Mind the Mess: Navigating My Healing Journey
Welcome to My Written Subconscious—Aquí Están en Casa
I used to write often. I have several handwritten diaries and a thumb drive or two full of memories I'd rather forget—not in a dramatic way, but in a that-was-really-embarrassing kind of way. But they’re fragments of who I am today, and I hold them close, learning to cherish every single one. I’ve reached the age where I can turn to younger versions of myself with pride and endearment. She has no idea what she’s in for—the good, the bad, the ugly.
This initiative is a route on my healing journey and, in true millennial form, what better way to heal than by putting it on the internet? Trauma bonding is all too real, and maybe we can all learn from this burden together—que no?
Mi niñez—my childhood—was, at times, frustratingly, wonderfully messy. These days, I’m learning to be more considerate of that, offering myself grace without making excuses or condoning destructive habits. Suppressing all that merequetengue was becoming a bit of an issue—for myself and those around me. I am who I am because of 7-, 14-, 21- and 28-year-old me. And rather than shy away from the moments that haunt me, revisiting them with a purpose for enlightenment has been the move lately. Wow, look at me—so mature.
Now, listen—I can assure you I'm entirely sober as I say this, but when I lie in bed, lights down low, I float through the colors and textures of my subconscious, building upon a life unknown until it becomes the known. Until it becomes reality. I actively practice the art of reflection rather than dwelling, and that’s what this is. To live in the known is to live in the past but I’m prioritizing who I am today, tomorrow, and the day after next—surely, she’s everything and more.
Do you know what I mean? Not really? I get that. But I ask for your patience—your open-mindedness—as I speak into the void and figure this out. Besides, I hear curiosity isn’t all that bad these days, and I’ve evidently piqued your interest enough to bring you this far.
While my vulnerability has often been mistaken for naïveté and my kindness for ignorance, I can assure you that the way I move is for myself, and myself alone. The pages of my diary—like transcripts of my mind—are for me, first and foremost. However, I’ve been blessed by the vulnerability and generosity of others, and their openness has, in many ways, contributed to my healing. Maybe you’ll find the same here—and if so, I’m glad to welcome you to the garage.
My grandfather worked on Cadillacs and my Papi Pedro is a magician with his herramientas so I’ve always loved the concept of a garage—a place for nothing and everything all at once. When I spend time in my mind, that’s where I am—a sick, fully loaded garage. So pull up a crate, slide into the passenger seat of an Olds, and mind the mess.
aquí están en casa – you are at home here
que no? – right?
mi niñez – my childhood
merequetengue – commotion
herramientas – tools
