💔 When grief finally catches up to you

What's in this issue:

The real talk: Sometimes the sadness waits until you're ready to feel it.

(Not in the mood for the story today? Skip to the Consejito Corner at the bottom for just the grief navigation tips.)

Hey {{first_name}},

On September 22, I lost my grandmother.

I didn't feel the weight of it right away. Life was too chaotic—I was down with a respiratory infection, my community was facing persecution (recall last week’s newsletter), and honestly, I just wanted to be there for my mom. She didn't have parents anymore, and that felt so heavy. I wanted to give her space to be vulnerable, to cry, to fall apart if she needed to.

So I did what I always do: I stepped into my eldest daughter role. Repressed my feelings. Held others. Kept that box of emotions tightly shut.

It worked. For about two weeks.

Then it all caught up to me. I finally felt the sadness—the real, heavy kind where tears spill and you’re wondering how you even got here.

My grandmother wasn't perfect. No one is. She didn't know how to read or write, but it didn’t hold her back from traveling for food, or medicine. She suffered abuse, neglect, and was always with one of her nine children. And here's a question that keeps circling in my mind: did she ever experience joy as a woman? Or did she stop enjoying life somewhere along the way?

I didn't always like how she treated my mother. Their relationship was complicated in ways I'll probably never fully understand. But the moments I shared with her? They were good. Kind. She was kind to me.

I never had that close abuelita relationship you see in movies or hear friends talk about. And now she and I no longer have the time. So, I sit with gratitude for the few trips I made out to see her, the moments we sat together, laughed, and shared a smile. 

I'm in this world, living what feels like a dream life at times, because this woman dared to carry her family forward. In her imperfect way—the only way she knew how—she made it possible for my mom to leap. And my mom, in her imperfect way, made it possible for me to leap even further.

Abuelita, I know life was hard for you and you never got to experience the kind of freedom and joy I get to experience now. But I'm here. Living more boldly, more presently, chasing dreams that probably seemed impossible in your world. And I'm learning how to honor your sacrifices while also breaking cycles, and choosing joy even when it feels revolutionary to do so.

Gracias for doing what was within your reach. Gracias for making my mom possible. Gracias for, in your own way, making me possible too.

I'm still figuring out how to grieve you while also celebrating how far we've come in just a couple of generations. How to honor the hard parts while also living more fully than you maybe ever could.

It's messy. It's complicated. It's perfectly imperfect.

Kind of like you were. Kind of like I am. ❤️‍🩹

Grief is weird, isn't it? It doesn't arrive on schedule or follow any logical timeline. Here's what I'm learning about navigating loss while still showing up for the people who need you:

Give yourself permission for delayed feelings: Your grief doesn't have an expiration date. If sadness shows up two weeks later, two months later, or even two years later—that's okay. Your emotions aren't "late," they're right on time for you.

Identify one safe person: You don't have to process everything alone. I'm learning to lean on my partner when waves of sadness hit, even if it's just sitting together in silence. Find your person who can hold space without trying to fix it.

Release the "eldest daughter" armor (even for a moment): If you're like me and default to caretaker mode, practice taking off that armor for even 10 minutes a day. Let yourself be the one who's held instead of always doing the holding.

Honor the ebb and flow: Some days you'll feel fine. Other days you'll ugly cry. Both are valid. Grief isn't linear, and you don't have to perform it for anyone.

Recuerda: Making space for your own sadness doesn't mean you're abandoning others. It means you're choosing to be whole.

P.S. I know I went on hiatus and came back with back to back heavy content. Life is unpredictable and I want to continue writing from a place of authenticy and truth. BUT, I’m jumping back into my IG content game (go follow if you’re not yet!) this week, and seeing where the creative juices take me. Thanks for riding along!

_{¿Qué dijo? / What did she say?}
abuelita - grandmother (affectionate)
Recuerda - remember
Gracias - thank you