Day 29: Lavender and the Art of Soft Survival

If I’m being honest, my softest self-care practice hasn’t changed much over the years. It’s lavender. Always lavender. This might feel like a repeat if you’ve been following this series closely, but some truths repeat themselves because they are foundational. Lavender is one of those truths for me.

Lavender isn’t trendy self-care in my life. It’s not a phase or a Pinterest aesthetic. It’s a sensory anchor. A nervous system signal. A quiet spell I’ve been casting for years without even realizing it.

Lavender feels soft, enriching, powerful, and invigorating all at once. That combination matters to me. I don’t want self-care that knocks me out or numbs me. I want self-care that steadies me while keeping me present. Lavender does that. It doesn’t erase me. It holds me.

The Scent That Lives in My Body

Some people experience memory through images. I experience it through scent. Lavender goes straight to my body before my brain has time to analyze anything. The moment I smell it, my shoulders drop. My breath deepens. Something inside me unclenches.

That response didn’t come out of nowhere. It’s been built over time, through repetition and association. Lavender has been there in moments where I needed grounding. Before sleep. During stress. In quiet evenings when my thoughts wouldn’t slow down. Over time, my body learned that lavender means safety.

That’s the thing about soft self-care. It works best when it’s consistent. When it becomes predictable. When your nervous system knows exactly what signal it’s receiving.

Lavender tells my body, you’re allowed to rest now.

Softness With Strength

What I love most about lavender is that it isn’t weak. There’s a misconception that softness equals fragility. Lavender proves otherwise. It’s gentle, but it’s also resilient. It thrives in harsh environments. It survives heat and drought. It smells delicate, but it’s potent.

That duality resonates deeply with me.

I’ve spent much of my life being strong in ways that weren’t gentle. Survival strength. Push-through-it strength. Get-it-done-no-matter-what strength. Lavender represents a different kind of power. The kind that doesn’t need to announce itself. The kind that restores instead of depletes.

That’s the kind of strength I’m cultivating now.

How Lavender Shows Up in My Life

Lavender weaves itself into my days in small, intentional ways. Sometimes it’s a candle burning in the background while I write. Sometimes it’s lavender oil on my wrists before bed. Sometimes it’s a lavender sachet tucked into drawers or placed in my pillow case.

I don’t overthink it. I let it be simple.

Self-care doesn’t need to be elaborate to be effective. Lavender reminds me of that. Its presence is enough. Its scent does the work without asking me to perform.

On days when everything feels loud, lavender becomes my quiet.

On days when my body feels wired, lavender becomes my signal to slow down.

On days when I forget to be gentle with myself, lavender reminds me how.

Why Scent Matters for Self-Care

There’s something uniquely powerful about scent-based self-care. Smell is directly connected to the limbic system, the part of the brain responsible for emotion, memory, and stress responses. That’s why lavender can calm anxiety, support better sleep, and reduce feelings of overwhelm.

For me, that science lines up perfectly with lived experience.

Lavender helps me transition between states. From work to rest. From tension to ease. From mental overload to presence. It doesn’t fix everything, but it creates a bridge. And sometimes that bridge is all I need.

Repetition as Ritual

Yes, I’ve talked about lavender before. And I’ll probably talk about it again. That repetition isn’t accidental. Rituals repeat because they work. Lavender has earned its place in my daily life because it consistently shows up for me.

There’s comfort in returning to the same softness again and again.

In a world that constantly demands novelty, lavender reminds me that healing doesn’t require reinvention. Sometimes it requires devotion. Returning to what soothes you. Trusting what your body already knows.

Lavender is familiar. Lavender is grounding. Lavender is home.

Soft Self-Care Is Allowed to Be Simple

I think a lot of us complicate self-care because we feel like it has to look impressive. Lavender challenges that idea for me. It’s quiet. It’s subtle. It doesn’t ask for attention.

And yet, it’s one of the most powerful tools I have.

My softest self-care practice isn’t something I schedule or track. It’s something I invite. Lavender meets me where I am, whether I’m exhausted, overstimulated, or simply in need of comfort.

That’s why it remains central in my life. Not because it’s flashy, but because it works.

Lavender reminds me that softness is not a luxury. It’s a necessity. And choosing it, again and again, is an act of self-respect.

Day 28: Breathing, or How I Learned to Soften From the Inside Out

For the longest time, I underestimated breathing.

I know how ridiculous that sounds. Breathing is automatic. It’s the most basic thing we do to stay alive. And yet, it’s also the practice that has softened me the most. The one that brings me back into my body when my mind wants to sprint ahead. The one that reminds my nervous system that I am not in danger, even when my thoughts insist otherwise.

Breathing is my softest self-care practice.

And it’s something I’m still learning.

I didn’t grow up in a body that felt calm. I grew up in a body that stayed alert, ready, braced. My default mode was tension. Shoulders tight. Jaw clenched. Breath shallow. I didn’t realize how much I was holding until I started paying attention to my breath and noticed how little of it I was actually taking in.

When life gets busy, when stress stacks up, when my schedule is packed with work, writing, family, and responsibility, breathing is the first thing to go. I start moving faster. Thinking louder. Reacting quicker. And my body follows suit, tightening instead of resting.

