EN LA MIRA
Las Fiestas Pueden Ser Dolorosas
I love music. Recently, I was listening to a random playlist Spotify generated for me when a song titled “Before I Have A Daughter” by Bre Kennedy started playing. Bre Kennedy sings about building a garden that grows on the same ground where tears have fallen and hearts have also been broken. Her goal is to learn to tend to this garden so that it flourishes on both the good and bad days.
I’m unsure when or if I want to have kids, but the song’s sentiment still gutted me. The song reminded me of all I am sure of — I choose to heal for myself, the people around me who I impact, and the little kid inside of me who only knew about survival and still has a chance of being comforted by who I am today.
I like Bre Kennedy’s visual because it reminds us we’re never too far gone. As a 30-year-old, I’m a long way from the 10-year-old girl whose mom had just died, and yet, my healing today trickles back to every version of myself I’ve ever been.
I go to therapy for who I am today as a business owner and for the 5th grader who felt signaled out because no one else’s parents had died. I practice self-care to show up as my healthiest, most honest self in my relationship, but also for the 9th grader who had to explain why she wouldn’t be going to the mother-daughter dance.
As I grew up and aged out of my childhood, I always felt like there were gaps I would never be able to fill, no matter how I tried. I’ve found comfort in getting to know my ACEs and number story because it helped me see my full picture (and potential). My mom’s loss and, later in life, becoming my grandmother’s caregiver did mold me, but they didn’t steal my future or how I can belong in the world.
De acuerdo con original ACEs study, “nearly 1 out of 4 U.S. adults have experienced 3 or more ACEs.”
We’re all going through something or recontextualizing ourselves around life events we experienced before age 18. Today my number is 3, and at 30 years old, I’m still learning how to heal and embrace that. I lived so much of my life in a flight-or-fight mode, and I’m constantly unpacking and unlearning to stay in rest-and-digest longer and longer each day. Every month, I turn to talk therapy, acupuncture, journaling, meditation, and movement, to help calm my nervous system. I also turn to kindness and self-compassion…a lot.
Early on, I learned how to handle crises, but in my adulthood, my healing journey is rooted in learning how to feel calm when the house isn’t burning anymore. For a long time, I judged myself because it was difficult for me to embrace joy or calm without questioning it or feeling uncomfortable when it was happening. Then I started learning more about how my childhood self still lives within my adult self, which made sense.
We’re all just trying our best to build a garden we learn to enjoy on the good and bad days. It just takes more days for some of us than others.
It’s that time of year again, and I am sure you have noticed how fast the Holiday season is taking over stores. For some, this can trigger the body and create stress or dread….
[Content warning: Suicide.]
In recent years, during the month of Pride, I’ve always been extremely excited about the celebration—the glittery and colorful extravagance all throughout the month of June.
However, this year, I’ve taken a pause to really understand my journey, the one I’ve taken individually and the one the queer community is on at the moment. I feel blessed to live in West Hollywood in Los Angeles, one of America’s queer-friendly meccas, though the sparkle in my heart has dimmed as I feel increasingly more concerned for my community across the country where our safety, protections and rights are all at risk. Unfortunately, none of us are safe.
I’ve lived with bipolar disorder for the last 13 years. Though the initial years were brutal, once I understood my triggers and what it takes to stay well, I’ve been privileged to have stayed healthy for much of the last decade. This included — to my relief — my first pregnancy and post-partum period and serving in high-intensity public health roles through the pandemic, as California’s Acting Surgeon General and previously the office’s first Chief Health Officer.
I love music. Recently, I was listening to a random playlist Spotify generated for me when a song titled “Before I Have A Daughter” by Bre Kennedy started playing. Bre Kennedy sings about building a garden that grows on the same ground where tears have fallen and hearts have also been broken. Her goal is to learn to tend to this garden so that it flourishes on both the good and bad days.
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