In the past few weeks, I’ve been overwhelmed—in the best way—by your responses to Running in Heels. Over a dozen new Goodreads reviews have poured in, many from book clubs who read and reflected together.
One reader wrote, “Running in Heels is not just a memoir, it’s a mirror…” Another said, “Mary doesn’t sugarcoat anything, but she also never loses her hope.”
These words are more than reviews—they’re reminders that healing is contagious. That when we share our stories, we invite others to share theirs.
Thank you for walking this journey with me. If my story moved you, I’d love to hear from you. Leave a review, share the book, or simply pass it on to someone who needs a little grit and grace.
Upcoming Events: Meet the Author
I’m thrilled to be part of two beautiful events this November—if you’re nearby, I’d love to see you there!
🍂 Texas Proper Dry Goods & Interior Fall Market
📅 November 8, 2025 | 🕙 10 AM – 4 PM 📍 5503 FM 359, Richmond, TX 77406 🔗 shoptexasproper.com Come browse local goods and meet artists. Stop by my table to chat. You can grab a signed copy or just say hello.
🎨 Book & Illustrator Show at Fort Bend Art Center
📅 November 29, 2025 | 🕙 10 AM – 4 PM 📍 2012 Ave G, Rosenberg, TX 77471 🔗 artleaguefortbend.org This event celebrates storytelling in all its forms. I’ll be sharing Running in Heels alongside talented illustrators and fellow authors. It’s a beautiful space for creativity and connection.
📽️ P.S. If you haven’t seen it yet, I’ve added the official book trailer to the sidebar. It’s a glimpse into the heart behind the pages—feel free to take a moment and watch.
I’ve always believed stories can heal. This trailer is a glimpse into mine—a journey through grief, faith, and the quiet miracles of everyday life. It’s a tribute to my Puerto Rican roots. It honors my family’s legacy. It also celebrates the resilience that carried me through seasons of loss. Watch the trailer. Let it speak to your heart. And if it moves you, consider sharing it or supporting the Spanish edition through my GoFundMe. Together, we can bring this story to even more souls who need it.
I am thrilled to announce the winner of our holiday giveaway for “Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace.”
🏆 Congratulations to Andy Valadez! 🏆
Andy has read many wonderful books, and I’m honored that my memoir is part of his collection. Check out this fantastic picture of Andy with his stack of books, including “Running in Heels”!
A huge thank you to everyone who participated and showed their support. Your enthusiasm and love mean the world to me. For those who didn’t win this time, stay tuned—there will be more exciting opportunities and giveaways in the future.
As we approach the holiday season, I want to share a meaningful gift idea. It is my memoir, Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace. This book continues to resonate with readers around the world with its powerful story of resilience, faith, and forgiveness.
📖 Perfect Gift for the Holiday Season
If you’re looking for a heartfelt gift this year, look no further. Running in Heels is a testament to the human spirit and the ability to overcome incredible odds. It’s a perfect choice for friends, family, or even yourself.
Here’s what readers are saying:
“A moving and uplifting journey that will stay with you long after you turn the last page.” – K. Nelson
“Stunning! Riveting. Raw. The story will break open your heart with Mary’s vulnerability and strength.” – Boymama
“This book will make you grateful for the life you have as you walk through the pain and heartbreak that Mary went through. You will be moved.” – Howard Partridge
To spread even more holiday cheer, I’m hosting a giveaway! For every book purchased, you’ll be entered for a chance to win a digital download of my audiobook. Simply share this blog post, tag me on social media, and show proof of purchase. Winners will be announced on January 15, 2025.
Let’s inspire others with this incredible journey. Whether for yourself or as a gift to a loved one, this memoir brings hope and inspiration. Thank you all for your continued support! 💖✨
I have learned that there are seasons for everything. Emotions are up and down. Friends, relationships, and even marriages will come and go. But our God remains constant.
I previously blogged an insert from my book Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace. It mentioned Susie’s husband, who became my former husband’s uncommon German buddy. Their friendship lasted a lifetime. I witnessed a feat that God alone could accomplish in that man of mine back then. Did it go as I had hoped for in our marriage? No. But there were lessons learned, and I believe growth took shape inside of me.
