5. I Found Life Again

Who would have thought I’d be here? Thinking that going to church and praising the Lord was enough to “live for Him.” Enough to be healed. Enough to be strong enough to choose peace and happiness over everything else. Enough to live a righteous life.

But here I am. Back in depression. Still telling myself: maybe I’ll forever be a sad girl. Still asking: how do I keep ending up here?

I keep making choices I regret—hurting myself and the people I love. I grip control in the wrong places and release it in the ones that matter. It’s giving messy. No self-respect, no confidence, no trust in God. And honestly? If life was a photo, this would not be my good side.

Why is it that when I want something, I don’t sleep until I get it? I poke. I push. I hustle. I wear myself out chasing it. But if it doesn’t happen the way I want it—or in the timing I demand—I don’t even want it anymore. And then I remember: oh right, this is why I’m in therapy. “Up the dosage on my antidepressants, please.”

So here I am, being brutally honest with myself. Yes, I go to church. Yes, I lift my hands in worship. But behind the scenes? I live in sin. God’s grace is sufficient—but not so I can just keep cashing in on it like a free pass. (Not a coupon code!) And now I’m left with the consequences of my choices. My control. My way of doing things.

The truth is, my sin doesn’t come wrapped in something dramatic. It comes in control. In saying I trust God while still writing my own script. It looks like halfway surrender—obedience without commitment. And the thing about halfway is… it doesn’t work. That’s the real conviction. Because when I live like that, I’m not fully with Christ. And when I’m not fully with Him, I’m not fully present with myself either.

Have you ever had that one issue that just won’t leave you alone? Fear. Delay. Procrastination. That same pattern on repeat. That thing you want so badly, but can’t seem to have—at least, not yet. You tell yourself you’re letting go, letting God. And for a little while, it sticks. The peace feels real. You convince yourself you’re okay with the not-okay. But then it creeps back in. The cycle resets. And suddenly you’re asking all over again: am I even worthy?

Then… two years later… you look around and realize you’re still stuck. Maybe God’s been trying to tell you something all along. Because clearly—you don’t have control. Not over people. Not over life. Not over anything.

Here’s my 411: I want control because I’m scared. Scared that if I don’t do enough, I’ll lose what I love most. Scared that if I don’t give my all—even when I’m running on empty—it’ll look like I’m ungrateful. Scared that if I put myself first, it means I’m selfish.

Yesterday, I sat with that. Like one sad girl does. I analyzed my life and relationships, hoping I’d find some kind of logical answer to the madness. But what I found instead wasn’t what I expected. God pulled me back to when I was around 14–15ish. It was 2009–2010. Life wasn’t perfect—I didn’t have a real pair of Ugg boots—but my heart hadn’t been fully broken yet.

I remembered myself happy, present, in love with life and its moments. Not worried about who I was or who I should be. Not worried about what was to come. Just living each day like it was brand new. Seeing the uniqueness in every experience.

It gave… life before social media, when everyone was focused on life itself. No one was trying to brand their identities or create picture-perfect moments for the world to see. It was skinny jeans, smudged eyeliner, $1 pizza slices, Jersey Shore, and way too many inside jokes that aren’t funny anymore but still make me laugh. Back when YouTube was just for music videos and searching up lyrics to sing along to Airplanes by B.o.B. Enjoying the song without realizing it was foreshadowing how I’d actually feel in the future.

Simpler times… as a 30-year-old would say.

I chose simplicity then. Staying up late with my best friend, eating Nutella sandwiches, talking about the guys we liked so much. An intimate connection without obsessing over what should come next. Letting love come to me instead of chasing it down. Waking up asking, “What do I want to do today?” instead of, “Where do I need to be?” Excited for what the day could bring—whether it was movies all night and texting until sunrise, or being out with friends at the mall with no money to spend, but the thrill of just meeting new people and making new memories.

So how did the unimaginable moments of hurt and anger that came after take that privilege away? The peace of choosing peace. The freedom of not assuming the world was ending just because something didn’t go “my way.” There was no “my way.”

This morning, I woke up different. I realized I don’t have to plan ahead to get ahead. My life won’t fall apart if I take things one moment at a time. It will be okay even if it doesn’t come the way I expect. What matters is enjoying what I have while I have it. Because 15 years from now, I’ll be reminiscing and wishing I had enjoyed it all a bit more.

Because the truth is, the moments where I was the happiest weren’t when I had it all. They were when I was fully present, allowing life to show me what it had to offer.

