAT SILENCE WAS MORE POWERFUL THAN ANY ANGER I’VE EVER FELT. God hates ugly and I decided at that moment she did not deserve to see my ugly, she deserved to see my peace.

I am no longer suffering in the silence that has left me blaming that child for the last 14 years of my life. I don’t want it anymore. I don’t wish to become the victim or to use this message as a way to get revenge, I just want to let it go. It doesn’t live in my closet anymore and I pray wholeheartedly that this helps you to clean out yours.

God loves you and so do I,

-XO

It ends with me.

Growing up in pessimistic surroundings imprints a dark aura around success. Almost as if it is something you don’t deserve, a hard truth to break if you want to believe you’re worthy. That mindset has to be built, the ability to believe in your potential is a hard concept to hold onto when everything and everyone around you has been brought up to believe it’s unattainable. However, where my own confidence has lacked I have made up for through faith. I know, undeniably, that my faith has broken down barriers that could have kept me stuck in the same rotation of struggle and distress. One thing I refuse to do, is allow that pessimism to pass through the lens of my children because they do deserve better.

Standing alone is scary. Sometimes it is easy to just follow along with the crowd instead of creating your own path. Smooth roads aren’t always the smartest route, its predictable and safe but it also leaves so much room for human error. When you’re not on your toes, things become complacent. Easy, even. When things feel easy and without challenge, you get comfortable thinking you know everything. That is exactly when you take your eyes off the road. The rocky road, however, may throw you out of your comfort zone but you keep your hands on the wheel at all times and focus on the destination. You may have to work harder and maybe fear your life for a while but the feeling you get using your mind and body to its max potential, is indescribable. I took a road that others around me feared and I came out on top, despite the terror the journey took me through.

At times I feel as if my journey has been a blessing and a curse. I have learned to survive on my own will, pushed by faith and grace. Where it has made me stronger as an individual it has pushed me so far from who I was when I started. I have had to break emotional ties with people I loved, to make my dreams a reality. I knew that if I stayed on that clear path my life would not change. Sure, I had the support of others to be just like them, to feel comfortable in the crowd and have the support I always wanted but the second I chose to go off path I was abandoned. As much as I tried to prove that I was worthy and valuable, the clear path rejected me. I was different now, my wounds cut deeper. I had to stay motivated and train my mind to accept the road God lead me on, with only Him by my side. The pessimism of the crowd turned on me and all of a sudden, I was opposed. Making all my realities bitter sweet. It turned my accomplishments and success sour because the crowd was pissed I left them.

Had I known the effects of my route I may have never left. The resentment I feel from those that I love has killed me harder than anyone can understand. I never wanted to leave the crowd, I just wanted to prove that it was possible to make things happen. I’ve realized how important the support of those I left behind meant to me but I cannot ignore the reaction my moves have caused. A lack of understanding and a handful of ignorance has transformed me to the enemy. I am now the white collar in a blue collar neighborhood. I am in the corner office while the others work in the factory. Regardless of the time I spent in that same factory, hustling to make ends meet, struggling to figure out my next meals, working overtime on holidays and birthdays so I can be where I am, it means nothing. The days and nights I spent away from my child to give him the life he deserved were in vain to those that stood comfortable in their own lane. As hard as I have tried to be a beacon of hope to the people I care about, I became the villain. I’ve struggled with the thought of losing sight of who I am at the core but I refuse to be the punching bag that accepts passive aggressiveness because the color of my collar has changed. Today is where the mindset that a girl like me doesn’t deserve what I have because it was never mine to begin with DIES. Today I become the woman who fought my way from the gutter to the corner office, through grit, determination, hard work and faith. If that offends you, go fuck yourself.

The road less traveled has led me down some dark and weary roads. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to turn around, never realizing that being lost helped my voyage. When nobody else is around to guide you, you’re forced to find your own way. I never wanted to complete this mission on my own, I always had the idea that once I had enough I’d be able to come back for others. Direct them through the same paths I crossed without the horror of being alone. I came realize, some people don’t want to go the extra mile and never will. It’s easier to point fingers at what is wrong with the white collar than to educate themselves on the title. With status, comes responsibility. With more on the line, there is way more to lose. I cannot drop my own ball in hopes to help someone who wants to stay on the bench. It is not my duty to manipulate the minds of those who don’t want to learn. It is also not my responsibility to hold or accept their insecurities about my success on my shoulders. My job is to encourage and inspire those who encourage and inspire me. My kids and my husband deserve a leader who is not afraid of walking alone in the darkness, so they can feel safe and secure in the light. They are the only people that I owe my all to.

Finding solace in an unknown space is terrifying. The more I learn the more I feel out of place but that does not mean that I don’t deserve to be seen in that room. My time, energy and wisdom are valuable and I refuse to give anything else to anyone who cannot support that. I am sick of feeling less than or mocked because I have done well for myself. I can no longer hold onto any of the generational pessimistic ideals of those that lived before me. So feel free to beat me down, take everything I have, and find glory in my downfall but I promise you, I will get up again. Say goodbye to the little girl who yearned for love and support and say hello to the woman who doesn’t need it anymore. Find me on the wayward path, detecting my own way and making room for those who want to follow. I am still the girl who couldn’t afford to keep her heat on during the winter. I am still the girl who was tied up and pistol whipped in her own home. I am still the girl who cried for help when nobody came to my rescue. I am still the girl who got up, despite the world that weighed her down. I am the woman who has helped people find solace in their trauma. I am the woman who cared for her ailing father while kissing her kids wounds. I am the woman who became an Executive Board Member at 35 years old. I am the woman who is working towards making the world a better place, though love. I am the woman that made my house a home. I am the woman who is breaking generational curses and showing my future grandkids that anything is possible with faith. I am the woman who ends this battle now.