That’s where this practice comes in.

Breathing as a Reset

My relationship with intentional breathing started slowly. I didn’t jump into hour-long meditation sessions or complicated techniques. I started with something simple: taking a few deep breaths in the morning before I officially began my day.

Just a pause.

Just air moving in and out of my lungs.

Even that felt revolutionary.

There was a stretch of time when I was doing really well with it. I would breathe in the morning, grounding myself before the day took hold of me. I even got to a point where I’d pause during my lunch break to do it again. Five minutes. Sometimes less. Enough to reset.

And it worked.

I could feel my body respond. My chest would loosen. My thoughts would slow down. The tight buzzing feeling in my nervous system would soften just enough for me to breathe easier emotionally, not just physically.

It reminded me that I don’t always need to push through. Sometimes I need to pause and breathe before I react.

The Nervous System Piece

What I didn’t fully understand before was how much breathing impacts the nervous system. I used to take breathing techniques for granted, lumping them into the category of things people say help but don’t really change anything.

I was wrong.

Intentional breathing tells your body you are safe. It signals that you don’t need to be in fight-or-flight mode. And for someone who has lived a good portion of their life in survival mode, that signal matters.

Breathing doesn’t erase stress. It doesn’t magically fix circumstances. But it creates space. And space is where regulation happens.

That’s why this practice feels so soft to me. It doesn’t demand productivity. It doesn’t ask me to achieve anything. It simply asks me to exist in my body for a few moments without judgment.

Box Breathing Changed Everything

If there’s one technique that truly shifted my relationship with breathing, it’s box breathing.

I remember the first time I tried it consistently and thought, Oh. This is different.

Box breathing is structured, which helps my brain. Inhale for four counts. Hold for four. Exhale for four. Hold for four. Repeat. The rhythm creates containment. It gives my thoughts something to anchor to. It keeps me from drifting into worry while I’m trying to calm myself down.

There’s something incredibly grounding about the predictability of it. Each side of the box holds you in place. Each breath becomes intentional instead of reactive.

When I practice box breathing, I can feel my body settle. My shoulders drop. My heartbeat steadies. My mind stops racing long enough for me to feel present.

It’s subtle, but it’s powerful.

Why Box Breathing Works (The Science Behind the Softness)

Box breathing isn’t just a calming trick. It has real, measurable effects on both physical and mental wellbeing.

From a physiological standpoint, box breathing activates the parasympathetic nervous system, the part of your body responsible for rest, digestion, and recovery. When you slow your breath and add intentional holds, you stimulate the vagus nerve, which helps lower heart rate, reduce blood pressure, and decrease cortisol levels. In simple terms, your body gets the message that it is safe.

Research has shown that controlled breathing patterns like box breathing can:

• Reduce symptoms of anxiety and stress
• Improve emotional regulation
• Increase focus and cognitive clarity
• Lower heart rate and stabilize blood pressure
• Improve resilience to stress over time

Mentally, the structure of box breathing matters just as much as the breath itself. Counting the inhale, hold, exhale, and hold gives the mind something concrete to focus on. This interrupts rumination and anxious thought loops, which is why box breathing is often taught to people in high-stress professions, including first responders and military personnel.

What I find most powerful about box breathing is that it works with the body, not against it. You’re not forcing calm. You’re creating the conditions for calm to emerge naturally. The body slows first. The mind follows.

That’s why this practice feels so soft to me. It’s not about controlling my emotions. It’s about supporting my nervous system so my emotions don’t have to scream to be heard.

A Practice, Not a Perfection

I want to be clear about something: I’m not perfect at this. I fall off. I forget. I go days without practicing and then wonder why I feel so dysregulated. Life gets busy, and old habits sneak back in.

But breathing is the one self-care practice I always return to.

Because it’s accessible.
Because it doesn’t require tools or space or money.
Because it meets me exactly where I am.

Breathing reminds me that softness doesn’t have to be elaborate. Sometimes softness is a pause. Sometimes it’s a few intentional inhales. Sometimes it’s choosing to regulate instead of react.

This practice has taught me that peace doesn’t always arrive as a feeling. Sometimes it arrives as a physiological shift. A calmer heartbeat. A slower breath. A nervous system that finally believes it can rest.

And for me, that is the softest kind of care.

Day 26: Gratitude as Survival, Not Aesthetic

Gratitude didn’t enter my life wrapped in pretty bows or soft morning light. It came to me out of necessity. Out of survival. Out of a deep need to rewire a brain that was constantly bracing for impact.

I am a recovering pessimist. For a long time, my default setting was waiting for the other shoe to drop. If something good happened, I didn’t celebrate it. I prepared myself for the fallout. Joy felt temporary. Safety felt suspicious. Peace felt like a setup.

That mindset didn’t come from nowhere. It came from lived experience. It came from instability, from having to grow up fast, from learning early that good things didn’t always last. So I adapted. I stayed alert. I stayed guarded. I stayed ready.

But living like that takes a toll.