And now that I know that “life” is God, I found life again.

4. When the Storm Hits

We’re taking a brief pause on the career-crisis saga I was going to post next because, well… life has been life-ing. Hard. Some deeply personal things have happened—things I’m not going to share publicly—and they’ve honestly taken up most of my emotional bandwidth. That’s a big part (but not all) of why I haven’t posted in a while.

The other part? Exhaustion. The kind that no nap or iced latte can fix.

Needless to say, none of this has been part of the secret recipe to feeling witty or charming, so… apologies if you came here for comic relief. This post is coming from a different space. A quieter one.

This current season, which I’ve unofficially titled “a series of unfortunate events,” has forced me to slow down and zoom out. It’s reminded me (again) that there’s more to life than worrying about careers, timelines, and whether I’m making the “right” decisions. I used to roll my eyes at phrases like “life is about the moments,” but… turns out, it really is. It’s about relationships. About presence. About seeing God in the smallest, most difficult things.

And for a while, I misunderstood what it meant to “see God.” I thought it was about getting divine instructions: “Which path should I take?” “What do You want me to do?” “Who should I become?” But now I’m learning it’s more about seeing Him in this moment—even when it hurts. Even when things feel wrong, unfair, or incomplete. God didn’t mess up. This is not a detour in the plan—it is the plan. I don’t need to decode it. I don’t need to fix it. I just need to breathe, and let Him keep working.

That said, this season has pulled something uncomfortable to the surface. A pattern I’ve noticed—especially in my relationship. I often seek validation. I overthink what I say. I try to be the version of myself that I think will be most loved. And when someone I love is hurting, I instantly feel the need to fix it. To step in. To carry it. To be the pillar. But when that kind of help isn’t needed, or when there’s distance or silence, I spiral. My anxiety spikes. I panic. Did I do too much? Not enough? Why don’t they need me? Am I not their “person”? And then it hits me—I’m making it about me. Again. So I stop. But then I don’t know what to do next. Until now.

I’m not God. I can’t be what only He can be for someone else. End of discussion.

Sometimes, my only job is to be available. Present. Patient. To offer peace instead of performance. And if my offer isn’t taken, that doesn’t mean I failed. It just means it wasn’t needed in that form or in that moment.

That’s hard for me. Like, deep-core-wound hard. But it’s also freeing. Because when I stop striving to be someone else’s savior, I finally get to just be… me.

God has a purpose for me in every stage. With every person. And it’s not always going to be a grand, glowing moment. Sometimes, it’s just a hug. A sentence. A small act of presence. And if more is required—He’ll call me. Calmly. Clearly. I don’t need to force it. I don’t need to read between the silences. I don’t need to rehearse my next move. I just need to trust.

Because peace doesn’t come from knowing the plan. It comes from knowing the One who has the plan. And today, that’s enough for me. And I hope, in some way, it’s enough for you now too—if it wasn’t before.

3. Peace in the Unknown

Current life status: still very much undecided. To quit or not to quit—that’s been the question for almost a year now. Along with a few others, like: God, what do You want me to do with this!? Hello? Anybody there? Cue crickets. Am I ever gonna get it together? It’s giving… send help.

Usually, when I have to make big decisions—like black beans or pinto beans—deep down I always know what I want. Pinto beans. But then I start to think (first mistake). Like, what if the pinto beans give me too much gas later? Okay, fine—black beans. But what if they’re undercooked? Nothing ruins my Chipotle bowl more than undercooked rice and beans. Have you ever tried eating around the undercooked rice and beans? That’s like 75% of the bowl. Absolutely not.

So here I am—one school year of contemplation in, and one month deep into trying to make a final decision. I’ve never been more stuck in my life. Except maybe when I have to choose between chocolate or mint chocolate chip ice cream. That one is worse than the Chipotle beans dilemma. Sends shivers down my spine.

It’s like—I love my students. I love seeing them grow, personally and artistically. And I really do believe in the mission of the school. But… I also love my mental health. And being honest—not just with myself, but with everyone else. This job has drained everything out of me, and the breaks go by so fast they almost feel pointless. As much as I love pushing through the uncomfy parts of life, this feels like one of those “I didn’t choose this life” moments.

