Tag Archives: resilience

Three Gunmen and an Ordinary Morning

Ever wake up expecting an ordinary day, with everything going according to plan? Yeah, me too. But that workday was anything but ordinary …

After several months of working the drive-thru window at my new banking job in the 1990s, I looked forward to working the inside lobby. I retrieved my cash box and set up my drawer as I did on any other day, except that I was stationed alongside my manager and friend, Judy, who had fifteen years of experience in the industry. Once all bank tellers were set up with their cash drawers and supplies, our security guard, Victor, unlocked the front doors and opened for business. Because it was the beginning of the week, I felt confident the day would go by fairly smoothly.

After assisting a couple of customers with their transactions, I was startled by a commotion to my far left. I glanced over just in time to see a masked man come up behind Victor and shove him against the counter. Before Victor could react, the masked man snatched the gun from Victor’s holster. It was like a surreal scene from a horror flick, as he pressed the gun against Victor’s spine and ordered him not to move or turn around. Before I could process what was happening, another gunman barreled past me from my right, a stocking pulled over his face, shouting obscenities and threatening to “pop” anyone who moved!

Another hooded gunman appeared, waving his rifle, shoving customers and employees along the wall, and yelling at them to drop down and not move. Staring in disbelief and shock, as if frozen in time, the tellers behind the counters stood with their hands in the air. As thoughts reeled in my mind, I hardly noticed that my hand was slowly inching out, attempting to set off a silent alarm hidden under the counter, inches from me. Out of nowhere, one of the gunmen jumped on top of my counter, glaring, his gun pointed at me. He growled, “You! Down, now. Or I’ll pop you!”

I was going to faint on the spot at best or be shot to smithereens at worst. Thank the good Lord, I still had some control of my faculties and complied, dropping to my knees with my head down, all the while praying. Judy was not so lucky.

The gunman on my counter began ordering her to climb over the counter and go into the vault with him. One of the other gunmen already held Victor and the commercial teller with his gun pointed in their faces while they waited for the vault to be unlocked. He became impatient with Judy and proceeded to pull on her arm, attempting to drag her up and over the counter. As she struggled to raise her leg to climb, she stumbled back. He jumped down, cursing her for moving slowly and pistol-whipped her. He proceeded to push her toward the vault with the others. (Yes, my head was up and I was peeking.) Once the vault was unlocked, one could only imagine what was taking place inside.

One of the gunmen stood by the front door, holding everyone at bay, spewing profanities and waving his gun back and forth. After what seemed like an eternity, the two gunmen ran out from the vault, tossing money bags to their partner by the exit. They ordered everyone to stay down as they scurried out the front door. After the ruckus, we began to stir and rise from our positions. Peering out the windows, we noticed the police were already on the scene (an alarm had indeed gone off), and they were in hot pursuit of the bank robbers, who apparently had jumped into a getaway car. Instantly, I thought of Judy and the rest who had gone into the vault. They were still inside! Were they hurt? Still alive? I shuddered to think.

As I quickly approached the vault, I heard sobbing, and my heart dropped! All three employees were lying face down on the ground. But the sight of Judy, face down with blood glistening from a gash on her forehead, stunned me. A sob escaped me as I called her name. I was relieved to discover that when I called out, they all responded by sitting up. They were simply waiting for one of us from the outside to come and get them. Upon examining Judy’s head, we knew her outer wounds would heal. But one never knows about the turmoil that goes on inside.

We hugged one another and let the tears flow freely.

After the police had interviewed everyone, we were allowed to call family members to come and pick us up. When my husband came for me, I was still trembling and immediately crumpled into the safety of his arms. I couldn’t wait to leave, go home, and hug my kids.

Recovery from trauma is a process. Most of us were shaken up for quite some time after that ordeal and needed counseling. Some even quit their banking jobs to seek employment elsewhere. As for me, that moment in time would forever be etched in my memory.

Days after the incident, while on my lunch break at a fast-food chicken joint, an outraged customer began verbally attacking one of the employees over an incorrect order. My heart was pounding out of my chest, and my nerves felt like pins and needles. I left my food and hurried out the door.