Donny completed weeks of treatment for alcohol abuse as an inpatient at the VA Hospital. Afterward, another remarkable friendship soon began to take shape. A bond soon developed. Donny met Ronnie. He was one of the sweetest men I knew. Ronnie was married to Carolyn, the sweetest woman I knew (and still do). Known for being a “completed-Jew,” Ronnie loved Jesus and shared the love of Christ with others. Ronnie was not one to reserve his affection. He never shied away from giving Donny a couple of his bear hugs whenever they crossed paths. I believed that because Donny had no siblings, Ronnie’s warmth filled a void in him. Ronnie became the big brother he never had. There wasn’t anything one wouldn’t do for the other.
Donny had always been a giver, but spending time with Ronnie taught him genuine compassion. My former husband had a heart after all, and he had begun allowing others to see it. Carolyn assured me that Ronnie was also learning about his willingness to take risks from Donny. Our husbands were worlds apart, like salty pretzels and sugar cookies. Amazingly, we saw them caring for and loving each other as true brothers. It’s been said that God works in mysterious ways.
Years later, our dear friend Ronnie became gravely ill. After a few months, we were shocked and heartbroken to learn of his passing. The news shook Donny to the core. But one thing for certain remained. Donny had learned to love. He then grew to miss someone significant in his life. Undoubtedly, our dear friend Ronnie left a lasting mark; he blessed and affected all he met.
Sweet Carolyn, one of my sisters & forever friends with her sweet Ronnie!
Present: I recently had lunch with sweet Carolyn and reminisced about our husbands’ unique friendships those many years ago. We remembered how they had a mutual love and respect for one another.“They both loved to fish together,” Carolyn said, “and Donny was there if Ronnie ever needed help with anything physical.” Whatever the task, she commented on how Donny did it right and graciously. “Those two were peas in a pod,” Carolyn said, “they so enjoyed spending time together.” Indeed, they did, and for several years, Donny walked a straight line and had become accountable.
In retrospect, I learned that you might not remember what someone said. However, you will never forget how they made you feel, and that speaks volumes to this day.
As iron sharpens iron, so a man sharpens the countenance of his friend Prov. 27:17
Donny was still in the VA Hospital for alcohol abuse. During that time, a wonderful family of five often invited the children and me to their home. Susan and I knew each other from church. She had such a bubbly personality, and I was instantly drawn to her. Her husband, Fred, born and raised in Germany, had a dry sense of humor but made me feel comfortable. After Donny completed treatment, they invited us over for dinner. Our husbands got to finally meet. We shared a delicious meal at the dinner table. The men engaged in small talk. I marveled in silence, taking it all in.
My husband back then was the pursuer. He continually sought Fred’s company. He offered his help with any home repairs and carpentry projects. Those two quickly hit it off and talked to each other freely. They spent most weekends on Fred’s aluminum boat fishing or hanging out at his lake house. They knew the struggles of alcohol and often shared stories about the victories and failures during their alone time. They discussed work, God, and family matters. Sometimes they simply shared a comfortable silence. Their understanding and respect for each other grew.
Friendships blossomed.
Bonds strengthened.
We wives were pleased. Susan and I often shared laughter mingled with tears as we prayed for our husbands, our children, and our community. We shared a common goal: We wanted so much more unity in our home. We celebrated as our families shared meals, barbecues, beach outings, and attended church activities together. Just like family.
Years later, Susan was there for me during abandonment and a painful but necessary divorce. I eventually picked up the pieces of my life. I found renewed love with Mark. He soon became my faithful husband, my second chance at love and happiness. As time passed, some 30 years later, Susan fell ill. Her family asked me to prepare a eulogy for her on their behalf, something I had NEVER done before. Here is that story: https://maryaperez.com/2015/12/23/so-long-for-now/
Again, left alone, I had no one to share my heart with. I regretted that I never stayed in touch with old classmates. I also regretted that I never finished school. It’s what he wanted. Although I had advanced to the tenth grade, I never went back, relying solely on Donny’s moral and financial support. I regretted that, too.
I felt my prayers answered the day a neighbor knocked on our door. I recognized her instantly. At last, someone my own age to talk to.
