Nothing heals the soul like the sand between your toes,
the sounds of the sea mixed with music playing from a speaker,
and leaving all that which hurts us behind.
This is where we begin to rebuild.
When I was little and I would get into arguments with my sisters my papi would always get after us. He would say, “La familia perdona.” No matter who is at fault. Aye Maria purisima, Disoito mio give me strength….it would boil my blood. I felt there was a great injustice being committed against me. For the longest time I couldn’t accept it. My mami would make us apologize a fuerzas and I would do it only because I feared the wrath of my Mexican parents, LOL. That childhood lesson laid a very important foundation for forgiveness. My mami and papi showed us the importance of forgiving one another, although forgiveness doesn’t come easy, it has to come from the heart, if not, it is not forgiveness. It took me a long time to understand that we have to let go and forgive for the sake of our own soul. Harboring negative emotions slowly puts out our fire.
Throughout my life I’ve stumbled upon great injustices made against me. I’ve been bullied because I was the quiet one, I’ve been taken advantage of, and I been hurt because I choose to give my heart out like free religious “Watchtower” pamphlets….Well, I was going to add, “to all the wrong people.” but I feel that given the priceless lessons that I have learned and considering how far I’ve come along….I was suppose to give my heart out to those people. I don’t regret the love that I choose to give. I have said, and I stand by my word, that I am a creature of love….despite of that mean little troll that’s made a home in my heart for the past few years.
Recently, someone from my past came knocking at my heart’s door. I peeked through the peephole, locked the double bolt locks, and hid under the table. After I remembered that my parents didn’t raise a coward…but a big shit chingona, I picked myself up and faced the past that needed to be forgiven. But….well….that was hard…Instead, I declared war. I didn’t let him in…I threw my ninja blades, and did my karate chops, and words of resentment came pouring out of my mouth…and after the storm passed… I cried like the heartache was new and felt like I’d gone against everything my parents taught me. Instead of being retaliated on, he understood everything, is fighting for a second chance, is embracing me, and giving me the time I need for him to show me that he’s a changed man. Something I’d never seen before in him. It shook me to my core and I asked myself…Do people change? I’d been waiting for this moment…For someone to wholeheartedly apologized to me for what they did and understand what it feels like to be in pain. I didn’t think that anyone would ever have a chance to amend a broken love….broken and all, my ego hates to admit to the world, that love never went away.
So what do I do? My chingona ego tells me one thing, while my pendeja heart, Diosito bless her soul, tells me something else. I’ve build walls around my heart, I’ve put my foot down, I’ve put on my big girl panties and thrown punches at the world, I’ve become hard and calloused because I’ve allowed that hurt to brew in me….and I feel, now, as I tread with care in allowing this person back in my life…. that I’ve somehow have let the chingona down because forgiveness and this chingadera that I feel for this changing man is starting to seep into my heart. Do I fight it? I embrace it. I don’t understand, but in the end…after 6 yrs….I’m finding that we are both finally beginning to heal from the pain that path we have been on has given us. That is whats important.
I can truly say that if things are meant to be, they will find a way. That way… whichever it it… or however long it takes… or how right or wrong people may think it is….Is truly just for us no matter what happens in the end. I never thought that I would find true happiness and comfort from being with someone who caused great pain in the past. Love is Love and when its true, it overcomes great pain. That’s the beauty of forgiveness. It’s not for everyone, but it’s for me. Love is for me. Happiness is for me. Forgiving is for me.
Sometimes you think you’re all big shit chingona.You have a sense of empowerment…emancipation…relief… when you’ve moved forward and have overcome something, or people, that have hurt you. I’m suppose to be a better person, I’m suppose to be looking for peace, forgiving…letting go…moving forward…. But I find myself fuming with anger, resentful, casting blame, feeling that losing control is not acceptable… But sometimes you’re so overwhelmed, beyond control, by emotions and memories…and all of a sudden everything you’ve been working towards is thrown out the window.
They say you never forget your first love. I wish I could forget mine but forgetting would mean avoiding the pain…
I’ve received a lot of blows to my heart and my heart is now like…hmmm….. a hobbits foot. Filled with callos, thorned, and can withstand the roughness of every step.
You should always make it a point to walk away from people who hurt you, as hard as that may be, you have to. Its a process, a long one. A hard one. You forgive yourself and those who hurt you… you learn to love yourself and embrace the people who surround you with happiness, and you become the beautiful person that you deserve to be and have always been deep down. This will lay down the gravel for that new path. And you do this for yourself. Just yourself.