So… on one hand, I’m getting major stress just thinking about doing this again. And on the other hand? Nada. No plan—just a vision of a dream I’ve always been afraid to say out loud. Why? Because the art life chose me. Because I took out student loans to become a graphic designer. Because it’s become second nature to me. What do I look like… changing course (again) at 30 years old… in my high school bedroom? Actually... that might be the perfect plot twist. She’s thinking…

Here’s the thing: I’ve always loved helping others and inspiring them to grow. Which is why I thought teaching was the route. You never know—maybe it still is. But. Since I came out of the depths of hell with Christ by my side, I’ve wanted nothing more than to shout it from the rooftop: JESUS IS REAL! JESUS HEALS! JESUS FORGIVES! GOD LOVES YOU! HE’S WAITING FOR YOU TO COME BACK HOME!

I have so much to share in hopes that it helps somebody overcome their demons. Writing a book has been a dream of mine, but it never felt realistic—because I “just draw pictures and make things look pretty.” (A sentence only non-artists say when they don’t really get what we do.) But in all honesty… it’s kind of true. LOL. Like yes, we do so much more. But also… that.

Over time (and through way too many emails), I’ve become a better writer and communicator. But I’ve never considered myself a creative writer. Though, I’m realizing—I don’t have to be. Not when it comes to God. He gave me my story and my voice for a reason. There’s someone out there who needs to hear it exactly in these words and in this tone for their heart to open up to Christ. I don’t need to please anybody but God. And that’s on period.

With that being said, I’ve officially hopped in the passenger seat and handed God the wheel—no GPS input from me. Am I… a passenger princess for Christ? A princess no longer chasing and stressing about making all the “right” choices. Because I did enough of that during school—when all the answers on the tests sounded the same. Which is literally how I’m feeling right now. Everything seems equally bad and good.

So instead… I’m letting God take me where He wants me to be. Letting Him open the doors. Letting Him decide when and what needs to be said and done. We’re taking the quote “His timing is perfect” and applying it to every area of life.

2. Feminism to Feminine

There’s an incomparable sense of peace that washes over me when I decide to leave a job. Like… why does quitting feel better than starting? Out with the old, in with the “FREEDOM.” Anyone else? No? Just me? Okay.

Anyway… back to the point (which there might not be one… apologies.)

As detail-oriented as I am (borderline chronic OCD), my head has always lived in the clouds. My brain doesn’t stop imagining the best version of something until I either make it happen or receive it, wrapped in a bow, straight from the heavens. Shoutout to sweet baby Jesus.

In high school, I was a full-blown hopeless romantic. My dream? To be a wife to a caring, passionate man and a mom to three. Picture The Notebook with a sprinkle of Fifty Shades. Romance, chemistry, passion—and just enough obsession and jealousy to keep the fire going. As my boyfriend says, I love that emo/toxic love. And not toxic like, “I’m gonna show up at your location.” More like, “The thought of not being with you—I can’t breathe.” Is that too much to ask for? Like… you should be dead when I’m not around. We love Anakin for that. Is she crazy? I low key am.

But since life hasn’t fully unfolded that way (yet?), I had to pivot. (PIVOT!)

Now don’t get me wrong—becoming a strong, independent woman wasn’t a backup plan. It was empowering. In fact, in my 20s, the idea of being a wife and mom started to feel like the “settling” path. I was in my boss woman era. Apartment of my own. Working from home. Making good money. Owning my life. You could say I was… SLAYING. And yet, once I hit that milestone, I realized something: that whole “independent woman who needs no man” thing? Yeah… not the vibe. Rather, it was actually a super lonely place to be in. #depresso

I didn’t know what I really wanted until… I met my current bae. Who gently (not so gently 😜) put me in my place. And I was like… wait. I like this?? Plot twist.

Don’t get me wrong—we’ve had our fair share of ups and downs (shoutout again to God’s grace), but something shifted. I ended up in a place where I felt 100% safe (trigger warning) submitting to him. That word used to make me cringe. But now? It kinda makes me feel… at peace. Taken care of. Protected. I feel like someone is hyping me up in my head right now. Like: YASS. GET YO MANS. Guys, I’m telling you—I’m crazy, but in a cute way… so you’ll never suspect it.

So here comes my hot take: I 99% believe most women want a man who knows how to gently, respectfully, and lovingly put them in their place. Yeah, I said it. And if someone says they don’t… maybe they just haven’t experienced it the right way yet. (I know. I KNOW. Bear with me. A chill pill must be taken.)