This gratitude ritual is one of the ways I’ve been slowly teaching my nervous system that not every calm moment is a trap. That it’s okay to acknowledge goodness without fear. That the present moment deserves to be seen as it is, not as a precursor to disaster.

My Gratitude Ritual (The One I Need to Function)

I’m going to be honest: I haven’t been as consistent with this ritual lately. Moving, work stress, personal chaos — all of it knocked me out of rhythm. And that alone told me how important this practice actually is, because the days felt heavier without it.

When I’m in alignment, this is what I do.

As soon as I wake up, before emails, before social media, before my brain starts spiraling through responsibilities, I open my journal app. I use Clearfold, a subscription app that lives in a folder on my phone literally labeled I Am Sane. That folder name is not a joke. It’s a truth.

Inside Clearfold, I’ve favorited a gratitude template that prompts me to identify three things I’m grateful for. Just three. Not a list of twenty. Not a forced gratitude dump. Three intentional acknowledgments.

Some mornings they’re big things. Some mornings they’re painfully simple. The point is not magnitude. The point is awareness.

That small act, done first thing in the morning, shifts how I move through the day. It’s like setting my internal compass toward noticing instead of bracing.

Why Three Things Matter

There’s something powerful about limiting it to three. It keeps the ritual accessible. It removes pressure. It makes it sustainable even on hard days.

More importantly, it trains my brain to look.

Once I name three things I’m grateful for, I start subconsciously scanning for more. Not because life suddenly becomes perfect, but because I’m no longer filtering everything through doom. When things derail later in the day, and to be honest, they often do, I can remind myself that this day already holds goodness. That the narrative isn’t “everything is wrong.” It’s “some things are hard, and some things are good.”

That distinction has been life-changing for me.

Gratitude as Rewiring, Not Denial

This ritual is not about toxic positivity. I’m not pretending bad things don’t happen. I’m not bypassing pain. I’m not forcing myself to “be grateful” for struggle.

What I’m doing is grounding myself in reality.

The anxiety comes when I live in the future.
The despair comes when I live in the past.

Gratitude brings me back to now.

And more often than not, right now is survivable. Right now has light in it. Right now has something worth acknowledging.

That realization has helped me become less reactive. When my nervous system isn’t constantly sounding alarms, I respond instead of explode. I pause instead of panic. I choose instead of spiral.

This is especially important for someone like me, who learned early that things could fall apart without warning. Gratitude doesn’t erase that history, but it gives me a different ending to the story.

A Work in Progress, Not a Perfect Practice

I want to be clear about something: I’m still learning. I still slip into old patterns. I still have days where pessimism creeps back in and whispers that I should prepare for the worst.

But this ritual gives me a way back.

It’s the practice I return to when I feel myself hardening. When I start assuming loss instead of possibility. When I forget that I’ve survived everything that’s come before.

This is not a “nice-to-have” ritual for me. It’s a need. It’s one of the ways I stay emotionally regulated, spiritually grounded, and mentally present.

If I had to strip my routines down to the bare minimum, this would stay.

Because gratitude didn’t just make me more positive.
It made me more stable.
More aware.
More alive in my own life.

And for a recovering pessimist like me, that’s everything.

Day 24: My Favorite Winter Bruja Aesthetic

Winter magic hits different when you lean into your bruja softness. For me, the season isn’t just about décor. It’s about atmosphere, scent, memory, and the kind of quiet enchantment that settles into the house when the temperature drops and the lights dim. My winter aesthetic is full-on Yule energy: warm, witchy, earthy, nostalgic, and a little indulgent.

And honestly? While I don’t like the cold, it’s one of my favorite things about the colder months.

Yule Is My Love Language

Yule has this ancient, grounding vibe that speaks to me. It’s about the return of the light, the beauty of slowness, the magic of warmth in the darkest season. A few years ago I baked a yule log for the first time — a full-on Bûche de Noël moment — and it felt like crafting a little edible spell. Soft sponge cake, chocolate, rolled and decorated like a log. I’ve been wanting to make another one ever since because that dessert holds a quiet kind of joy for me. It’s delicious, whimsical, and deeply symbolic.

My Soft Bruja Tree

My ideal tree is simple but intentional — red, green, and black. Those colors feel grounding and ancestral. They represent protection, warmth, and magic. I used to love real trees. There’s nothing like that smell when you walk into the house, that crisp woodland scent that makes everything feel fresh and sacred.

But as I learned more about sustainability and deforestation, I couldn’t justify buying real trees anymore. So now I keep artificial ones, and I fill the house with pine-scented candles. The vibe stays just as magical, and I don’t feel like I’m contributing to the depletion of forests.

The Scents That Make the Magic

Mulled wine is my winter potion. When I lived in Europe, I had my first real taste of it — warm, spiced, fruity, comforting. There’s something so bruja about holding that steaming cup in your hands while walking through a cold market. Even now, the memory alone brings me joy. When I make it at home, it transforms the whole house into a cauldron of warmth.

Then come the details:

• pine cones
• dried oranges
• cinnamon sticks
• star anise
• sprigs of evergreen

I sprinkle them in bowls, tuck them into wreaths, tie them to garlands. These tiny things shift the energy of the room. They make everything feel intentional, cozy, and lightly enchanted. It’s not about having an Instagram-perfect holiday house — it’s about creating a space that feels magical to the people who live in it.

