Mommy Finger, Baby Finger

For my grandmother, whose fire lives on in me. I know she would have wanted me to speak my truth. And I’ll keep doing just that. En memoria de mi abuela—quien me enseñó a ser fuerte, valiente, atrevida y auténtica.

When we buried my grandmother, I didn’t just say goodbye to her—I said goodbye to a version of myself, too.

The one who kept peace at her own expense.
The one who tried to belong in places that kept hurting her.
The one who stayed quiet when things were loud and wrong.

It’s a strange feeling, to grieve someone you love and also feel like you’re stepping away from the very people surrounding you in that loss. But that’s exactly where I’ve found myself: mourning, while also choosing to protect my heart.

Family can be complicated. There’s love, yes—but also cycles that harm: unspoken tension, passive aggression, guilt, and the expectation to “let things go” without ever talking about it. And when you do speak up, you’re labeled dramatic or made to feel like you’re playing the victim.

I’ve grown past that narrative. I’ve had to learn, the hard way, that not everyone who shares your blood sees you clearly. Not everyone who hugs you at a funeral has handled you with care. Sometimes people only start talking about unity after loss. And while that desire might come from a genuine place, it’s hard to believe when the behaviors haven’t changed. There’s a kind of emotional fatigue that comes from navigating grief and dysfunction at the same time. It’s rarely talked about, but it’s real.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about how I want to raise my daughter with a different definition of love. It’s not easy to feel like the outsider in a family you grew up in. But it’s harder to keep betraying yourself just to keep the peace.

And I think many people know what it feels like to wonder:
Is this love, or is this just the pattern I’ve gotten used to?

Here’s what I’ve come to:
Real love doesn’t require silence. It doesn’t make you feel small or guilty for speaking up. It doesn’t ask you to keep sacrificing your mental health for the sake of keeping the peace. You can love people and still create space.
You can grieve and still protect yourself. And you can choose healing—even if that means doing things differently than what’s been modeled for you.

To anyone else trying to grieve while managing complicated family dynamics:
You’re not alone.
You’re not wrong for feeling what you feel.
And you’re not bitter. You’re becoming clear.
There’s strength in that.

Thank you for following my journey. These words are pieces of my heart.
With love,
Jeannette | @_mujerdepalabras