A few days ago I came across this quote (posted by OluchiEkweghWrites) ⬇️:

I re-stacked it with two exclamation points for emphasis ‼️.

It hit that hard.

The quote (author unknown) reminded me of something I heard while covering the “Off The Page: The Women Changing Publishing and Media” event hosted by digital media platform Her Agenda and book publisher Hachette Book Group, late last year.

In addition to Rhonesha Byng, Founder and CEO of Her Agenda, the panel included multi-hyphenate women Debbie Millman (Designer, Author, Educator, Brand Consultant, and Host of the podcast ‘Design Matters’), Shannon Downey (Artist, activist, and founder of Badass Cross Stitch and Seriously Badass Women, and Eboni K. Williams (Humanitarian, Attorney, Author, Television Host, and Reality TV Star).

The women all shared important insights based on their experiences as authors. One of the biggest gems, for me, came from Eboni.

That’s right, leave it to the “Real Housewife of New York” to have the biggest “I said what I said!” moment of the night.

When asked about her identity, she noted that her many dualities allow her to live a life that is as true to herself as possible. And if others don’t like it, well that’s too bad.

She started:

Then she ended with the coup de grâce.

I scribbled furiously in my notebook as she spoke, this was definitely going to make the article.

NOTE:

• You can read the full piece here: When Women Tell Their Stories, Industries Shift: Inside Her Agenda And Hachette’s ‘Off The Page’ Event

• You can also show your support for a black, woman-owned business and subscribe to Her Agenda’s newsletter, to receive stories written by women for women straight to your inbox. 🔗 See sign-up link here: Her Agenda Newsletter

Now back to being (NOT) liked.

On a personal level, I’ve long made my peace with being disliked. Both my face and my mouth were born with the inability to fake it, so let’s just say I had to learn how to fight real young.

I’m also a woman. Now to clarify, I don’t necessarily think women are more prone to being disliked, but I do think an unlikable woman carries a bigger burden. Take two of the most prominent women in American Politics, for example. Kamala Harris was criticized for smiling too much, Hillary Clinton for not smiling enough. Both were said to be too unlikable to be president.

You know who else is highly unlikable though? The man that beat them both. For as much as he is revered by his base, he is hated by a larger majority just the same. But likability doesn’t matter for men. You don’t have to like a man to respect him. You don’t have to like him to see him, or his work, as valuable.

That is perhaps why as a woman who writes, I have yet to come to terms with unlikability. Because, truly, the idea of my work not being received well makes my stomach turn. It’s an ever-present fear as I write my novel: What if no one likes it?

Novelist Haruki Murakami covers this in his book “Novelist As A Vocation”. He writes that although he incorporates feedback while the writing is in process, once a novel is published, he does not take any criticism of it seriously. That’s because he knows he put everything he had into its creation. He quotes writer and poet Raymond Carver: “my work is ‘as good as it is within me to make it’”.

That’s the energy I aim to bring with me next week as I work on my novel during our Accountability Summer Camp (You can still sign up! 🔗 See link here: Accountability Summer Camp Registration).

I know how much I’ve meticulously crafted every word and line break for three years straight, how I’ve poured my heart and soul into this story, grappled with difficult topics, triggered wounds, how I’ve woken up at the crack of dawn to barely get through one paragraph of editing because I’m such an over-thinker, how I’ve refused to take shortcuts, how I continue to come back to it over and over again no matter how many times I’ve felt like quitting.

Because while I may not know if people will like my writing or not, it is an absolute certainty that I will not give up until I make the best piece of work that’s within my ability to make.

For me, for any woman, for any writer, that’s got to be enough.

Five months later, not much has improved. Current events are still rather, if not more, dismal, what with diarrhea-inducing lettuce (Cyclospora) now being added to the mix. Nevertheless, I want to continue to stay true to this newsletter’s name and share some good energy*, a few more random things that uplifted my spirits this week:

^{*NOTE: Once again, the purpose is not to minimize the pain of the world, but to remind you, and especially me, that good things exist, and that recognizing the good, however small, attracts more of it.}

1. Dancing to Chica Baila by Donaty 💃🏽

Confession: I love Dominican dembow music. The more ra ta ta, the better.

If I’m honest with myself, though, the genre is ripe with misogyny. For as good as the beat may be, the incessant objectification and denigration of women in the lyrics are hard to ignore.

That’s why the song Chica Baila by Donaty stood out to me as a small, but significant, step in the right direction.

With lyrics such as: “Compa, tú eres tan celoso, con ese flow ya tú te ves cobarde…Tu mujer no la sofoque, eso no es na’ que llegue tarde…déjala que goce, déjala que baile”, that urge men to let go of possessive tendencies in relationships, the song challenges some of the pervasive notions of machismo.

To some of us, “your girl doesn’t belong to you” is literally the bare minimum, but as femicide and gender-based violence (often at the hands of jealous current or former male partners) continues to skyrocket in Latin America and the Caribbean, this song speaks volumes.

Don’t mind me while, in expression of my independence and free-will, I proceed to shake my booty to it.