Winter Magic, the Soft Bruja Way

My aesthetic leans into softness, ritual, and nostalgia. I want my home to feel like a warm hug when the cold hits. I want scents that remind me of Europe, colors that ground me, and decorations that feel like tiny spells tucked into corners.

It’s simple. It’s sensory. It’s sustainable.
And it makes me feel held.

That’s the softness I want to end the year with — a slow, magical winter rooted in Yule energy and Dominican bruja warmth.

Day 22: The Soft Bruja Affirmation That Saved Me

There are affirmations that sound cute on Pinterest, and then there are affirmations that are carved into your bones because they carried you through the hardest chapters of your life. You are okay is one of those for me.

I didn’t come to this affirmation in a peaceful season. I didn’t discover it on a wellness app or during a self-care retreat. I learned it at twenty years old, exhausted, terrified, and trying to raise a whole human being by myself. I was drowning — emotionally, mentally, financially — and every day felt like a test I hadn’t studied for.

My stepmom, who has this magical way of seeing straight through the chaos to the real me, told me something that shifted everything. She said, “Just tell yourself ‘I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay’” I remember thinking, “How? Nothing about this feels okay.” But I was desperate enough to try.

And something unexpected happened.

When I repeated You are okay, I realized it wasn’t denying the struggle. It wasn’t pretending my life wasn’t heavy. It was reminding me that right in that exact moment — not in the imagined future, not in the trauma of the past — I was actually okay. I had breath in my lungs. I had a baby who loved me. I had a body that kept getting back up even when my spirit felt like it couldn’t.

The fear always came when I zoomed out.
When I thought too far ahead.
When I replayed everything I had been through.
When I spiraled in the “what ifs” instead of the “what is.”

But when I forced myself into the present moment, when I simply acknowledged right now, I wasn’t falling apart. I was managing. I was standing. I was okay.

That affirmation helped me rewire my anxiety before I even had the language for it. It gave me this tiny, steady anchor in a season that felt like open ocean. I wasn’t magically healed by the phrase, but I found pockets of calm I wouldn’t have had otherwise. And sometimes, calm is enough to keep going.

Now, two decades later, life looks different. I’m not that scared 20-year-old anymore. I have experience, stability, and a deeper understanding of who I am. But the affirmation stays with me. I still whisper it to myself when life gets chaotic, when I’m juggling family, writing, publishing, and everything else that sneaks onto my plate. I still return to those two little words that grounded me when I felt like I was free-falling.

I’m okay isn’t just an affirmation; it’s a reminder that survival isn’t small. It’s a reminder that the present moment is often gentler than the story we tell about it. It’s a reminder that we deserve grace from ourselves.

And honestly? I think that’s what being a soft bruja is all about, grounding yourself, speaking to yourself with love, and learning to trust the version of you who keeps rising.

Day 21 — My Soft Confession: The Fear Behind “The Other Shoe Will Drop”

Soft confessions are not easy to share, even when you’ve done enough healing work to name them out loud. They come from tender places. They come from the versions of us we protect the most. They come from wounds that no longer bleed but still ache when touched. Today’s prompt moves straight into that tender place.

My soft confession is this:
When I am at my worst — my most anxious, my most overwhelmed — I brace myself for bad things to happen.

I do not mean this in a dramatic, catastrophic way. I mean it in a patterned, conditioned, deeply ingrained way. It is the quiet expectation that joy has an expiration date. The subtle fear that peace is temporary. The instinct to prepare myself emotionally in case life decides to pivot sharply and take something away.

It is the mental whisper:
“When will the other shoe drop?”

This mindset didn’t appear out of nowhere. It didn’t build itself in a vacuum. It grew out of lived experiences, of survival instincts, of trauma responses, of watching stability turn unstable more times than I could count. It grew from rhythms I adapted to without realizing it, cycles of uncertainty that shaped my body and spirit long before I understood what anxiety was.

Growing up between cultures, in spaces that required toughness, responsibility, and resilience, I learned early on that good moments often came with shadows. Peace was often followed by disruption. Happiness felt fragile. Safety felt conditional. So my nervous system learned to stay alert, even when I didn’t want it to.

It was not pessimism.
It was preparation.

But preparation becomes fear when it never turns off.

For a long time, this mindset guided how I moved through the world. If something good happened, I waited for the balance, the moment life would swing the pendulum back. If something went right, I scanned for what might go wrong. If I experienced a stretch of calm days, a part of me braced for the impact of something unexpected.

This is not an easy thing to admit.
Especially as someone who has learned, slowly, intentionally, painfully, to embrace softness again.
Especially as someone who writes stories about healing, courage, and reclaiming magic.
Especially as someone who is actively trying to rise out of survival mode and into something more spacious and gentle.

The good news is that I am not as ruled by this mindset as I used to be.
Therapy helped.
Self-awareness helped.
Spirituality helped.
Taking deeper care of my nervous system helped.
The soft bruja challenge itself is part of my healing.