No more apologies.

God loves you and so do I,
- XO

The smell of roses.

I threw myself into a box that I am not prepared to sit in. How long have I been believing in the narrative that leaves my future in others hands? I’ve woken up and smelled the roses and I feel like a fraud.

I’ve been hardwired by my words. This optimism that made me feel like I was in control, measured by a successful lifestyle that was never mine to begin with. From the ashes of my old neighborhood I put soot in a pot and then bloomed. This resilience that had been passed down through generations of broad shouldered no bullshit women. Fake it till you fucking make it. Building layers of anguish and regret that has protected me from the world while slowly imprisoning myself inside. I believed what the world told me was good and now I just don’t care anymore.

Self-reliance can be such a strong attribute, after a while that gets really old. Sure, I’ve been through some horrible things and made the best out of every situation but I am tired of accepting that I have to give my all to get what I want. The thought that if I work really hard to be the best possible me, the more everyone would like me and support what I do. It’s just not true. Honestly, I am not the person who wants to sacrifice sleep and overwork myself to oblivion without reward. I want to rest. I am no longer accepting titles that don’t align with who I am at the core. I don’t want to be resilient, I want to be relaxed. I don’t want to be fire, I need to be ice.

When you grow up surrounded by pessimism, you’re programmed to believe that certain things aren’t meant for you. Laboring into a life that makes you feel like unless you’re aggressive with your attitude and fierce with your actions, you’ll never amount to anything. You start allowing in people that you feel may progress you to the next level, educating yourself with all the explanations for your troubles and believing the lies that are told. I’d accepted that my past had created a clutch for me that explained my mental health issues. That was who I was, all I could do was maintain it but it would always be mine.

Not anymore.

After 7 years of dedicated time with my dear therapist, I have decided to part ways. Mania has been a reoccurring trend of mine for years. These impulse urges of extremely highs and the lowest of lows. My fathers accident seemed to push my episodes back a few months. I was so consumed and busy with his health, the well being of my own family & taking the responsibility of maintaining my fathers life as a whole. At a moment I had felt I was on a good routine, another humans affairs were plopped on my lap. I had no time to worry about the ups and downs of my manic depression, I only had time to worry about the task at hand. 2 months in the hospital, 4 months at my home & we finally got my dad back into my childhood home and away from my every single waking moment. My emotions settled in. I made every excuse possible for this mania and I made it who I was. Fuck everything I just worked so hard for; a daughter who sacrificed her world to care for her ailing father, YOURE OBLIGATED TO DO THAT. YOU HAD NO CHOICE. ITS ANOTHER THING TO MARK OFF AS THINGS YOUVE DONE. IT DOESN’T DESERVE PRAISE. ITS TIME TO MOVE ON. WORK WORK WORK. HUSTLE HUSTLE HUSTLE. IMPULSE DECISIONS. YOU CANT LET THEM SEE YOU FROWN. It’s my mental health. I’ll get through this. I’m just having a manic episode. You’re fine.

In the years I’ve been seeing her, she’s given me assurance. She’s let me rage and bring me back down to earth with her tone. Throughout the accident she worked through what scared her about this situation and how she knew the mania would only get worse. When dad left and it popped off, she told me she could recommend me to a psychologist who is good with prescribing low doses of antidepressants to help regulate the emotions and get me on the right path. For the very first time she toiled with the fact that for the last few years she has been on the fence as to whether or not I was Bipolar 2. She never diagnosed it because I had always found myself back, until now. *silent pause..

That’s all I really heard. My mind automatically wanted to look up every last book and article I can on Bipolar 2, run to TikTok and type in #Bipolar2 to find a new community to indulge myself under. Made it automatically apart of who I was because it explained everything about me and where I come from and the trauma that has been passed down from generation to generation in the community I was raised in.

After I denied any recommendations for any pill popping doctor, I mentioned thinking about starting martial arts to help with regulating my adrenaline. Trying to release the energy in a positive way without the need for pills. I had went all this time thinking my past trauma was behind my angst and now a new diagnosis rocked my world and told me I needed drugs to be better. We ended the conversation casually, without any tension at all. I was submissive to be respectful to her but I wasn’t respecting myself in the process.

It only took a few minutes for me to request a free class at a local jujitsu gym. I walked in the next day with absolutely no idea what I was getting into. I didn’t do much research, psych myself out by infesting my mind with reasons why I couldn’t perform. I jumped in, head first, without a vest. That was the first time in 7 years that I had been troubled instead of uplifted after a session. I was pissed. Perfect reason to want to fight.

I jumped in that pool for all the wrong reasons, to prove that I can add another thing to my plate and have it help me internally. To prove that the years I spent working on my trauma had been worth it. The fact that this lady did not just take me back some years and I didn’t call her on her shit like the woman I was raised to be. YOU COWERED IN THE CORNER.

5 minutes on the clock. Hand shake then fist bump. GO.

Automatically I am in the moment. Working my strength to pin down my opponent, a sweet girl named Sydney in her early 20’s who has been fighting consistently for the past few years. I couldn’t even finish the round and I tap out for energy twice through the 5 minutes but my power was evident. My first roll was all I needed to feel powerful again. My heart was pumping out of my chest & I hear, “Wow, you’re really strong, Have you wrestled before?”