Reflecting on it all, I realize you can be “busy as usual” with the mundane things in life, and at a moment’s notice your world can turn upside down.

Judy and I are still friends, more than thirty years after that day. Although she lives in Florida, she visits Texas about once a year, and we make time to catch up. Seeing her again this fall reminds me of what we went through that day and how grateful I am that our friendship has lasted long after we left our banking days.

Looking back, I’m thankful we made it through that frightening experience. I’m also reminded of how we sometimes discover strength we didn’t know we had, and how much the people who share those difficult moments with us can mean.

Judy & me, fall of 2026.
Some friendships outlast the hardest days.

Have you ever experienced an unexpected event that changed your perspective on life? If you’re comfortable sharing, I’d love to hear your story.

7 Comments

Filed under life's lessons, Personal Essays

Critters and Chuckles: In Loving Memory of Mama’s Menagerie

After sharing some tender memories and deeper reflections lately, I thought it was time for a little laughter. Some of the funniest moments in our family stories come from the smallest (and furriest) members of the family.

I miss my mama.

One of the things I remember most about her was how she could laugh at herself. I mean, really laugh. The kind of laughter where, before you knew it, you were laughing right alongside her until tears filled your eyes.

Mama didn’t pretend to be perfect. She knew life was full of mistakes and mishaps, and instead of being embarrassed, she found a way to laugh. That was one of the gifts she gave me.

Before Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace was published, Mama gave me permission to include some of these stories. Naturally introverted, she was never one to seek the spotlight, but with family and close friends, her gentle humor came alive. She loved knowing that others might laugh along with her.

Mama had a special place in her heart for animals. She loved them deeply. Maybe a little too deeply.

Her intentions were always good, but somehow her animal adventures didn’t always turn out the way she hoped.

Looking back, those moments became some of our family’s funniest memories.

Grandpa had a saying for those times. He would shake his head, smile, and say they happened because of “plain lack of common sense.”

I share this excerpt from my memoir:

Mama’s Critters

Mama felt more at ease with animals. She had a tender heart for them and always wanted to care for them.

While cleaning a fish bowl, Mama inadvertently dumped all the goldfish down the drain. Gone, just like that.

Then there were the black guppies that Grandpa had bought her. Mama thought that guppies thrived in salt water, so, she sprinkled table salt in the fish bowl for them. Well, they did not thrive.

Alas, she soon discovered them floating on their backs.

Turtles naturally develop bubbles in their nostrils, but Mama thought hers had a cold. She put a few nose drops in each nostril to cure it, only to notice the unfortunate creature had drowned.

Someone gave Mama a beautiful canary. The bird sang expertly and sweetly, and Mama enjoyed feeding him from her hand. But one day, her feathered friend lay lifeless at the bottom of its cage with a bloated stomach.

Mama had fed the sweet thing to death.

Before they divorced, Daddy had given Mama three lovely colorful parakeets. She sometimes let them out of their cage for exercise. They’d fly around the room and return to their cage, until someone forgot to close the windows one morning.

As they flew away, one by one, Mama watched on helplessly.

Guess who had forgotten to shut those windows?

Even in adulthood, Mama’s love for animals continued to lead to a comedy of errors.

Pre-teen Willie had a pet mouse named Pee Wee and kept him in a cage. The white, soft creature had bulging, pink eyes. After they placed Willie in a boy’s home, Mama had the sole responsibility of caring for his furry friend.

When it was time to clean Pee Wee’s cage, she first needed to get the critter out. Not an easy task. Pee Wee ran in circles.

When Mama grabbed him, the frightened mouse continued to wiggle and squirm in her hands. Determined to keep him from escaping, Mama held onto him firmly.

As she coaxed him and stroked his head, at last he calmed.

She then got the shock of her life when she realized that she had talked to and petted one poor, dead mouse.

When I think about Mama now, I don’t just think about the difficult times we lived through together. More and more, I remember her laughter.

Those are the memories that make me smile.

Her pets may not have always fared well, but there was never any doubt they were loved.

And that was Mama.

Sometimes the moments we laugh about years later become the memories we treasure most.