Life always gives you opportunities to look back. I’ve been praying for an opportunity to let go of my past but when I was confronted by that monster of years past, I was thrown against the wall. I cried, llore…not for him…not for me, but for that pain. That heartache. That pendeja that I use to be. I was carried away by memories…to that winter night alone in bed. I remember the warmth of my tears rolling down my face. I could feel the cold air in the back of my throat as I gasped for the breathe my sobs had taken away. And as I looked around, I saw that I was surrounded by the clutter of all the useless things I had lugged around for so long.
I saw myself in that room again but this time I was so enraged. I said, “que te vallas a la chingada.” People only have the power over you when you give it to them and for many years I was La Pendeja that gave people the power to dictate my path. And in that moment of total emotional, exasperating, exposing surrender, I found that I had the huevos to say no. No to his twisted account of things, no to his selfishness, to his fictitious love. I know I loved. I know I gave him everything I had and in doing so I learned the biggest lesson of a heartache. I deserve the same kind of love that I know I can give.
So yes….sometimes you think you’re big shit chingona…and then…. you realize that you ARE big shit chingona….and you wear it proudly because the wounds have turned to scars and those scars are a constant reminder that you have survived the deepest kind of pain, which ever that may be…how profoundly it is felt…. A heartache.
Lately, my broken heart has come to surface. I’ve tried, over the course of 3 years, to be strong… well, what I presume strong is. In doing so I’ve put out the great fire in my heart.
Being the dramatica that I am, I’ve had many heartbreaks…. Every unrequited crush, every tortilla que se me quemo, every unfairness that has crossed my path, any pain that my loved ones have felt, my cocodrillo tears…that heartache that was felt to the core….I own it…I’ve never denied my heart to throw herself on the floor, cry, and scream….and break…. but also le doy sus coscorones, like my mami would give me, and tell her to get the hell back up…vale mas cabrona!
I’ve told myself over and over that I needed to mend myself back up…aguantate and I mean NOW… put your big girl panties, double spanks, a little mascara, some lip gloss and vamonos….get it together. Crying only in the shower…or in company of someone who was just as broken hearted as me. My poor little heart keeper is working 24/7, a chingas, to mend my tears and broken seams and I demanded he build a wall so high that now I can’t even see my heart. I can’t feel her…and no one can see her. Where’s the warmth? The fire?
Sometimes, one just bends and folds and is pulled a little too much causing your heart to tear at the seam, or at its weakest point. Y sopatelas….your exposed beyond repair. In my head I picture that little piece of paper in my wallet with all my important information that I’ve been carrying around since…Quen sabe….The other day, as I took it out to look at it, it tore. A heart, just like those important pieces of paper, photographs, prayers, momentos that have lugged around for years, gets worn out. For many years I blamed myself but as I sit here thinking about how I’ve managed to wear out a little piece of paper, I really feel that its inevitable. Any heart that is mangled around, will tear…break…llora….
This is something that has been marinating in my head for the past few weeks. I’m not going to hid the fact that my heart has been broken beyond my understanding, many times…or that I am now starting to realize that maybe I shouldn’t of built the Berlin wall around it but I just had this feeling in my gut that THIS wasn’t the way. I want my flame back, I don’t want those walls around my heart anymore.
So, as I always do, I asked Diosito and the Angelitos to guide me. My prayers were answered in the form of a youtube video, I’m sure my nephews were messing with youtube and somehow stumbled across this video…but it was just what I needed… Coincidence? Or…When did God become media savvy? LOL
I sometimes think I’m crazy, and I really don’t care if I am or not…lol…because I’m on my own path, learning lessons, and I know that Diosito is guiding me. He knows that I, as everyone else, needs rocks thrown at us. I can’t understand subtleties. After hearing this video, it was clear to me that what I have done to my heart was hurting her more than helping. I’ve been going about it the wrong way. What I perceived to be strong, wasn’t. Being strong is embracing that broken heart….” A broken heart is an opportunity….”
‘It’s not that I’m still broken hearted, that’s not what ails me. I hope to embrace all my lessons, love, life, and the idea of opening up my heart again to love…. to the possiblity of finding love or another broken heart.
