I couldn’t ignore her voice. The one that got louder and louder each day. The one that yelled through as I drowned her out. In hopes to make her quieter and quieter. But she only got more creative.
She crawled through my bones— making a home in my left hip. Reminding me every day that she was there, reminding me of the pain I could not physically ignore.
She was everywhere. I couldn’t stop the itching. I couldn’t stop the madness. I itched and I scratched.
One day, when I slept too long and woke up with a pulsing pain in my hip, in my stomach, and with a migraine, I could no longer take it. So I sat down and closed my eyes. I asked her, “what do you want?”… nothing. “Why are you silent now?”… nothing again.
I cried. I cried so much I thought my head was going to explode. Come on, I thought. I struggled to calm down. There were no more tears left, but that didn’t stop me. I breathed in, held for 5 seconds, breathed out, held for 5 seconds. I continued on for five minutes. I decided to imagine a waterfall. The most beautiful waterfall I could imagine. The sun gleaming down on the water. The water so clear and fresh, it felt so serene. And for a moment, I was not alone. The voice, mixed with the sounds of the rushing waterfall, was a slight whisper, but she was there.
Suddenly, I felt so warm. It started from the crown of my head and slowly, like honey, spread over the rest of my body like a hug. I knew it was her.
I am home.
There comes a point in one’s journey where you face your shadow. You can’t silence the voice, but you can listen. It took me a long time to get to where I am right now, and it’s not perfect, but it’s pretty f*king good. It took me a long time to let the voice speak and to trust that my ancestors are protecting me and guiding me in this journey. For over a year I was struggling, I was trying to portray myself as a happy person. I struggled with my identity. I forgot what I liked, what were my hobbies? What was my favorite song? Watering my plants became a nuisance. Like caring for anything was the hardest thing I could do. On top of that, the world was falling apart, or more visibly falling apart. I felt a collective shift and the energies of the world affected me even more, to the point where I did not want to live in this reality anymore. What for? Our community was being targeted, our kids were being killed by the state, and mother earth was suffering at the hands of greedy narcissistic men and corporations. I could not imagine a better future. I could not find a reason to continue existing.
But my ancestors had a different plan! The voice. I didn’t know her and she wasn’t me. But she was motherly, almost like a grandma constantly making sure you are okay, telling you to clean your room, to get up, to eat… She wouldn’t give up on me and she never will. I knew that feeling of warmth and overflow of tears was her helping me heal. I know that was her smacking me across the face saying “wake up, chingona! Somos chingonas!”
Y si, si somos chingonas, abuela.