One of my greatest joys was making Mama smile. Today, I know she’s with the Lord, wearing the biggest smile of all and laughing that unforgettable laugh. I can almost hear her saying, “Go ahead, Mary … tell them.”

“A cheerful heart is good medicine.” —Proverbs 17:22

Do you have a family member whose funny mishaps still make you smile years later? I’d love to hear one of your favorite memories in the comments.

Mama is about to chow down on a whole Fried Red Snapper!
But before she does, she says, “Poor fish.” And then she asks, ” Where do I start?!”

Mama and our orange tabby, Rascal, were best of friends!

Dear Readers:

A birthday in heaven deserves a little extra love. A couple of years ago, on what would have been Mama’s birthday, I wrote her a letter. If you’d like to read it, you can find it here:

[Happy Birthday, Mama! 10/10/34 – 5/14/23]

8 Comments

Filed under family, Memoir

To My Younger Self

On my birthday, I find myself looking back at the little girl I once was. Before I knew what life would ask of me, before I understood the meaning of grace, she was already learning how to survive, to hope, and to keep going.

Today, I want to tell her something she needed to hear all along.

Dear Little Mary,

I. See. You.

I see that skinny little girl with legs that seemed too long for the rest of her, already learning grit long before you ever had a name for it. I see the nights when you sat quietly, your stomach growling in the darkness, telling yourself it didn’t matter if there was food or not. What else could you do? You were learning how to survive before you ever learned how to truly live.

You learned early that children were meant to be seen and not heard. So you became good at disappearing. You made yourself small, a quiet wallflower who was always there but rarely noticed. You watched other children laughing and playing and wondered what secret they knew that made life seem so easy. You never felt pretty enough, smart enough, or good enough.

But Mary, what you don’t know yet is that surviving was only the beginning of your story. Something was already taking root inside you. You didn’t know the words for it then. You didn’t call it resilience. You didn’t call it faith. You were simply putting one foot in front of the other, trying to make it through another day.

You carried burdens that were far too heavy for such small shoulders. You wore shoes that didn’t fit, trying to walk through a world that often felt too big and uncertain. But God saw every step.

You tried so hard to protect Mama. You wanted to hold her together when everything around her felt like it was falling apart. You became her Little Mama, soothing her fears and mothering the very woman who was supposed to be mothering you. You didn’t understand then that some burdens were never meant for you to carry, but you carried them anyway.

And God was there.

Not always in the ways you expected. Not with answers to every question. But quietly and gently, reminding you that you were never truly alone. Even when your faith felt paper-thin, and you felt invisible, that quiet whisper in your heart was not your imagination. It was Him.

You learned about loss far too early.

Blackie, your fluffy little puppy, was taken from you because there wasn’t enough food to care for her. Others may not have understood what she meant to you, but she was comfort. She was love. Losing her was the first crack in your young heart, a pain you didn’t yet know how to explain.

And then came the loss that changed everything.

Your precious baby sister, the little heartbeat of your world, was tragically taken from you in a hit-and-run accident. No one could answer all the “whys” that filled your heart. You only knew that life would never be the same. A piece of you went with her.

You carried that heartbreak quietly, still trying to protect Mama, still believing your own pain could wait. But listen closely, little Mary: you will one day learn that forgiveness does not mean forgetting. It does not mean pretending the wound never happened. It means releasing the weight of what happened and allowing God to carry what was always too heavy for you to hold alone.

Life would bring more goodbyes.

Grandpa, with his quiet stories and gentle presence. Then Grandma, five years later, the kindest woman you ever knew. Each goodbye left another empty space in your heart, and there were moments when the grief felt like more than you could bear.

But even there, God was holding you.

Looking back now, you will understand that every loss made room for a deeper kind of love. Those goodbyes taught you that love does not disappear when someone leaves this earth. The people we love become part of who we are, and God’s faithfulness remains.

Trust that quiet voice inside you, little one. The one you question. The one you sometimes ignore. It is not weakness. It is wisdom. It is discernment. Sometimes it is God gently guiding you when everything around you feels confusing and loud.

You will fall. As a teenager and young woman, you will make choices you wish you could change. You will walk through seasons of confusion, heartbreak, and pain you never saw coming. But those places will not destroy you.