But even now, the old pattern shows up when I am most stressed or anxious.
That is the moment when the voice inside me, the one shaped by years of emotional bracing, tries to step forward again.
It tells me to prepare.
It tells me to expect loss.
It tells me to tighten my heart just in case.

And that is when my healing work kicks in.

Instead of letting that voice run wild, I meet it.
I name it.
I breathe into it.
I challenge it.
I remind myself:

Good things don’t have to be balanced with suffering.
Joy is not suspicious.
Peace is not a threat.
Life is not waiting to punish me for being happy.

I also remind myself of the emotional truth I’ve learned over time:
The shoe dropping isn’t destiny, it’s actually hypervigilance.
It’s my nervous system trying to protect me from disappointment.
It’s little-me, the child version of myself, trying to keep me safe the only way she knew how.

And she deserves compassion, not shame.

Now, when I feel myself bracing, I use grounding rituals:
A deep breath.
A hand on my heart.
An affirmation.
A lavender candle.
A tarot pull for reassurance.
A moment outside under the moon.
A reminder that I have survived everything life threw at me and still rose.

I’ve also noticed that when I am truly overwhelmed, the fear of the other shoe dropping is not actually about the future. It’s exhaustion plain and simple. It’s the part of me that needs rest, but instead tries to predict disaster. It is a signal that I need to pause, tend to myself, and ground my spirit.

Sharing this confession is vulnerable because it reveals a part of me that is still healing. But vulnerability is also medicine. Naming what scares us takes away its power. Naming what we’re working through reminds us, and others, that softness and strength can coexist.

I am not ashamed of this confession.
It is an honest reflection of where I’ve been and where I am going.

And the truth is this:
I am better now.
I catch the pattern more quickly.
I interrupt it more gently.
I remind myself more confidently that joy is not dangerous.
I choose softness more intentionally.

Yes, the fear still rises sometimes.
But I no longer let it steer me.
I hold it.
I breathe with it.
I speak to it.
I shrink its influence little by little, day by day.

And that is what healing looks like, not perfection, but awareness.

So here is my soft confession:
I still brace for the shoe to drop.
But now, when it feels like it’s falling, I remind myself:
I am safe.
I am capable.
I am healing.
I am allowed to trust joy.
And not every sound is a shoe.

#anxietyHealing #authorLife #emotionalVulnerability #hypervigilance #intuitiveLiving #LatinaMentalHealth #SelfReflection #softBrujaChallenge #spiritualHealing #TheOrdinaryBruja #traumaAwareness

Day 20 — My Cozy Nook: Imagining the Sanctuary I Will Build

Right now, my cozy nook exists only in my mind. And honestly? There is something magical about that. I am in a season of transition — physically, emotionally, and creatively — and while transitions can be stressful, the part I always look forward to is the moment when I get to rebuild a space that feels like me. A space that holds my softness and my power. A space where I can write, read, rest, and breathe.

A space that feels like a bruja cottage with modern Latina flavor.

Because the truth is, I don’t have a physical cozy corner at the moment. Moving has thrown everything into boxes and suitcases, and until I settle back into my home, I am floating between spaces. But even without the physical nook, the vision is alive. It’s detailed. It’s intentional. It’s waiting for me.

And envisioning it feels like its own kind of magic.

The Vision: A Sanctuary of Softness & Strength

When I imagine my nook, the first thing that appears in my mind is warmth. Not temperature warmth, but emotional warmth. A place where my nervous system relaxes the second I sit down. A place that feels protective, intimate, and deeply personal.

I see:

• A comfortable chair or chaise that my body can melt into
• A throw blanket that matches my bruja aesthetic — maybe deep plum, forest green, or warm brown
• Soft lighting from a salt lamp or a golden-glow floor lamp
• A small altar or corner shelf with crystals, candles, and talismans
• A stack of books within arm’s reach — fiction, magical realism, witchy texts, and my notebooks
• A side table for my Girl Boss mug or a warm cup of chai
• A window nearby, allowing natural light to spill in during the day
• Plants that soften the edges of the room and breathe life into it

It is a place for rituals. A place for creativity. A place for grounding. A place where my inner world feels supported by the outer world. And even though it doesn’t exist physically right now, imagining it helps me stay connected to the softer version of myself I’m building through this challenge.

Why Cozy Nooks Matter So Much to Me

Growing up in a Dominican household, space wasn’t always about aesthetics. It was about practicality. There wasn’t always an invitation to create corners dedicated to emotional comfort or creative freedom. There was no “reading nook.” There was the living room, the kitchen, the bedroom, and that was that.

So as an adult, carving out a nook of my own feels like reclaiming something I didn’t know I needed: A place where I can decompress, create, or simply exist without being productive.

A cozy nook is like a soft exhale.
A place where healing can happen without effort.
A place where I can be all versions of myself:
The writer.
The bruja.
The mother.
The woman.
The dreamer.
The girl who survived.
The one who is still healing.

It is the space where I reconnect to everything that makes me feel grounded.

The Bruja Aesthetic

Let’s be honest: the nook will have bruja vibes. Soft, witchy, Dominican-coded bruja vibes.

