I miss u, hope ur having fun.
I reply quickly, not making my little sister wait.
Me:
I miss u more…
Bubbles appear, disappear, and then her message hits.
Nixie:
Will u be back for my birthday?
I think about it, letting out a shaky breath, knowing I’m going to disappoint her. The one person I always try so hard for. Going back is something I considered, but I’m not sure if I’m quite ready for that just yet. I’m just spreading my wings and haven’t had the chance to fly. So I answer in the only way I can, with honesty.
Me:
Not sure, work and all.
Disappointment and guilt gnaw at me when a reply never comes. I don’t blame her. She’s young and just doesn’t understand, and maybe I could do a better job at explaining. Even though I want to, I’mnot ready yet.
The days working at the clinic pass by me, seasons change, and maybe I do too. I no longer hide behind the survivors during group sessions, but rather join them, while still managing to do my job. That has been the most rewarding, healing alongside them. This week, surprisingly, they asked me to be photographed. At first, I turned them down, unsure if I wanted to immortalize my trauma. I wanted to forget it. Move on. Having a picture felt like cementing something that tore me apart. The hesitation didn’t last long, though. At that point, the decision was made, which is why I’m here right now, surrounded by a group of women whohave not only survived the darkness. With love. With grace. This day wouldn’t have been possible without each and every one of them, so it feels natural that my only request was that they take my pictures. Not a professional, the kind of authenticity I want to portray can only come from those who know you. “Hola, soy Verónica y esta es mi historia4,” I mutter softly in my mother’s native language, still broken and not as fluent. It’s just another part of myself that I’m learning to acknowledge. I never felt Latina enough, not when I stripped so many parts of me to fit in. And not knowing Spanish only made me feel even more disconnected. So, I will continue my story in Spanish. Even though I slip a couple of times, merging both English and Spanish. I get through it all, explaining everything that transpired before, during, and after that basement. No one looked at me differently. There were no questions. Only calmness allows me to bear my pain.
My circle time is really nothing fancy, just me in the stillness of healing. Dr. Rivera comes up beside me with a smile on her face as she hands me the camera.
“Poco a poco5. Small little steps and look at you go.”
I open my arms, unsure what to do with them. “I guess I’m willing.”
She smiles, her eyes crinkling. “Yes, you are, and where there’s a will.”
“There’s a way,” I add.
She winks, rubbing my arm in a way that reminds me of my mother. “Así mismo6.” With that, she turns away, continuing to mingle with the other survivors in the room. A wave of serenity washes over me. Little by little. I’m breathing life back into myself. Oneday at a time.
Days later…
I walk down the busy streets of the plaza, the music thumping loudly, vibrating against my bones. Taking in the surroundings, the sky is a watercolor of blues and golds as the sun begins to fade. The mural with the green coquis begins to glow, and a comfortable warmth spreads through me. Like the peace you feel after a devastating storm.
Catching a glimpse of my reflection, I stop inspecting my features. My color has returned to a healthy golden sun-kissed complexion, and my hairis healthier and fuller… longer. Dark circles no longer cling under my eyes. What stares back at me is a version of someone I thought I could never be.
For the first time in months, I want to go back home. Not to return to him, not to fall back into the pattern of codependency we developed, but just to see who I am there now. I want to stand on familiar ground with a newfound strength. My hands shake as I tighten my hold on my bag and head towards my small place that sits right above a small cafe.
I run upstairs, and without giving it much thought, I open the airline app and scan through the flights available. Taking a deep breath, I make a decision and purchase a flight back home. Not because I’m ready, but because I’m willing.
And willing is enough.
I am enough……
1. Breathe girl.
2. What?
3. Girl you are Puerto Rican, you need to know how to dance.
4. Hi, I'm Veronica and this is my story.
5. Little by little.