Back in the game.

After rolling with two other males, one close to 250 pounds, I knew that I was hooked. I walked out of that building feeling so confident in myself, in the moment I felt my strength in a physical form but it felt so mental at the same time. On that mat I can only think about one thing, ME. Everything that I’ve been told is a lie and I refuse to take it any longer.

It was time to start peeling. Peeling back the coating of lies I told myself for years. I had so many excuses handed to me for actions that I needed to repent on. I was duped, hidden behind the ideals and opinions of people who had absolutely no passage to my heart. A title can make or break you, I don’t want the title anymore. I don’t want to be the boss. I don’t want to lead the troupes. I don’t want to be the savior. I just want to rest. Peeling is extremely hard when you’ve been groomed to think these attributes make you real or strong. I’ve held what I’ve learned with more esteem than how I feel for way too long. I don’t want to find out the answer. I need to sit down and smell the roses.

Faith is an interesting concept. I don’t want to be a catalyst for any ideals, it’s not my place to intertwine myself with the emotions of others. My job today isn’t to lead whoever reads this into any direction because at this point I DO NOT WANT THE JOB. I’m here as a student. I can’t tell you what the future holds because I don’t want to predict it. Whether or not you have faith towards any higher power or not, at a certain point I had to throw it all up to nothing else but faith. I couldn’t hold onto it anymore. My walls had been weighing me down because I thought what I needed to hear was encouragement. To believe that I made choices out of survival, instead of humbling myself down and taking accountability for my life. I no longer want a title from a doctor, from a friend, from a family member or social media to dictate my morals, my beliefs and the heart that I hold. I came from a messed up place and I seen a lot of pain but that still gives me no excuse to continue that notion and blame it on my mental health. How can I advocate anything to anyone when I’m not really listening to my instincts. Sometimes we need to hear things we don’t want, to reflect on how to make it better. Not perfect, just better.

I stopped smudging my house. I stopped reading my horoscope. I stopped seeking asylum. I put so much value into items instead listening to my heart. I don’t want to be a victim. I don’t want to be an inspiration. I don’t want to be accepted.

I just want to be.

My heart tells me that I’m starting to forgive myself. God is putting me in places today that the little girl on Avenue H always known were hers. She just grew up and started to believe the narrative of the oppressed and pessimistic. I’m not a victim, I’m a warrior. Anything that I touch, that comes straight from my heart, will turn to gold. I will work in silence to make my life personal. No fringe, ripped at the seams.

I will trust my instinct & never again allow any worldly person or thing try to dictate my mind or control my narrative. I’m sitting backseat to a higher power that loves me and wants me to save my energy. I deserve to sit back and enjoy the ride, whether it’s in a limo or by foot. I have no more baggage and leaving what I don’t need behind.

Just speaking my truth.

God loves you and so do I,

-XO

Everything Happens for a Reason

Everything happens for a reason. That simple phrase that can be so meaningful yet so upsetting at the same time. I am one of those people that have always felt like things are meant to happen a certain way, that it’s not based on luck but purpose. Sure, some things may feel like a random act but somewhere in your journey this very moment was given to you specifically on purpose. Even those bad moments that strike your heart with physical pain when you think of them, are now given purpose in your life.

I recently read the book Greenlights by Matthew McConaughey, where he talks about his journey and how although he had a lot of red lights that had seemed to stop him in his tracks, whether through tragedy or bad luck, it always ended up being a green light in his journey. Lessons to be learned or a unique perspectives to see, maybe even people to meet. When I think about purpose and how much that means to me, I can’t ignore how my past traumas have helped me today. Even though I may sometimes fear the unknown because of them, these moments molded me into my world today and oh how beautiful my world is.

5 months ago today I answered my dads call hearing him speaking in the background saying “I think I broke my neck” before my cousin related the message that my dad fell. Right at that moment, I knew my life would be changed forever. This feeling of serendipity that I had been living in before this moment was lost and the purpose that I once claimed to be mine was gone. 

This fact has been the hardest for me to accept throughout this accident. I had a hard time accepting that everything I thought my life to be was now gone, unknown, and no where near what I planned. Trust me, I had plans and nowhere in those plans did I have any intention of taking care of my father for the rest of my life. Here I am 34 years old in the best physical and mental state I’ve ever been in and my walls come crashing down around me leaving me with no room to move and my phobias and fears surrounding me like boulders that fall from a mountain. Right away I had to embrace my fear of hospitals, the nerves that I’ve always had dealing with healthcare, the trauma left behind from watching my paraplegic grandmother being handled by her dialysis crew nearly 30 years earlier, and a slew of other crazy fears and phobias that I never realized had effected me up until this point. I had never gotten into healthcare over the anxiety I get when I’m around people in pain and hospitals sincerely freak me the fuck out. At that moment I didn’t fully process the full extent of what it was going to take on my behalf to just be there for my dad on a daily basis but I did know that I was scared as hell about it.

So how can that bring me purpose? How can my purpose have me giving up all I knew to care for someone so special to me, completely disregarding myself? I was afraid and confused. It didn’t seem right to me and I wasn’t ready to face my reality. I wasn’t ready to accept my own fate within all of this. As much as I seemed to take this situation with stride, I was really afraid. I was afraid of what I would be after this had taken a toll on me. I was afraid of losing that planned purpose I gave for myself.

That’s the thing, there’s no real planning in life. Not one person in this world knowingly holds the answers to everything. We can’t plan our futures like there aren’t going to be some red lights on the way. One thing is for sure, the light eventually turns green.