I see candlelight flickering against walls.
I see crystals that remind me of my intuition.
I see herb bundles hung or placed carefully nearby.
I see a little dish for essential oils — mostly lavender, of course.
I see art that inspires me, maybe something featuring a kapok tree or a bruja silhouette.
I see a space where ancestors feel welcome and creativity feels at home.

A cozy nook is a bruja portal; a place where the spiritual and the practical meet. A place where rituals can happen effortlessly. A place where I can honor the parts of me that live in both worlds.

The Creative Corner

As an indie author, this nook is also going to be where I write. And writing requires a certain energy. A certain atmosphere. A certain closeness to myself.

This nook will hold:

• My manuscript pages
• My character notes
• My tarot deck for quick clarity pulls
• My laptop
• My favorite pens
• A corkboard or inspiration board
• Music playlists for each book

It is where Marisol lives when I write her.
Where Isadora breathes when I craft her story.
Where Josefina whispers her truths for Book 3.
Where my own memories uncoil so I can weave them into fiction.

A nook is not just a physical space.
It is a partnership between energy and creativity.

The Joy of Creating From Scratch

Not having the nook right now might sound disappointing, but the truth is, I’m excited. Creating a nook from scratch means I get to choose everything intentionally. Nothing will be accidental or leftover. Everything will be curated, chosen with care, and aligned with the softness I’m cultivating.

It will be a space built from healing, not survival.
From abundance, not scarcity.
From intention, not necessity.

There is something deeply symbolic about creating a physical sanctuary while I’m also creating an internal one throughout this challenge.

When I finally settle in El Paso and start decorating, I know the nook will feel like a manifestation of everything I’ve been working toward — peace, clarity, magic, joy, creativity, and emotional grounding.

A space that reflects who I am becoming.

A space where I can grow new roots.

A space that feels like home.

#authorLife #brujaCottageAesthetic #cozyNookIdeas #creativeSanctuary #homeDecorInspiration #IntentionalLiving #LatinaSpirituality #readingNook #softBrujaChallenge #TheOrdinaryBruja #writingNook

Day 19 — The Hobbies That Fill My Love Bucket: Tarot & Honoring the Moon

There are hobbies that pass the time, and then there are hobbies that pour something back into you. Hobbies that refill what the world drains out. Hobbies that feel like coming home to yourself. For me, the two practices that fill my love bucket, emotionally, spiritually, and intuitively, are reading tarot and honoring the moon.

These two rituals sit at the center of my soft bruja practice. They are grounding, clarifying, and deeply connected to the way my body and spirit move through the world. They remind me that I am not alone in my intuition, my cycles, or my emotions. They help me understand myself in a way nothing else does.

Tarot: My Mirror, My Guide, My Clarifier

Tarot is not about telling the future for me.
It is about revealing the present.

It’s about listening to the parts of myself I spend all day ignoring: the whispers, the gut feelings, the quiet truths underneath the noise. Tarot is a conversation between my spirit and my awareness. Every card is a reflection. A nudge. A reminder. A question. A key.

What I love most about tarot is how honest it is.
It doesn’t sugarcoat.
It doesn’t lie to make you comfortable.
It doesn’t flatter.
It doesn’t rush you.
It simply shows you what is there, whether you’re ready to see it or not.

That honesty has been a lifeline during times when my emotions felt tangled, when anxiety made it hard to think clearly, or when a decision felt too heavy to make alone. Tarot helps me interpret my own intuition, especially on days where fear tries to drown it out.

Tarot gives me:

• clarity, when my mind is noisy
• validation, when I feel unsure
• comfort, when I feel overwhelmed
• direction, when I feel lost
• a spiritual check-in, when I need grounding

Some spreads hit me so deeply that I sit with them for days. Others give me tiny answers that shift my whole mood. Tarot reminds me of my power by returning me to myself.

It is a devotion to hearing the truth, softly.

Honoring the Moon: Working With Her, Not Against Her

Just like me, and like my menstrual cycle, the moon has phases.

And each phase has its own energy.
It’s own emotional rhythm.
Its own sacred pull.

I feel these shifts clearly in my body. Some moons make me reflective. Some make me creative. Some make me restless. Some make me deeply calm. Over the years, I’ve learned that my spirit is not random. It is responsive. My energy often mirrors the moon’s cycle more than anything else.

So I honor her phases, not because I am trying to perform witchcraft perfectly, but because my body moves with her.

• During the new moon, I feel inward and quiet. I rest and reevaluate.
• During the waxing moon, I feel openings, creativity, momentum.
• During the full moon, emotions intensify and clarity rises to the surface.
• During the waning moon, I release what is heavy and prepare to start again.

My rituals change depending on what season of life I’m in. Sometimes honoring the moon means pulling a lunar-themed tarot spread. Sometimes it means praying. Sometimes it means journaling. Sometimes it means simply acknowledging her presence when I step outside at night.

There is no pressure. No performance.
Just awareness, attunement, and respect.

The Body-Spirit Connection

One thing I became aware of as I grew deeper into myself is how much the moon’s phases influence my physical and emotional sense of stability. I can feel when a full moon is near because something in my energy heightens, not in a chaotic way, but in an alert, observant way.