Years later, you will discover that God was never afraid of your broken places. He was already there, waiting for you to understand that none of your tears, struggles, or scars were wasted. Those broken places will become holy ground.

Starting over is not failure. It is faith.

You will survive.

Your story matters.

The scars you carry will one day remind you of how far you’ve come. They will tell the story of a little girl who kept going, even when she did not know where the road would lead.

Your journey is not over. You will love. You will experience loss. And you will find the courage to love again.

One day, you will look back and see it clearly: the hunger, the rejection, the loneliness, and the tears did not defeat you. Those moments became the soil where God grew something stronger and more tender in you.

I wish I could sit beside you right now and tell you this: God sees you, Mary. Not from far away, but right there in the dark. He hears you when the words will not come. He knows your name, and He has never left your side. Not once.

You never had to earn His love. You never had to prove you were worthy. You were His all along.

Be gentle with yourself, little one. You do not have to be so hard on your own heart. Grace was never something you had to chase. It was always something waiting to be received.

And you do not have to keep running all the time.

God is not in a hurry with you.

Happy Birthday, Mary.

Thank you, little Mary, for holding on.

I Celebrate That Little Girl

Today, I celebrate the little girl who did not know what was ahead, the young woman who stumbled, searched, made mistakes, and started again, and the woman I am still becoming, held together by grace.

I keep writing because every time I return to that scared little girl, I remember the grace that carried her through hunger, heartbreak, and loss. I remember that healing is not a single moment. It is a journey still unfolding. Perhaps that is one of the greatest gifts of growing older: learning to look back at our younger selves with compassion instead of only remembering the pain.

That little girl did not know how her story would unfold. She did not know the struggles would one day become lessons, the wounds would become places where healing could begin, or that God could bring beauty from the broken pieces.

But He did.

And He is still writing the story.

If any part of my story reminds you of your own, I’d be honored to have you continue the journey with me in the pages of Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace. It is a story of hunger, heartbreak, hope, and healing still unfolding.

From my heart to yours.

12 Comments

Filed under Faith, Memoir

Happy Heavenly Birthday, Grandma

Today I celebrate the life of a woman whose love, faith, and quiet strength left a lasting imprint on my heart.

On July 26, my grandma would have celebrated another birthday.

She was born in 1898 and passed away in 1986, but not a year goes by that I don’t think of her.

Both of my grandparents lived through so much: two World Wars, the Great Depression, the 1918 influenza pandemic, and the hardships of tuberculosis. They saw the world change in ways most of us can hardly imagine, yet Grandma never lost her gentle spirit.

Whenever I look at her picture, I smile. I can almost see her waving hello, with the same warm smile that made everyone around her feel welcome.

As a little girl, I never thought much about everything she had lived through. I simply knew her as Grandma with her unmistakable thick Spanish accent, gentle voice, and warm hugs. It wasn’t until I became an adult that I began to understand the strength it must have taken to raise a family through some of history’s hardest years.

I wish I had asked her more questions. I wish I had listened a little longer.

Happy Heavenly Birthday, Dear Grandma!

Thank you for your love, your example, and the quiet moments you shaped our family. Your life still matters because your love still lives in us.

I miss you every day.

With all my love,

Your granddaughter, Mary.

Dear Reader: If you would like to meet more of the remarkable woman who shaped my life, I share more of her story in the chapter “To Abuela’s House We Go” from my book Running In Heels. Here is a short excerpt from that chapter. You’ll meet the woman who quietly taught me faith, hard work, kindness, and the importance of serving others, lessons that continue to shape my life today:

👉 Grandma’s Chapter

Her hands may no longer hold mine, but the love, faith, and wisdom she passed down remain a part of me forever.

6 Comments

Filed under Faith, family

A Daughter’s Reflection on Fatherhood

On this Father’s Day, my heart keeps returning to a kind of fatherhood that doesn’t always match the perfect pictures people post.

My parents divorced when I was young. I was only five or six when it became final. Mama raised me on her own, and I saw my daddy during visits when he’d come get me. My stepmother was there too, and thankfully, very loving. Those times were special, even if they were short. I always looked forward to them.