After a weekend away for the first time since September, yesterday was the first time I felt genuine happiness. The joy I had held on to and worked on had genuinely left my body for 5 months. For a person who suffers with PTSD and manic depressive episodes, 5 months is an eternity. 5 months of self loathing. 5 months of clear and undeniable anger. 5 months of a degrading attitude that tore me down and spat me out. 5 months of no longer being sure of myself, my purpose and my future. Yes, there had been moments of joy that made me smile or chuckle but I had nothing left to give. I was so thirsty for some sort of sign that I was fulfilling a destiny that was meant for me. That all of this pain, fear, and anxiety was something I was supposed to be going through. A sign that THIS was my story. A sign that never showed face, until I realized it was always there.

Yesterday for the first time, I thanked God for how lucky I was to be able to do this. I thanked him for testing my limits and showing me that my fears were never ever something that I should’ve been afraid of in the first place. The walls that my fears and anxieties have built around me, trying to lock me in, are all gone. I’m meeting my purpose and it’s time for me to shatter the walls and move towards what is meant for me. Never have I thought that this moment of comfort and peace would meet me again after the 5 months of taking care of another human being, let alone someone that helped to create me. Back in the day my dad would always tell me a story about how when he was sick from his colitis and in and out of the hospital, he’d take care of me at home while my mom worked. He really got into soap operas because at the time we didn’t have cable tv and one day while changing me, his distractions from the show left me uncovered in his hand as I pooped directly on his skin. I guess now it’s my time to be pooped on by him and I’m okay with that.

This time has given me so much insight into a world of readiness. My availability to see the light in all things dark. The love, comfort and genuine care I have in my closest friends and family and the effects of realizing some people were never my friends at all. The skills of caretaking and nursing that I once feared, I actually thrive in. My patience to share my home with my parents, after running from their care nearly 16 years ago. The leadership I have to take something horrible, make it mine & still be able to say “I’m doing the best I can.” My strength that had always seemed so unbreakable but has made me as strong as a diamond because nothing or nobody can put fear in me now. My vulnerability to speak about my pain, sorrow and anxieties during a time that I could’ve shut down and stayed mute. My confidence in being comfortable without the hoopla of social acceptance because now I just don’t give a fuck what you think. 

Now is a time for the 5 months of pain, fear, pressure, & unhappiness to take me somewhere I’m not planning anymore. A place that I’m unaware of but not fearing. A place that has an abundance of unlimited freedom, no longer being controlled by doubt. A place that makes me feel happy, something I took for granted before. 

I’m ready for it. No limits. 

My search for meaning, is over.

God loves you and so do I,

-XO 

Blinded

As human beings I really think that the set way for us to deal with our problems is to avoid them altogether. We naturally run away or block our emotions so we can handle the everyday madness that we live through. Dating someone that chews funny? GHOST HIS ASS. Best friend and you are having an argument? LEAVE THAT BITCH ON READ. Manager testing your buttons? WALK AWAY BEFORE SHIT TURNS UGLY. That momentary bit of silence does the body so good. You’re able to breathe a bit, get together your thoughts and emotions, find a little piece of your opinion without the noise, and find solitude within the silence. But what if we cannot avoid it? What if your problem is invading your space and pushing all those buttons that trigger you from 0 to 1,000 at any given moment. Every single one of your five senses over stimulated with things that remind you of your problem. The very thing you want to run away from is right on your lap slapping you around like a mad man, as your strapped down to a chair, gagged and furious. 

Hello, my name is Xochitl and this is my current reality…

Imagine going on a 34 year pilgrimage to find a mystical garden people have only heard of and the second you sit down to enjoy it, an asteroid comes and turns everything around you to ash. You’re now forced to search for life behind the soot and debris, find flowers that were protected by caves and water thats needs to be dug underground. I thought I understood the meaning of life when I sat down in bliss and now I realize that I hadn’t even scratched the surface. I’m using every single lesson, meditation, prayer and feel good process I’ve learned to keep myself just barely floating above water, tired with nothing left to give. I’m doing more for myself on a regular basis than I ever have in my life and I’m still drowning six feet below the surface. I have no time to be pretty, vain or full of myself. I gotta roll up my sleeves, throw on some work boots, and prepare for the dirt. I’m bound to step in shit I don’t want to and encounter visuals that will surely effect me later, all while a voice in my head says “stay positive, enjoy the little things.”

God’s making me work for it right now, he’s making me build it back up and cultivate that garden even better, smarter and ready for any fucking asteroid that decides to impose on its miraculous beauty. To do that, I’m going to have to be rushed by every trigger known to man and still find peace within it. Easier said than done, God. *insert eye roll here*

Up until this point I thought I’ve addressed my issues. I feel so comfortable in my madness now that it all seems the same. Being able to connect with others by the exact same things Im embarrassed of, soaking in the shit with the ugly. Not really knowing the difference. That is when it gets scary but it’s been scary & Im really just worried overall.

You ever notice how you have trouble seeing things clearly when it’s too far away but when you bring it up to your nose it’s also blurry. You have to find clarity literally in a sweet spot, like Goldilocks, not too hot, not too cold. Right now everything is so up close and personal that it can be hard to see clearly because it’s too bunched up in my face on a daily. I can’t focus. How do you find focus without pulling out all together? Sometimes because of my past experiences I think that I’d rather have things too up close in my face with me working on clarity than ignoring it and cowering into a corner without having a chance to see shit. 