She was not much older than me. She was a friendly sort with deep-set, café con leche eyes. She had long espresso hair and a tan complexion. She wore blue jeans and a T-shirt. The warmth of her smile cast away my shadows. Liz sold Avon. Even though I doubted I’d be able to buy any of her products, I welcomed her company.
While Donny was engrossed in TV, she and I visited at the dining room table. We had coffee and slices of block cheddar cheese. We chatted about makeup and the latest perfume. After an hour, she dug deep when she peered into my eyes and asked, “Mary, do you know Jesus?”
“Well . . . I . . . I used to . . . as a kid,” I stuttered and hung my head.
She reminded me of God’s love, goodness, and grace.
Liz was my neighbor who soon became my sounding board and best friend. She made me laugh and forget my troubles. She made suggestions about hair and makeup. We went window-shopping at the malls, grocery shopping, and baked cakes together in her kitchen. Liz even introduced me to garage sale hunting on weekends. We started reading our Bibles over coffee at her place in the mornings. This happened after our husbands left for work. Her older kids had already trotted to school by then. Our preschool girls were close in age and enjoyed playing with each other.
Donny never said too much about Liz, which was fine by me. He once labeled her a “Jesus freak.” He usually made himself scarce whenever she came around, which was also fine by me.
Before long, I started sitting in on Bible studies, which Liz held with other couples in her apartment. Eventually, I attended her small church. I felt a sense of belonging there. The serenity was something I hadn’t known since living with my grandparents. I longed to return to the God of my grandparents. However, I needed to overcome the stinking-thinking about myself. I never felt worthy enough; may as well have worn a sign over me that read: Deflated, Dejected and Discouraged.
After our devotions in the mornings, Liz led prayer. She prayed that I’d learn to “let go and let God.” I wasn’t sure how to “let go,” let alone move on. Then, before closing our devotions, she always asked what my prayer requests were.
“I can’t stand Jerry . . . he’s a moron,” I blurted one day. “When he’s around, Donny drinks more. Jerry and him go bar-hopping and get into fights with other drunken bozos.”
“What do you want God to do?” Liz asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe Jerry needs to take a long walk on a short pier or something.”
She smiled.
I felt foolish.
She then asked if I had ever asked God to sever Donny and Jerry’s friendship. I never thought about praying that way. She said she believed we needed to be a family in the privacy of our home. We needed to avoid negative interference from an outsider.
A woman of simple faith, Liz started praying for that specifically.
Weak in my faith, I hoped against hope.
One autumn day, as the temperatures fell and the evening grew chilly, Jerry wanted “female companionship.” He borrowed my Plymouth Duster. He drove more than a thousand miles from Houston to Denver to get that companionship. Once there, he landed in jail, and the police impounded my car. Weeks later, Donny paid someone in Denver. This person got my vehicle out of impound. Donny then drove it back home.
Coincidentally—or by divine intervention—we never heard from Jerry again.
The day I located my friend Liz on FaceBook and contacted her, joy flooded my heart. She lives out of town and drove through after attending a conference; we reunited at a local diner. We played catch-up over a glass of iced tea. We talked about the present, and before long, reminisced about the past, some thirty-plus years ago. “I never expected anyone to come to my apartment. I certainly didn’t anticipate someone trying to sell me some Avon or to talk about Jesus.” “Mary Ann, I had to come over,” Liz said, her eyes growing misty. “I used to hear you and Donny argue. Every time you two fought, I heard everything. I even used to hear him hit you … then to hear you crying.”
“I didn’t know that.” I glanced away and watched water droplets slide silently down myglass, like my tears so long ago.
“Whenever I heard the fights,” Liz continued, “I would lay my hands on the walls. I prayed for you. Then my husband would tell me to get away from there and to mind my own business.” I studied my friend from long ago. “Well, I’m so glad you made me your business. When I needed a friend, you were there.”
“Grief is like the ocean; it comes in waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.” Vicki Harrison
She was weak, frail, with no appetite. I prayed that Mama would make it to Mother’s Day. She did and left us at 3 pm on that very day! I believe she truly received the best gift possible. She no longer has any pain or discomfort. She doesn’t have to worry about anything or anyone else.