The video is kinda lengthy… and new to me…but it served it purpose. So I’m leaving it at that…taking what I needed from it…leaving what I didn’t need….an opportunity to learn and heal…
So, I wasn’t planning on sharing this with the world but pa que chingados do I have a blog for if I’m going to be hiding who I really am. I’ve always been very vocal and upfront about my love affair with food…. Mostly, I can care less about what people think about me. It is what I think about myself that hurts me and so a mixture of issues have developed over the past few…well…all my life…
A few weeks ago I had a break down at the doctor’s office. I usually see a very lovely PA who is heaven sent. Como chinga a la chingada when I go but that’s exactly what I need. Someone who’s straight forward and will give me a little pujoncito when I’m being stubborn. Well, they accidentally scheduled me in with a new pcp. He’s new, he’s young, he’s drop dead gorgeous, he’s fit…a little to short for my liking… Well, again, like always my weight and food issues were brought up and he said, “Well instead of eating a whole pint of ice cream why don’t you have one cookie.” Umm…#1 You look starved, I want to feed you some posole or chiles rellenos. #2 Who only eats 1 cookie? I sure the hell don’t and as I thought this I stopped listening to his blah blah because I was envisioning oreos…mmmm…Anyways, long story short…..I cried my eyes out because all I want to do is eat. You can’t deny a foodie food. I saw that judgmental look on his eyes. In the words of Mama Ru(paul) “Only Judy can judge.”
I can totally get that some people don’t understand what goes on in my head because most of the time I sure don’t know what the hell goes on…LOL but its so hard for people that haven’t had weight problems to be accepting to the idea that its hard to say no. With my gall bladder being taken out and being sensitive to foods that I love… Olga la gorda has reared her ugly face again. I asked if he would send me to a nutritionist and instead suggested a psychologist and a little sprinkle of anti anxiety meds. Being that I live inside a bubble and will not take anything in fear that it will hurt me, I said no, but I agreed to see a psychologist.
So, today I officially sat on my first couch. I didn’t like it…so I asked if I can sit on the chair. She sat on the couch instead…LOL. Mostly this initial session consisted of me answering questions and then giving a speech on why and then wanting to retract everything because it made me sound crazy. “I mean, I am, but I’m not. I’m just over dramatic” was my closing statement….lol. Life is not black and white….I live in the gray!!
She explained that a lot of the things we carry are like that scene from The Incredibles where Mr. Incredible is running from the black tar blobs that are being shot at him. Once something, words, a situation, hardships, or a trauma are being thrown at you…they sometimes stick to you. They grow and grow and grow and eventually they consume you. I thought about long and hard on the way home and decided that I would release those tar blobs chingaderas that have been attaching and growing on me.
I know that I’ve been in much darker places in life. I know what I am and what I am not. I know that I am thankful for all the hardships because they are the reason I am stronger..I know that I have come a long way but…. Sometimes you just need help and that is where I’m standing now…stuck…not letting myself move forward because I’ve attached significant meaning to these toxic tar blobs. When you actually get the time to sit down, calm your body, and look yourself in the mirror, you don’t see who you have imagined all this time. But, you will continue to be stuck if you don’t reach out for help. Its hard, being stubborn and all, but you make a choice. I’m choosing to put my big girl panties on y pos nimodo…like my papi said the other day… “Y que se vaya a la chingada madre…para que batallan.” Sometimes you just need to let it go.
Now is the best time to let go. I’ve seen a lot of people moving towards a healthy way of life and I have this feeling of hope. We all get through the muck one step at a time.
I had a two hour gap between doctor appointments. Went into work early and left before lunch so when I saw that little Mexican food place tucked between 2 huge chingon businesses, I was excited. The window read, “Homemade Tamales.” I love tamales! I thought it would be like Christmas again. I pictured myself unwrapping that soft corn husk. So I thought I’d stop for take out in hopes of getting a hold of some happiness.
As I looked at the menu, I felt the need to dine alone. I’m not use to dining alone, in fact, I’m not use to being alone because I’ve never allowed myself to be by myself. I’m the middle child, deprived of attention, so yes…I’m a chicle. I love to love and be loved and give love and this I stand by always.