I’ve been blind before and I worked so hard to run away from my problems that I lost sight of where I was supposed to go. I let go of myself, my values, my confidence, my creativity and most of all my sense of responsibility. Once it gets to the point where you’re not holding yourself responsible or accountable, it’s only downhill from there. This right minded, free spirit of a woman needs boundaries. I also need structure and routine, something I never had but have perfected throughout my journey. Pulling away from my daily habits fucks with my head & right now, my life is turned upside down. I don’t want to be numb, I NEED to feel.

I’ve found that one of the most courageous things a person can do is to confront their triggers. Yes, I’ve learned how to ignore my triggers but now it’s time to face these fuckers. As hard as it is for me to focus, I have to stand my ground and figure this all out. I have to use every last inch of space to fill my mind with laughter, creativity, and as much peace and balance as I’m able. This next step of my journey is not for the weak minded, I thought I’ve felt emotions before God said BET. It’s okay though, I enjoy a good challenge and I am built differently. I want to take this time and really use it to my advantage. I don’t want to run away and cower, I want to fight this tooth and nail and walk away from this a triple crown champion, knowing that I did everything in my power to make this situation meant for me. No more running away. No more cluttered blindness. It’s time back up, look at my surroundings, focus in on the task at hand then act. 

Hello, my name is Xochitl and I choose to fight.

Pray for me y’all.

God loves you and so do I,

-XO

I love you, Xoch.

Love is in the air! Red roses, balloons, chocolates and stuffed animals are sold higher than any other point of the year and couples around the world are confessing their undying love for their valentine. Even if they don’t have a valentine, people are professing their love for their kids, siblings and parents. Where do you fit in?

I ask this because every time I think about my hardest times, I think about how horribly bad I treated myself. I couldn’t find the space to love myself so I made bad decisions and loathed in them. I drove myself through the abyss of alcohol, drugs, and chaos because I couldn’t find the love that I had for myself. I based my self adoration on the reactions that I received from others and when I had nothing else to give anyone else, I had nothing to love myself for.

It’s so unfortunate that when we need to love ourselves harder, we devalue ourselves more. Recently I’ve been indulging myself in books and sessions about depression and the reasonings behind it. Naturally, we are all still hardwired the same way we were thousands of years ago. Our genetic makeup cultivated our need to be apart of a tribe and our need to survive, even though we no longer have to go thru great lengths to feed ourselves or engage in face to face interactions. We now can simply go to the grocery store and pick out what we want to eat without the fear or adrenaline of predators. We now can connect online with people to communicate without the need to have face to face interaction. The problem is, our body and mind still think like the aborigines, fight or flight mode activated and our need for contact and approval still on top of our mental needs as humans. Without these things, we feel lost, anxious, fearful, depressed and useless. Without these things, we hate ourselves.

I’ve tried for many years to decode my many emotions and it always comes back to the same feeling, despite how hard I’ve worked to keep it away. Yes, I find joy in helping others and being an “inspiration” to those in need but I also need to practice what I preach sometimes. My trauma has effected the way my brain processes memories and although I have gone through great lengths to help heal myself, that memory always comes with the agony of self hatred. Confidence can only take you so far when you genuinely dislike yourself and when you’re so far down the rabbit hole of disgust, it’s hard to see the lights at the top of the tunnel.

In my quest to learn about depression I found out about a word that I’ve never known but have always felt. Rumination. Rumination, as noted in the dictionary, is a deep or considered thought about something. While ruminating, we find ourselves so enthralled with a single thought that it leads us to believe things that aren’t true. It’s like Chinese telephone, a single thought that starts off as “you didn’t eat your vegetables today” somehow turns into “you’re a fat piece of shit that can’t stick to a regimen” that then turns to “why are you even trying you’re never going to be skinny again” and ends at “you don’t deserve life because you’re never going to accomplish shit.” This word has helped me to realize how the process of reflecting is not always positive & we can allow our thought processes to take us places that are ugly and downright mean. Accepting that I ruminate and suck myself into this black hole of disgust has given me a chance to recognize when I’m doing it, and stop it dead in its tracks.

Instinctively, I’ve always been that person that can’t sit still. Foot always moving, twitching when I’ve become uncomfortable in certain positions, hands always in my mouth (a stupid habit I’ve tried to break my whole life, still unable to) and losing focus easily. These same attributes would have landed me in a mental institution as a schizophrenic in the 50’s, ruminating in my bedroom for hours before sleep to the point where I’d hear voices in my head. I’ve never admitted to these things but it makes a lot of sense now. Learning to find space and comfort in my own boredom, helps me to stop that process in its tracks and cut the thought dead on sight. Cue in meditation.

As a self proclaimed mid-century schizophrenic, meditation seems like a death sentence. Who in the fuck gladly sits in their own silence? A minute, sounds like a torture chamber. Ten minutes? You got me all the way fucked up. What I learned about meditation though is it’s not about the time you spend in focused attention, it’s about the composure you get after you build up that focus. Starting in 2020, meditation practice was something I wanted to try but never had the guts to start. This is me putting myself into that bubble, “you’re not build that way” but I surprise myself every single time I take those few minutes to balance myself. Have I stopped biting my nails? No but I have been able to recognize when I start ruminating. I’ve learned how to notice a thought, name it, accept it and let it go. For instance, that same thought of “you didn’t eat your vegetables today” is being recognized as “concern for my health” which I accept and let go. Instead of turning that one statement into a negative, I recognize how much I care about my health and that makes me feel better. When I find myself in deep thinking about a loved one I’m mad about I name it, “love for my family” because that’s where that emotion comes from. I don’t take myself down that hole because honestly, it isn’t wrong to be upset or hurt or sad or anxious or disappointed we just have to name it and let it go.