I loved it when Daddy took me to the park. And I especially loved his stories.

“Tell me the one about the goat sucker in Puerto Rico,” I’d say, already smiling.

His eyes would light up. “¡Oh, sí!” he’d exclaim, slapping his thigh. “¡El Chupacabra! Dis thin’ went around to all the animales, suckin’ their blood dry.” Then he’d lower his voice, warning me to close the doors because “El Chupacabra is comin’ to suck your blood!”

I’d giggle and called him “muy loco,” but those silly, animated moments made me feel close to him.

As a little girl, I was sure I had the best daddy in the world, even though he wasn’t there every day. Of course, there were moments I wanted more. More time. More ordinary days. More closeness. That distance left a quiet ache I carried for years.

But looking back now, I can see the pieces he did give me. He made me feel like I mattered. He showed up when he could. And somehow, those moments stayed with me.

I used to focus so much on what was missing that I overlooked what was there. Healing, for me, began when I started holding onto those small, good things instead of only replaying the absence.

I also came to understand something deeper: God meets us in the gaps people leave behind. Where love felt inconsistent, God was steady. Where presence felt limited, He never was.

This Father’s Day, I’m choosing gratitude for what I was given instead of dwelling on what I wasn’t. Thank you, Daddy, for the hugs, the park visits, the laughter, the wild stories, and the love that found its way to me, even across distance. I appreciate you now in ways I couldn’t as a child.

To every daughter whose story includes distance, divorce, or a father who wasn’t there as much as she needed: your feelings are real. The longing doesn’t just disappear. But there is still something good worth holding on to, and healing is possible.

And to the fathers reading this, whether you’re biological, step, or simply doing your best to show up – please keep going! Even an imperfect presence leaves a mark.

From my heart to yours.

I’ve written many stories about my daddy. For more stories about Daddy, please visit https://maryaperez.com/2025/08/16/i-no-spic-inglish/ https://maryaperez.com/2021/06/30/my-heartbeat-part-i/ https://maryaperez.com/2025/11/11/when-memory-fades-love-remains/

Celebration of Daddy’s 90th

4 Comments

Filed under Father's Day Reflections, Personal Growth & Healing

Reflections From My Heart

From my heart to yours:

For more than ten years, I’ve been pouring out pieces of my life right here. Some posts came from deep pain, others from quiet gratitude or hard-won lessons. To my humble surprise, a few of them have kept drawing readers year after year, long after I first hit “publish.”

These are the posts that have touched the most hearts over time. They talk about real struggles—loss, brokenness, family wounds, verbal abuse, and the battles we fight inside—but they also point to the hope and healing that only God’s grace can bring. Many of them echo the same journey I share in my memoir, Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace.

If you’re walking through a hard season and feeling unseen or hopeless, I pray one of these reflections meets you right where you are and reminds you that you are not alone.


Here are my Top 12 Most-Viewed Posts

  1. I’ll Never Forget 9/11: A personal reflection on that heartbreaking day and how it still echoes in our lives.
  2. About Me: My story, where I came from, the struggles I faced, and how God can transform despair into hope. This page alone has welcomed over 80 heartfelt comments from readers who shared their own journeys.
  3. The Battle Within: The struggle didn’t disappear, but through God’s grace, I learned I no longer have to fight it alone.
  4. Beauty For Ashes: An honest wrestling with the idea of beauty in the middle of real-life devastation.
  5. Verbal Abuse: I wrote this from a place I know all too well—the silent pain of feeling broken, invisible, and trapped. But it’s also a reminder that we are not meant to stay there.
  6. I Dreamed a Dream: I’ve walked through seasons where the dreams I once held began to fade, pushed aside by life, responsibilities, and discouraging words. But I’ve come to see that what feels like the end may not be the end at all… just the beginning of a new dream.
  7. This Thing Called Tears: Tears don’t only come in sorrow; they show up in joy, frustration, and even gratitude. In these everyday moments, I’m reminded that God meets us in every emotion, and every tear has a purpose.
  8. Damaged Goods: I once believed the lies that I was broken, unworthy, and beyond repair. But I’ve learned that we are not defined by what we’ve been through. God doesn’t see damaged goods… He sees something worth restoring.
  9. Stick-to-Itiveness: Persistence isn’t easy—but it’s powerful!
  10. Ode to a Mother’s Heart – Part II: A mother’s love & the unimaginable pain of losing a child. My heart grieves with those who carry this kind of sorrow, and I lift them up in prayer.
  11. The Shadow of My Baby Sister’s Death: Love, loss, longing… and the ache of what could have been.
  12. Shark Bait: This is my dear husband’s story, and a reminder of how faithful God is, even in the most unexpected moments.