I can feel when the moon wanes because my spirit starts letting go of things I didn’t realize I was gripping tightly. I can feel when a new moon approaches because my intuition gets quieter, wanting rest and reflection.

Listening to my body has become a form of spiritual practice.

I ask:

• What do I need today?
• What emotion is rising?
• What is the moon doing, and how is that mirroring my own state?
• How can I work with this instead of against it?

The more I listen, the more aligned I feel.

How Tarot & the Moon Work Together

Both tarot and the moon help me understand my inner world.

Tarot shows me what is happening inside me.
The moon shows me when to act on it.

When a tarot reading reveals a message about release, and the moon is waning, it clicks. When a reading calls for intention and the new moon is approaching, it syncs. When a reading encourages expansion and the moon is waxing, I follow that flow.

These two practices make me feel spiritually supported. They remind me that cycles are natural. That change is natural. That clarity comes in waves. And that healing is not linear. It is lunar.

Why These Hobbies Fill My Love Bucket

Because they bring me:

• comfort
• clarity
• connection
• peace
• self-trust
• spiritual grounding

They refill me when the world drains me. They give me guidance when life feels confusing. They remind me that my intuition is valid. They help me honor my inner rhythms instead of fighting them.

Tarot and the moon do not demand perfection.
They ask for presence.

And that is why they will always be part of my soft bruja journey.

#brujaLifestyle #emotionalHealing #honoringTheMoon #intuitiveLiving #LatinaSpirituality #lunarRituals #moonPhases #selfCarePractices #softBrujaChallenge #tarotClarity #tarotReading #TheOrdinaryBruja

Day 16 — My Favorite Mug: The Girl Boss Mug That Reminds Me Who I Am

There are objects we own because they are practical, and then there are objects we keep because they hold something deeper. Something emotional. Something spiritual. Something that reminds us of the version of ourselves we are constantly becoming.

For me, that object is a mug.
A white and pink mug with bold gold lettering that says: Girl Boss.

It was my husband who spotted it first. We were at Marshall’s, walking through the home goods aisle, and he held it up with this little grin as if he already knew exactly what it would mean to me. I remember laughing when I saw it, because it felt so on-brand. So me. So unapologetically affirming. I didn’t buy it because I needed another mug. I bought it because something inside me said, “You’re going to need this.”

And I did.

The Girl Boss mug is not about hustle culture or capitalism or being busy for the sake of productivity. It is not about projecting strength 24/7 or pretending I have it all figured out. It is much more personal than that. For me, the phrase is spiritual. Emotional. A grounding reminder. A talisman of empowerment disguised as something ordinary.

There are days when I feel strong. Days when I feel aligned. Days when my bruja energy is intact, my spirit is centered, and I remember exactly who I am and what I am capable of. On those days, drinking from the mug feels like celebration.

But there are also days when I feel the exact opposite.

Days when I am overwhelmed.
Days when anxiety sits too close.
Days when my self-doubt gets loud.
Days when life hits harder than expected.
Days when I feel tired in places I cannot name.
Days when the version of me who is powerful feels distant.

On those days, the Girl Boss mug becomes something else entirely.
It becomes a reminder.

A reminder that I have survived worse.
A reminder that I have risen from things that were supposed to break me.
A reminder that even when I feel small, the core of me is still strong.
A reminder that my softness and my power coexist.

This is why, when I returned to El Paso and settled back into my routine, I moved the mug to my bedside table. It was an intuitive choice, an emotional one, a small shift that felt significant. Now, every night before bed, I drink water from it as I take my medication. It has become part of my nighttime ritual, part of the way I close my day with intention.

There is something about ending the night with water — the symbol of cleansing, release, and renewal — held in a mug that reminds me of who I am. It is a gentle ritual of empowerment. A pairing of softness and courage. A practice of meeting myself with compassion and truth.

Some nights I pick up the mug and stare at the words for a moment longer than usual. On those nights, I am not just reading a phrase. I am speaking to myself. I am mothering myself. I am coaching myself the way a good trainer hypes up a boxer before a fight.

You are strong.
You are capable.
You are resilient.
You are evolving.
You are that girl — even when you forget.

It is amazing how something as simple as a mug can hold so much emotional weight, but that is the beauty of ritual objects. They become charged with meaning. They become extensions of our inner worlds. They hold reminders, affirmations, and energy that we return to over and over again.

In my soft bruja practice, I believe in using what feels aligned, not what looks stereotypically witchy. And for me, this mug is part of my magic. It empowers me. Grounds me. Comforts me. It fits into my spiritual lifestyle the way crystals, herbs, and tarot do — not through tradition, but through intention.

To anyone else, it is just a mug.
To me, it is a daily affirmation in gold letters.

It is the reminder that even on my weakest days, I am still powerful.
It is the reminder that I am still the author of my life, my story, my path.
It is the reminder that I continue to build, grow, and become — even when the world feels heavy.

One day, when my new reading and writing nook is built, this mug will sit on the little side table next to my chair. It will be part of my creative ritual, part of my grounding ritual, part of the energy I bring into my storytelling.