The key is this: a man who respects himself and also respects you. One who can meet your strength without making it a competition. One who calms you down without making you feel small. It’s giving balance. It’s giving peace. It’s giving “I got you, babe.” Anyone else dying, or is it just me? Because I’m DEAD. Wait—but can we add man of God on top of that? That just rose me back from the dead. Might not have been three days, but it was three seconds. Can I get an amen?! As my pastor Jentezen Franklin would say, I’m preaching more than you’re letting on!

Here’s the ultimate example: Rip Wheeler and Beth Dutton from Yellowstone. If you know… you know. She’s unhinged in the most iconic way, and he’s just… solid. Loyal. Steady. He doesn’t try to fix her or shrink her, but he’s also not afraid to check her when she needs it. And somehow, that’s exactly what keeps her crazy from going off the rails (for the most part). Cause let’s be honest—sometimes the beast deserves to be unleashed. 

So, when I finally felt that kind of energy in my relationship, I fully became the “Love my man. Thank you to my man.” type of woman. And if you’ve never seen Yellowstone, do yourself a favor and binge a Rip + Beth compilation. TRUST. It will change your life.

Anyway… remember when I started this post talking about jobs? Yeah. Same. It’s giving ADHD brain. Or maybe just me being thirty and already losing it. Honestly, the sanity’s been gone, so let’s just blame the ADHD.

So. Tune in next time as we take a deep dive into my current career existential crisis: Do I stay a teacher… or move on to… TBD, because there’s absolutely no plan.

Love this for me!!

1. Debbie Downer

I’m currently writing this from my high school bedroom as a freshly turned 30-year-old, fully caffeinated and on antidepressants. You could say I have a bit of a pep in my step, as my dad tells me. The perfect dynamic trio? I’d say so.

Recently my boyfriend has been calling me “Little Debbie” for being such a downer (all the pun intended) which has been both quite hilarious and... unfortunately, very true. It’s because I’m not where I thought I’d be by now—married, with kids, working as a creative director, living in a beach house, sipping coffee, reading my bible, and just getting paid to think. Instead, I’m back at my parents’ house, questioning my career choices... once again, praying to God for some type of sign. 

Because I’m not in my beach house yet getting paid to think, as one thinks, I’ve started to wonder if I’m even on the right path at all. Maybe God has a completely different plan for me? And after a lot of overthinking (as I do so well), I’ve decided to shift my career path. To what you ask? Great question.

Moving on—here’s the condensed-ish version of my “professional” career so far to catch you up on how I got to this point. Starting with: I went to college for graphic design, worked as a designer for almost a decade, and started working remotely after COVID. I was living the dream—senior graphic designer, work from home, work life balance, amazing boss, supportive team. Until I realized that no social interaction was slowly sucking the soul out of me. Didn’t expect that one, considering how much I hate social interactions. But after a year, I was like, “Wait, do I need human interaction to feel... happy?” At that point, it was too late and I completely lost all meaning to life, so I quit my job and decided to become an art teacher. Why? Who knows. Just kidding, I actually do know. I guess I always had this vision of myself as an art teacher—recreating the amazing class my high school teacher did for us.

In no time, I found an art teacher position, only to be told I needed to teach it in Spanish. Cool. Sure, let’s roll with that. I am from the motherland of Puerto Rico, after all. Then someone who I believe worked for the school county found out I was a graphic designer, and they got really excited. They asked if I wanted to change the program from art to design. The incentive was a slight pay raise. Emphasis on the word slight. Of course, I said “sure” again. Every dollar has its job. Oh, and did I mention this was for middle school? Yeah. Insane, right? But for some reason, I said yes to it all. Thought I knew what I was getting myself into. Spoiler alert: I didn’t.

Instead of having fun teaching them how to draw and use Illustrator, I ended up signing up to be their therapist and occasionally, more often than not, their human punching bag. One day, I’m designing for a professional marketing team, and the next, I’m explaining to preteen boys why it’s not ideal to purposefully fart in public. Or why being expected to commit to one guy romantically is NOT a red flag.

I love those kids, but oh—my—god, I am exhausted. It’s been a once-in-a-lifetime experience, but now I’m at a point where I’m like, “Never again.” So now, here I am, back to square one. Not corporate, not education... so, “what the sigma” (as the gen-z kids say these days) am I going to do next? 

Tune in, folks! Let’s find out together as I go on this marvelous rollercoaster ride that will probably end in the catastrophic downfall of my life. I know, I know. God will use it for His glory. But I’m deep down feeling super pessimistic at the moment, so bear with me as I continue Debbie-ing through this process.