I had told her that I would, and I did. Three months had passed. With my immediate family, I took some of Mama’s remains to bury. We placed them alongside her parents, my grandparents. We also buried her next to my baby sister. She was tragically struck down by a hit-and-run driver at the tender age of two, some 55 years ago.
Everyone expresses life and death differently. What we did was another way to honor Mama and her memory. I know that Mama is in heaven, and not in a shallow grave. You see, doing this was more about healing for us. We are at peace knowing we did something to honor her life. Through it all—and there were many bumps in the road—Mama was loved, and she is now with her Savior. In the end: Love. Won!
"Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me.In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also. And where I go you know, and the way you know.”
John 14:1-4
He is the one for me. He is the man who has stuck by my side since day one as my loving confidant, helpmate, and best friend. He is the man who loves me, cherishes me, and tells me that I am beautiful. He loves me on my best days and he loves me on my worse days. He knows my past and has never belittled me or made me feel inadequate. He is faithful, a man true to his word. I can count on his constant love and remain secure in his arms. He praises me for my accomplishments and encourages me in my failures. When I’m happy, his warm laughter melts my heart. His gentle touch wipes away my tears when I’m sad or fearful.
I love you, my husband, and I am proud to be your wife. I am genuinely grateful to the Lord for bringing us together to share the remainder of our days. As we celebrate our twenty-eighth wedding anniversary, may our constant love nourish and sustain each other until the end of time.
I ADORED MY little sister growing so fast. To see her beaming face at the window highlighted my day after school. She always reached up to carry my books, no matter how heavy. After we shared a snack, then time for homework. Anna took naps or played alone, while I finished my studies. Then we’d go out for a walk.
She loved the outdoors. Our outings became adventures—it made me feel good to see her hopping and skipping alongside me. If something piqued her curiosity, we stopped, whether it was to find a fallen bird’s nest or to watch a worm squirm under a rock to hide. We’d listen to the mockingbirds while we gathered sprigs of white wildflowers, and the red hibiscus and puffy yellow marigolds in bloom, smelling their fragrance before taking some home for Mama.
Anna cheerfully greeted everyone we passed. “What a beautiful angel she is,” they’d say. Her enchanting smile and deep blue, watchful eyes mesmerized me. The warmth of her merry laughter penetrated hearts, including mine. “She’s my sister,” I’d proudly boast. Anna’s countenance radiated joy. I cherished her carefree spirit and relished her innocence.
Since Mama stayed in bed until the afternoons, Anna and I usually ate a bowl of cornflakes for breakfast. We’d watch Sesame Street on the black-and-white tube. Whenever Big Bird appeared, my sister squealed and clapped. Then when Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood came on, we sang along with him.
We ate our meals sitting on cushions on the floor. We didn’t have a scheduled time to eat. Chow time consisted of simple bologna sandwiches, a heated can of SpaghettiOs, or sometimes a can of tomato soup. On special occasions, we ate Swanson chicken TV dinners.
Mama expected me to care for my sister. In the evenings, when she and Jimmy went out, Anna and I stayed home by ourselves. We’d lay on the floor to color or play inside our blanket tent, having tea parties with our plastic cups. I sometimes read aloud, making up the words I didn’t know. We stayed up until we grew sleepy.
Whatever we did, doing it together was more fun than being alone.
One particular evening, as I gazed into my sister’s baby-blues, a sudden feeling of sorrow swept over me. Tears clouded my eyes. Something burned within my chest. I cried out, “Please God, don’t let nothing bad happen to her!”
Anna gazed at me with her gentle, trusting eyes.
“I’ll protect you,” I whispered to her. “For always.”
Before bedtime, we repeated a child’s prayer Grandma taught me, one that hung on the wall:
“. . . I pray thee, Lord, my soul to keep . . .”
That night I clung to my sister and kept the strange premonition to myself.
The Spanish translation of Running in Heels is complete—but the journey isn’t over. This memoir of grit and grace is being prepared for publication in Spanish, to reach hearts across cultures and generations. From family setbacks to divine provision, every step has been a testimony.
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It’s That Time Again! 
Available on Amazon: 
From Heart to Heritage
Reflections From the Heart 