Deep down, all of the bad things we whisper to ourselves on a daily basis comes from a place of love. The fact that we care enough about ourselves to call ourselves out speaks volumes, just don’t take yourself down that rabbit hole. Love starts with YOU. It may not start as something that’s grand or even noticeable but start stripping down who you are to get where you need to be. After reading the book “Quit Like A Woman” by Holly Whitaker, she explains how easy it is to self loath on your worst features without recognizing the deep connection we’re missing with our truest selves. She explains that process in a special way, which I dare you to try now.

At this very moment, think about who you are.. (STOP)

Great! Now, scratch whatever you thought about yourself and go deeper. Who are you after that? (STOP)

Awesome, got that out of your system? Now go even deeper, who are you after the frills and ideals you thought you were? (STOP)

Feel better? After all of those things are out, who are you really? What are the things you enjoy most about your personality? Strike down everything you said before and really get deep in there. By the time my reflection was done, it came down to my ability to love, the protection I give others, my compassion for those around me, and the way my mind works. Honestly, that’s all I want in my world. I don’t want or care for the frivolous material and in-genuine love that comes from social media, I want meaningful relationships with those I love and that love me. This reflection gave me purpose to be ME, to love who I am, to thrive in my attributes to see all that is good about this person who has gone through so much and can still find the love and patience to care for others.

Every single day, we deserve to love ourselves despite our circumstances. Allowing one thought to ruminate into self hatred is normal, it doesn’t make you a schizophrenic, it makes you human. All you have to do, is stop it in its track and call it what it really is, true, genuine, unforgettable, undeniable love.

Happy Valentines Day everyone.

God loves you and so do I,

-XO

Let it out.

Cry baby cry. Ever since I was a little girl, I remember being emotionally involved and aware of my surroundings. I can easily pick up on the emotions of others which I really didn’t understand back then. I’d often cry myself to sleep overthinking about this or that so crying has always been a way for me to express myself when I couldn’t find the words to explain how I’m feeling, at any given moment. I’ve had plenty of tears of joy, fear, frustration, pain, grief, compassion & empathy, each session completely different from the last.

You’re probably thinking, this blog is supposed to be motivating, why the hell is she writing about being a cry baby? Well, it’s because we all deserve to sit in our sadness and let it out in tear form. Crying may be seen as a sign of weakness but there are some really powerful aspects of balling your eyes out every once in a while.

This past week I’ve had the same conversation with a number of different friends. A good friend of mine that I’ve known since I was about 17 recently suffered a miscarriage and is still in a hard spot of grief, maybe even “all cried out” and numb from the pain. I hadn’t had a chance to talk with her since this tragedy and as she sat calmly by my side with no reaction, I was squeezing her tightly sobbing like a baby. Like sobbing, uncontrollably ugly crying snot and all. She explained to everyone unphased, “Xoch is just an empath.” It’s true. I wanted all her pain that she was holding in to be released with my tears. I know this is nearly impossible but at that moment, it felt right. Crying at that moment for my friend who was feeling pain was a necessity for me to do so I wouldn’t take those emotions home with me. With me now caring for my dad, my home has been somewhat of a colder place to be. Ugly crying for 25 minutes while squeezing my friends body helped me help her somehow and that was the moment I really realized how important a good cry is.

Sure, when you’re down in the dumps and life isn’t really aligning the way you want to, society tells you to “be strong” and smile in the times of darkness. Let me tell you, telling someone to “be strong” in a moment where their own weakness is overpowering them and fear cripples them from happiness is the worst thing you can say. We’re taught as kids to “wipe them tears” and “don’t you cry” when we hurt ourselves or feel pain from sorrow, well I think that’s bullshit. It makes me sad to think that those same words that have been drilled in me I drilled into my oldest son, who now tries not to cry when he’s hurt. It’s a vicious cycle, crying is healthy when you need it. Sometimes we cannot explain why we’re crying or what instance has caused it but that emotion is there and sometimes we have to dwell in it.

This is one of the problems with substance abuse, while alcohol and drugs may release serotonin to your body at the moment you’re drinking it, the downside that you feel the next day is a direct effect of your body feeling the need to have that serotonin when you’re done drinking that bottle. Yes, alcohol makes you feel better when you’re drinking it but once you stop, your body is just craving that feeling of euphoria and it creates the exact opposite effect of what you wanted it to do. This is why alcohol dependency in times of hardship and sorrow rise, your body wants to feel happy, even for a moment. It also allows you to not sit in your sadness. That boost of serotonin feels amazing, maybe it’s stopping you from feeling like you’re miserable for a moment and our brains automatically associate that feeling with the substance. After my cousin passed in 2014 I had a strong connection with alcohol. I’d never dealt with death in that way before, never having the chance to sit down and soak it up, my depression hit an all time high and I started to use alcohol to help me maintain my emotions. My ability to cry had suddenly been halted because alcohol had numbed me from feeling anything. Once the booze felt like it was doing nothing for me, I started doing coke again after 10 years of staying away from it. Admitting this is not easy, I only admitted this to my husband a few months ago. He had no idea. This is how well I hid this habit. My schedule consisted of waking up by 6 am, working until 5 pm, drinking until 4 am and sleeping 2 hours just to do it all over again. I was so desensitized from my lack of sleep, alcohol abuse, and constant need to be working that I stopped caring. I was no longer the little girl who could cry on a whim, I truly did not care anymore.