Each story carries a piece of my heart. Some made me cry as I wrote them. Others reminded me of God’s faithfulness even when life felt unbearable. Readers have told me they saw parts of their own stories in these words, and that blesses me more than I can say. I’m continually humbled by how far these stories are traveling.

WordPress recently shared that this blog has now reached readers in 174 countries, the newest being Gabon. That’s something only God could do, and I don’t take a single reader for granted.

If these reflections speak to you, I believe you’ll find even deeper encouragement in the pages of Running in Heels. It’s the fuller story behind so many of these posts—the raw truth of growing up in pain, surviving abuse and abandonment, and learning to walk in grit and grace. The book is available on Amazon in paperback, hardcover, Kindle, and audiobook. And I’m thrilled that a Spanish edition, Corriendo en Tacones, Memorias de valentía y gracia, is on the way for my Latino friends and family.

We’re prayerfully hoping to reach 500 honest reviews on Amazon so this message can reach more women who feel broken or stuck. If any of these posts (or the book) touches your heart, I would be so grateful if you’d take a moment to leave a review.

Thank you for stopping by and for being part of this journey with me. Whether you’ve been reading for years or this is your first time here, my prayer is that I lift you up with love and faith.

From my heart to yours, Mary A. Pérez, Author of Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit & Grace, Houston, Texas 2026

Curved stone pathway through lush garden with sunrise in background
A colorful stepping stone path winds through a vibrant garden at sunrise.

7 Comments

Filed under Christian Blog, Faith Journey

Grace Under Pressure

Grace isn’t about having it easy.

It’s how you carry yourself when it’s not.

Grace isn’t about life being easy; if it were, everyone would have it. Real grace is showing up in the mess. It’s laughing at the chaos, and somehow looking like you’ve got it together… even when inside, you’re totally winging it. Stumble by stumble, heel by heel, that’s how I’ve learned it.

2 Corinthians 12:9 says, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

Turns out, your mess is exactly where God’s grace shines brightest.

3 Comments

Filed under Inspiration, motivation

Not That Girl Anymore

When she looks back on her life, she sees a faded memory. It is of a girl once unsure of herself. She was frightened, lost, and insecure. She can’t help but remember the pain: the disappointments, mistakes, and heartaches that shaped her early years.

The roads she’s traveled come back to her. Some paths felt like quicksand beneath her feet, dry like the Sahara. Potholes the size of Texas seemed impossible to navigate, threatened to swallow her whole.

She thinks of the battles she fought for her marriage, her sanity, and her four small children.

She remembers the struggles born of abandonment. These struggles began as a child, then recurred as an adult. She also recalls the failures and the weight of low self-esteem.

She reflects on the sacrifices she made. She walked away from her education. She faced the heartbreaking reality of letting go of a special-needs child for the child’s best interest. She also placed her own dreams on hold.

She remembers the love she lost. She said goodbye to her baby sister and her beloved grandparents. She also faced the end of a fifteen-year marriage.

She remembers the tears shed in lonely nights, the broken promises that stung, and the shame she carried.

But when she looks back, she also sees the lessons she’s learned.

She sees a girl, not clawing her way up. She is steady enough to stay afloat when life threatens to pull her under. Instead, she had just enough grit to stay afloat when life tried to pull her under. A girl who walked across pebbles, turning them into stepping stones toward higher ground. A girl whose childlike faith in God above blossomed into something far greater than herself. Though her earthly father was often absent, she came to know a Heavenly Father who never once left her side.

When she looks in the mirror, what does she see?