For now, it sits beside my bed like a quiet guardian — a daily reminder that strength doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it whispers through everyday objects. Sometimes it glows softly in gold letters. Sometimes it greets you at night, right before you close your eyes.

And sometimes, strength looks like taking a sip of water and remembering:
You are powerful. Even here. Even now.

#authorLife #brujaLifestyle #dailyEmpowerment #emotionalHealing #empoweringMug #GirlBossMug #intuitiveLiving #LatinaSpirituality #nightlyRitual #selfCareHabits #softBrujaChallenge #TheOrdinaryBruja

DAY 15 — My Favorite Tree: The Kapok Tree

There are trees that simply exist in the background of our lives, and then there are trees that hold stories. Trees that feel ancestral. Trees that remind us of who we are and who we come from. For me, that tree is the kapok tree, known as the ceiba in the Dominican Republic and across much of the Caribbean and Latin America.

The kapok tree is enormous, ancient, and awe-inspiring. It towers over landscapes, reaching heights that make you pause and take in its presence. Its trunk is thick and powerful, its roots sprawling like a foundation laid down before memory. In many cultures, the kapok is more than a tree. It is a connection point between earth and sky. A spiritual pillar. A reminder that the natural world has its own elders.

When I was writing The Ordinary Bruja, the kapok felt like the only tree worthy of carrying the story’s symbolism. Not just because it is culturally significant, but because of what it represents emotionally and metaphorically. In the Dominican Republic, the kapok tree is one of the oldest, most sacred trees. It is woven into indigenous Taíno stories and Afro-Caribbean folklore. It is a witness of time, survival, migration, and spiritual resilience.

The kapok is native to tropical regions across the Americas—Mexico, Central and South America—and West Africa. It has since spread to Southeast Asia, thriving in rainforests around the world and often rising above the canopy like a guardian. And that origin story matters. The kapok moved, migrated, rooted itself in lands far from where it began, and still grew into something magnificent.

That is the reason I planted the kapok tree in Ohio within The Ordinary Bruja. It does not belong there—at least not botanically. But symbolically? It belongs perfectly.

Because the kapok is the immigrant story.

It is the story of people who leave their original soil, whether by choice or by force, and find themselves somewhere unfamiliar. Somewhere colder. Somewhere different. Somewhere that may not understand them at first. But still, they grow. Still, they adapt. Still, they root. Still, they rise.

The kapok in Ohio reflects every immigrant’s journey, including my own. It reflects the journey of the Espinal family in the Las Cerradoras series. It reflects the experience of standing in a country that is not your birthplace and learning to belong without losing who you are. It reflects the tension between origin and adaptation, between identity and transformation.

I wanted the kapok tree to show up in the series because it is one of the most powerful symbols of Caribbean identity and diasporic survival. It will appear again in The Forgotten Bruja because that lineage is not limited to one character or one generation. The Espinal magic is tied to land—not just the physical land they walk but the ancestral land that lives inside them. And the kapok is a vessel for that magic.

For me, the kapok tree also symbolizes spiritual height. In many traditions, the ceiba is considered a bridge between worlds. Its massive trunk and exposed roots represent grounding, while its towering branches stretch into the heavens. It is seen as a tree that holds both worlds—earth and spirit, past and present. A place where ancestors gather. A place where offerings are made. A place where stories linger.

When I was writing Marisol’s journey, I knew she needed a symbol that reminded her—and my readers—that belonging is not about location. It is about endurance, heritage, and the ability to adapt without erasing yourself. The kapok tree in Ohio is a disruption. It is unexpected. It raises questions. It stands out.

Just like many of us who grew up between cultures.

Growing up Dominican American means learning to navigate dual identities. You may not fully blend into American society, and you may not fully blend into Dominican culture either—especially if you were raised outside the island. You become like the kapok: familiar yet foreign, rooted yet wandering, powerful yet misunderstood.

But the beauty of the kapok is that it thrives anyway.

It grows in new soil.
It stretches toward the sky.
It becomes a landmark in places that never expected it.
It transforms the land simply by being there.

That is why the kapok in my series is more than scenery. It is a statement.

It says: We do not have to be from here to belong here.
It says: We thrive even when the soil is different.
It says: Our roots are resilient, expansive, and sacred.
It says: Immigrant stories are powerful, magical, and deeply rooted in something larger than geography.

Writing about the kapok tree allows me to honor the island that shaped me while acknowledging the life I built in the United States. It allows me to show how culture travels, how ancestry holds on, and how magic survives migration.

The kapok tree is my favorite not just for its beauty, but for its truth.

It is the embodiment of survival.
It is the embodiment of diaspora.
It is the embodiment of growing tall in unfamiliar places.
It is the embodiment of being rooted in two worlds at once.

And that is exactly why it will continue to appear throughout the Las Cerradoras series.

Because the story of the kapok tree is the story of so many of us.

#ancestralMagic #ceibaSymbolism #culturalRoots #diasporaStories #DominicanFolklore #DominicanSpirituality #immigrantIdentity #kapokTree #LasCerradorasSeries #LatinaAuthor #softBrujaChallenge #TheOrdinaryBruja #worldbuilding