Nobody wants to admit their pain and suffering. Online we’re all this perfect ball of happiness that can’t be touched because life is good and we’re not soft emotional cry babies because we’re strong independent human beings who can take on the world with a single finger. I can say 1000% that my vulnerability saved my life. My ability to admit my wrongs, say I’m not okay and cry like a fucking baby saved my life. I stopped the need to feel just “okay” because I wanted to feel AMAZING despite my deep rooted anxiety and stress. I had to stop over analyzing trying to hide my sadness by drowning in alcohol and drugs. I had to stop feeling my need to be perfect in the public eye or feeling that my true self wasn’t good enough to be liked on Instagram. I had to sit in my sadness, examine it with a magnifying glass, cry my little eyes out and grow through my tears.

Going through the worst part of my life, I’m thankful I feel comfortable doing the things that I do to put my emotions first. Had my dad became paralyzed in 2015/2016, I wouldn’t have been able to deal. At that time I thought I was experiencing my whits end but here comes God in 2021 with the most trying, emotionally damaging and scary chapters of my life. I am not ashamed to say that my tears get the best of me sometimes and I am kind of sick of crying at this point but I do let my tears be. Sundays as I’m kneeling before the alter, I cry. Driving in the car, listening to music, I cry. Watching my baby boy smile and make funny comments about our new life, I cry. I no longer want to feel weak for crying, I want to use this to help take out my anxiety and feel how I’m feeling. Being present in my emotions is a priority I need to make to not take me back to where I was.

Let it feel. Let it out. Let it go.

God loves you and so does this cry baby,

-XO

Mommy Dearest

Time. This continuing motion that keeps on moving despite anything we try to do to stop it. Seconds turn to minutes, minutes to hours, hours to days, days to weeks, weeks to months and all of a sudden you’re 10 years down the road with little to no idea how the hell you got there. Throughout that time there may have been some amazing moments, capturing each like a picture in a photo book, somewhat unorganized but meaningful and nostalgic. Memories overtime can seem so distant, especially if you don’t have that photo book handy. Its easy to forget about how we’ve evolved, moments that made us smile or those times that helped to mold us to the present. Always chasing the next dream and the next goal, we don’t really take the time it takes to process our small wins that took years to perfect.

My awareness training has been somewhat of a clusterfuck. In 2015 I suffered from a bad nervous breakdown that pulled all of my anxieties and traumas to the surface. Kind of like a volcano, years and years of pressure and built up mayhem that had successfully lived deep down inside me erupted to the surface and I was no longer this perfect molded mountain that I created myself to be. All of sudden, I could no longer control or contain this lava of regret, pain, addiction, and self harm from overflowing into those I genuinely loved. Now my problems were being consumed by others and reflecting on the relationships that meant everything to me. I needed help. 

Cue in my therapist, Dr. Krupica. I thought about not mentioning her by name for confidentiality reasons but this lady saw all my erupted bullshit, helped me organize it, helped me to examine my lava and dissect it like a frog on a high school lab table. Let me tell you, the truth hurts. I had spent from 2005 to 2015 drowning in my own chaos. Yes, my trauma from loss and violence hadn’t helped but that was the first time that I realized how many memories, growth, and hard work I’d put in those 10 years. I was never satisfied with what I was doing because I was trying to escape something I could not control. I forgot to stop and enjoy the ride. At that point my oldest son was 9 years old and had saw me work harder to escape my past than I did in being present with him. As a parent, we like to think that we’re doing the right thing by working to provide when in actuality, that work is taking us away from the very relationships that mean the most to us. I was a selfish teen mom who put my own needs in front of my child. At the moment, I thought “well if I do this now, It’ll give him a better opportunity later” instead of being present and aware of my relationship with him at that time. My need to work and be on the go and always booked and busy was consuming so much of my being that I was never satisfied. Being aware made me realize that there was more of myself that needed to be worked on other than my past. My daily habits, my surroundings and my attitude had to change NOW. I didn’t have it together and I needed to love myself. I needed a moment to hug myself and sleep. Mothering wasn’t something that I felt natural with, I have had a toxic relationship with my own for years.  It’s hard to admit that as a parent but I had to learn to mother myself. 

That’s the problem with American culture, we were raised to work, grind and gloat. I can’t tell you how many times I hash-tagged #teamnosleep or #grinddontstop thinking that was the way people got ahead in life. We’re working ourselves towards complete exhaustion thinking that rest and well needed relaxation is lazy instead of rejuvenating. We cringe at the thought of sitting down because society has told us that only those who work get ahead. I am here to tell you that all of it is bullshit. I dare you to take a day to yourself, away from your work, phone and anything else that consumes you on a daily. Of course, we have to work to survive and make a living but one day on your day off, take care of you. Indulge in all of those guilty pleasures that make you feel good, take a nap in the middle of the day, take a walk to the corner and back without your phone, & for God’s sake, don’t check your social media.

In the process towards unraveling our chaos, compassion has to be our main concern. Of course you want to be sensitive to those around you that you love but remember to place that especially true on yourself. It’s time to give yourself all that motherly love you give your own kids. Let me tell you firsthand, this process isn’t a walk in the park. You may uncover things about yourself that you don’t like or have tried to hide for decades, awareness gives you the powerful ability to learn and grow. While you uncover, be prepared to call yourself names over guilt, embarrassment & shame. THAT is when that mother needs to come in to remind yourself of how far you’ve come, how beautiful you are and treat yourself to that ice cream bar you’ve avoided because of the calories. Life is way too short to not enjoy the little things that take our breathe away. 