She sees a girl once dejected and rejected—but no longer that sad, little girl. So don’t pity her. Applaud her. It was in the dry seasons that she discovered an oasis. Rejoice with her, for it was in the darkness that she found a beacon of light. Admire her for rising above her crisis despite her circumstances.

She may have started in the valley, pecking along like a chicken searching for worms. But the Ancient of Days taught her to spread her wings like an eagle and soar above the mountaintops.

Don’t cry for her. Don’t grieve for her.

If you’re looking for a lost and lonely child, she is not here. Misunderstood she may be; a wonder to many she may be. If you’re searching for perfection, she is not that girl—she still has flaws. If you expect polished sophistication or profound eloquence, you may be disappointed.

Her past may try to dictate her future. The voices in her head may play a broken song. Her name may even mean “bitter.” But she refuses to be that girl anymore. She is no longer defined by fear or sorrow.

So what kind of girl is she?

A simple girl.
A grateful girl.
A blessed girl.

She believes in second chances and new beginnings.

She is stronger today because of all she has endured. Her scars remind her that she is a survivor. She finds beauty in living life one day at a time. She surrounds herself with those who encourage and genuinely care. She clothes herself in a garment of praise, standing in awe of the wonders of God’s grace.

When she looks in the mirror, what does she see?

She sees a girl turned woman.

And if wrinkles must be written upon her brow, she refuses to let them be written upon her heart.

She is more than a conqueror.

She sees strength. Learned lessons. Pride in herself.

Sad? Not anymore.
Alone? Never.
Afraid? She refuses.

A wallflower?

Not that girl anymore.

If you’ve ever felt broken, overlooked, or unsure of who you’re becoming, know this: you are not alone. Your story isn’t over yet. Mine wasn’t.

You can read the full story in Running In Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace

8 Comments

Filed under Faith

The Shadows of My Baby Sister’s Death

I remember first holding you, so tiny in my arms.
Next thing I knew, you turned two, angelic and quite the charm.
Your silhouette dances in my dreams before my eyes,
Remembering your joy through my simple lullabies.

I imagine your eyes, your voice, your laughter,
Spending time together, nothing else mattered.
I thought about you often before crawling into bed at night.
I loved you deeply and never wanted you out of my sight.

I wish you could tell me what’s on your mind today.
What are the things you’re longing to say?
Would you have married a wonderful husband?
Lived in a castle and had many children?

Oh, if only I could see you now. I would run to you—
I would hold you and twirl you around.

Oh, sister, there will always be a hole in my heart,
But I guess somehow I knew that from the start.

If only I had you to talk to, share secrets with, laugh, and cry,
I would not be here thinking: why? Why did you have to die?


Excerpt, Chapter 2 of Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace

Soft, velvety cheeks. A round, rosy nose. Dark hair like mine, but curly. Eyes, blue that sparkled like the ocean I’d seen in storybooks. I kissed her sweet-smelling face. Her soft, pudgy hand with tiny fingers curled inside mine. Anna melted my heart. I won’t be alone anymore. I caressed her cheeks and whispered, “I’ll stay by your side for always.”

Soon left with the responsibility of caring for Anna, I became her substitute mother. I loved her and took care of her as best as a seven-year-old could.

8 Comments

Filed under Loss, poetry

Joyful Gathering at Bruno & George Winery

What a gorgeous, sunny day it was in Sour Lake Texas, a historic town in Hardin County, southwest of Beaumont! My recent book signing at Bruno & George Winery was a heartwarming success, filled with wonderment, meaningful conversations, and shared excitement. Stories were shared, books were sold, and my eldest daughter accompanied me showcasing her own talented artwork.

I wish to express my deepest thanks to everyone who came out. Special thanks to Shawn Bruno for hosting us so graciously.

If you haven’t yet read my memoir, it’s available through Amazon—a story of resilience, faith, and legacy. We’re presently working on a Spanish edition to honor my Puerto Rican heritage and reach even more hearts. You can support this journey through our GoFundMe Campaign.

Stay tuned for future book signings and events. And if you’d like to invite me to your book club or community gathering, I’d love to hear from you! Contact me

3 Comments

Filed under Book Signing Event