By this time the nice, short, curly haired lady has brought me my salsita with chips, which, AYE DIOSITO MIO…. they had the most delicious salsita de aguacate and the sweetest tea of teas. Made me feel I was a southern bell sitting on my porch, sun shining, in my big floppy wide-brim sun hat. If I died, I would of died happy. I’ve been alone, and I mean completely emotionally alone, for 3 years…Ok, so I lied. I’ve been emotionally alone for 5 days. Its hard letting go of someone who’s been emotionally there for you for so long. I want to justify things but I stop myself because sometimes you have to let people go. One mistake doesn’t change what is in my heart, but a promise of truth for myself determines if you stay in my life. This is something that I am now just learning.
I looked around and I was the only one dinning alone. Between Intocables’s Coqueta playing in the background and my mind running 100 miles an hour…you know, all was forgotten when I realized how good the salsa was and how I had the whole bowl of tostadas all to myself. I was enjoying myself, for once, being alone meant that I can choose which way my life goes without pressure from who ever is around me. I can have the whole bowl of tostadas to myself. I feel guilty, but not from eating the whole bowl of tostadas. The only thing that is really keeping me from crying at this point is my crocodile skin I’ve grown to love.
I heard a pod-cast about soul mates the other night. I always thought that soul mates were our other half, but this lady said we have many soul companions. They are the people who brake your heart so deeply that you learn to be stronger, they are your parents who have made a promise to help us learn the lessons your soul has planned, and then, there are those soul mates that move you…grow you…love you…but only for a brief time…or in my case, 10 years but only to leave when you are at your best. These people help you learn life’s lessons and we have to appreciate all those people that come in and out our lives.
So anyways, I decided to order a tamale….ok, I was going to omit that I also had the flauta plate…. but lets be honest…I wasn’t JUST going to have a tamale…I was starving… .After ordering my flautas I ask for a tamale… Nomas uno, the waitress says. Yes, just one. Then she smiles and says, “Porque tan solito, ordene otro.” The real funny thing is that I always know I’m on the right path because people say the most coincidental things to me. I busted out with my trademark carcahada. And I said to her in my best TexMEx, “Yes, estoy segura…just one…..pero tragame mas tea and chips.”
In my family we all have different roles…la frijolera, la pastelera, la salad-era, la “I’m just going to buy something from HEB”-era, la watosa…but la tamalera is a special gift my 2nd oldest sister holds. She makes the best tamales one can taste. Speaking of her, she is the spiciest Lopez but she has the bigest heart of us all. I’ve seen her care more about people than anyone else but te manda a la chingada if you mess with her family. Not to mention, my 3 traviesos came from her. We would all agree that the best gift to unwrap for Christmas is a tamale, her homemade “Aye que ricos, I just had a dozen and didnt realize it” tamales. That moment when you open the pot of tamales,your pores are instantly opened by the hot steam, your hands are burnt from trying to pull one out because you can’t wait for them to cool…Pulling that corn husk off….tamale sliding out …the joy…
Unfortunately, I was not transported back to that glorious day in Spring 1982 ,when I had my first tamale, because I’m sure that I came out of my mami eating tamales…. This lonely tamale was a disappointment. They lied! It was not a “homemade tamale”. In fact, I thought I was in Death Valley..Pobre tamale was so dry it looked like dry ground. I touched it, and it crumbled.
I was sad…with my tamale…but mostly sad because taking the time to sit and be by myself reassured me that walking away is the best thing for me right now. Not only walking away from people, but from the things that no longer serve a purpose in your life. It is important to surround ourselves with truth and love….not false hope…no matter how badly you want to believe it.
….or how your heart falsely sees it….
Speaking of that, as I walked out I was so upset I wanted to stare the window down because it lied to me with its “Homemade Tamales”…..so I gave it my best squinted eyes …. damn you…shaking fist in the air face and realized that I was mistaken. The window didn’t say “homemade tamales” like I had read when I was starving for food. It read “Homemade Tortillas.” Pendeja!!!!! Then I was just sad because they gave me tortillas and I didn’t even try them.
In the end, I will always miss that part of me but I am no longer the same….I am stronger…mostly thanks to you….but now its up to me to take the wheel.
The tamale might not have been good, but the lesson sure was…
cicatrizando: to form a scar; to heal
After a few days, I finally got the courage to look at my surgery incisions. For one, I sometimes disagree with what the mirror shows me… so I been avoiding seeing my bloated stomach….but I stood there…naked… bare…hunched over because it hurts to stand up straight. Being exposed, I feel vulnerable, I don’t like it but I got to thinking about the scars of our body. I thought about the people in my life with far greater scars than mine.
For most of my teenage years I hid my body and self behind Continue reading