Remember that today is the day we all need to focus on. Even the worst days with the most inconveniences, there is always a place to find joy. In the funny jokes your kid makes while giving you a hard time taking a bath. In the reflection of light that hits the snow on the coldest day of the year. In that extra moment of time you have in traffic to just sit and listen to music. 

You and I can always use a little bit of nurturing love, we’ve all made mistakes and done things we aren’t proud of. This isn’t the time to chastise ourselves or tear ourselves down to the pits, love yourself a little harder this week.

You deserve it.

God loves you and so do I,

-XO

From Pain to Power

What took you so long, Xoch?

It’s amazing the stronghold that fear and doubt can grasp over you. The feeling of unworthiness so crippling it stops you from being you. For the longest time I put my worth into other peoples hands, taking consideration to everyone else’s feelings and doubting the power of my creativity. I didn’t believe that I’d make music again, to be honest I didn’t trust my talent. Music had always been such a huge part of my upbringing that when I let it go, a part of me was lost. I had gone searching into the darkness for all these other talents that I have (communications, marketing, branding, management and all the other things in my life that have consumed my creativity) that I forgot who I really was and what I’m really made of. I sat on the album for a few months, thinking that every bad circumstance that was hitting at once was a sign that I needed to let it all go to waste.

Thank you for proving me wrong. I doubted myself to the point that I forgot about all the people that can relate to my hardships and struggles. My vulnerabilities are giving me the ability to help others and how beautiful that opportunity is. I’m a single speck of sand in this beach of a world & I am making a difference. I have given up the power of my voice before, I refuse to do it again.

That got me thinking, how many other people in this world do not trust their power? Are we all somewhere between faking it to make it and complete and utter self destruction? For the first time in my life I feel like I’m not alone. I put out into the world an album that showed all of my vulnerabilities, my trauma, my hard truth and exactly what I thought was going to be “too much” for people is exactly what I’m getting the best feedback on. My emotion and pain came out over sound and I’m no longer afraid to show face, my real face, without care for how others like it.

When I first started this website, I never had much direction in how or what I was going to do. I had no intention or reason to believe that I’d be making music again, let alone lead singing in a 7 piece band or finishing an album. It happened and it changed me. It made me remember how much I truly enjoy performing, writing music, and just plain singing but my favorite thing that it made me remember is who I am and what I’m made of and I truly believe that everyone deserves to find their safe space and be able to live freely without bias or fear.

After doing a lot of research and trying everything under the sun to make myself happy, I’ve learned that happiness isn’t about hitting the goals you’ve set for yourself rather than enjoying the daily habits that get you to those goals. Where I come from, nobody teaches you about managing your emotions or how to deal with pain. You deal with it, you move on and you continue to live life because nothing worth having is free. I don’t want to continue living this monotonous routine that kills all my joy and sucks the soul out of myself because I care too much about what society says is right. I don’t want to suppress my feelings or watch what I say or have more concern for anyone else’s emotions when certain things are killing me inside. If my happiness is dependent on suppressing my greatest features to conform to what makes others feel comfortable, I DON’T FUCKING WANT IT. I believe that we all have this power inside us that freaks us out and makes other people uncomfortable which in turn makes us hide our power out of fear. That voice inside us that is rude and a little savage that we conceal under a sweet smile when inside they’re calling it how it is. That person knows who they are, what they want and how they feel and isn’t afraid or worried about how others will feel about it. That person doesn’t want you do go where you are under-appreciated. That person wants you to vocalize your concerns at the big meeting at work. That person wants you to set your boundaries against people who only care about themselves, and most of all, that person wants you 100% happy. If that means saying no to overtime so you can get your nails done, so be it. If that means not attending the birthday party because it’s not your scene, so be it. If that means taking a step back from a great work promotion to focus and take care of your dad, let it be.

We’ve been programmed since we were born to conform to what’s right over what’s wrong, color between the lines, and obey thy mother and thy father. Most of our values and core morals are tucked away at the back of the brain and built between the ages of 2 and 5 years old. I don’t know about you but I feel a lot smarter than I was in kindergarten. All of that bullshit “speak when you are spoken to” nonsense is dead. We are powerful and we deserve to put ourselves out there and drive our ideas and emotions through walls and barriers that were built to silence us. We deserve to feel comfortable having a bad day and not agreeing to shit because it’ll make someone happy. We deserve to cancel plans at the last minute because we are tired without recourse of someone calling us boring. We deserve to be true to ourselves because we have been taught to raise our hands to ask for permission to simply speak freely.

My objective moving forward is to help you realize your own power and help you feel comfortable make yourself happy. Teach you tricks and tips to create habits that help you to embrace every feature that others call flaws. By turning your pain into power, the possibilities are limitless and I am here to tell you that the smallest actions cause the biggest reactions. I am here to tell you that opening that door to the closet full of spiderwebs, regret, pain, and trauma will help you to continually open doors that you thought weren’t meant for your path. Saying hello and greeting the person inside you that people said was too loud, dramatic, and extra will only make you wiser and help you to love that crazy mother fucker.

We no longer need to sit down and shut up, we need to stand up and speak out. If I can help you do that, then let’s get fucking crazy, stir up the norm, blast that gangsta rap and get to work. I got you.

Till next time.

God loves you and so do I,

-XO