2. Following Ms Rachel (@msrachelforlittles) on social media

I’m Ms. Rachel’s biggest fan. So what if I’ve never seen her show? So what if I don’t have kids? Nothing has brought me more joy than watching her flawlessly clap back at hate-mongers on social media.

Ms. Rachel, a popular educator and YouTuber, has been consistently firm in her advocacy for the rights of children. ALL CHILDREN: those ravaged by genocide in Gaza, Sudan, and the Congo, those under ICE custody, those affected by racial violence. ALL CHILDREN.

Her activism is non-performative, it’s the embodiment of using one’s privilege for good, but the haters have been calling her everything under the sun for it.

Welcome to 2026: where empathy is controversial and spreading love sparks public outrage.

Brave woman that she is, she continues to speak up for humanity. Here are a couple of her recent gems:

Oh Ms. Rachel 🌸, I want to be like you when I grow up.

3. Tracking bird sightings in Washington Square Park

I’ve been volunteering at Washington Square Park (WSP) for a number of years now. It’s one of my favorite places in New York City. In addition to all the historical lore: that it belonged to the Lenape people prior to the 1600's, that it once served as a burial ground for the poor and unidentified in the 17 and 1800s, and that it was a major gathering place for the labor movement (1900s) and urban preservation (1950s), there is also how well-tended and landscaped the park is. I’ve met the park’s gardeners, they are miracle workers.

Such lush greenery, will of course, attract some fabulous birds. As an avid birder (🤓) I’ve spotted all sorts of cool ones there: cardinals, bluejays, woodpeckers, hawks, and one time even a rare Black-and-white Warbler (likely making a pit stop in the big apple from South America).

If you’re a bird loving bird like me 🐣, you can now track recent sightings yourself via the park’s updated website: Birders | Washington Square Park Conservancy

4. Chatting about the wonderful world of trees

In one of our Accountability Summer Camp sessions, we randomly started to talk about trees: how essential they are, how connected they are to one another, how we should be hugging them more.

I have a couple of favorite trees in the city (among them this Dawn Redwood at Liz Christy Garden that always manages to look perfect no matter what season it is 🌲, and the infamous Hangman’s Elm in WSP, nicknamed that due to traitors being hung from it during the American Revolution, a rumor that’s been heavily disputed, and which at over 300 years old is said to be the oldest tree in Manhattan 🌳).

Via my volunteer efforts, I’ve even gotten to plant a tree of my own. Look at how big it’s growing! ⬇️

The more I learn about trees (such as how they communicate), the more fascinated by them I am.

In New York, there are so many resources for tree conservation and care. I was happy to learn of the following:

• The NYC Parks Department tracks every street and park tree. See the map here: 🔗 NYC TREE MAP 🔗

• The Park’s department is looking for volunteers to help with the count. If you have the time/energy, sign up here: 🔗 TREE COUNT 🔗

• The New York Restoration project does free tree giveaways in the Spring. The program is currently closed for Summer, but you can sign up for alerts to get a free tree for your property here: 🔗 TREE GIVEAWAYS 🔗

Talking about Summer Camp, you can join us by filling out the registration form:

Accountability Summer Camp Registration

Once you’re registered, you’ll receive a confirmation email with the meeting link and calendar invitation before our first session.

As two formerly exhausted and overworked 9 to 5’ers (6’ers and sometimes even 8’ers) working towards curating a life more aligned with our creative passions, Lisa and I know that although fulfilling, a non-traditional career path, is no walk in the park either.

A journey that redefines old ideas of what success can be for women like us, requires intentionality, purposefulness, and deliberate resolve. It’s an active process. When motivation is lacking, you have to find a way to cultivate it; when the process gets too lonely, you have to seek a like-minded collective; and when you don’t think you have the time, you have to do everything in your power to make it.

That’s what the Accountability Summer Camp has afforded us: a consistent practice, rooted in community, collaboration, and proactivity.

The camp is set to run for six weeks (July 14 until August 27), Tuesday through Thursday, from 5:30am to 7:30am. Currently we are at the halfway mark.

Here are three things I have learned during the first three weeks:

1. Body doubling really does double the focus, the momentum, and the fun!

I’ve struggled with focus my entire life, my brain is hyperactive and my body hypersensitive: I am very easily distracted.

One thing that has significantly helped manage my wandering attention is working alongside others. Facilitating a morning Meetup for writers helped me complete the first two drafts of my novel, booking 75-minute Focusmate sessions allows me to get my billing done every month, and of course, my accountability check-ins with Lisa recenters me whenever I steer off track.

Yet despite engaging in these practices for so many years, I was July 20, 2026-years-old when I first heard the term “body doubling” from the amazingly multifaceted hybrid-storyteller, artist, and software engineer Veronica of Get to the Mango Tree 🥭.

Simply Psychology defines body doubling as “the practice of doing a task while another person is simply present — not helping, not supervising, just there, usually working on something of their own.” For people with ADHD the method is pivotal for targeting the hardest part of getting a task done: starting it.

All of us Accountability Summer Campers are working on different things: novels, business/strategy planning, morning pages, job applications, grant writing, schoolwork, even meal prepping, but we are doing it in a dedicated space, together, transforming an isolated journey into a shared experience.

2. When in doubt, wiggle it out

For me, waking up at 5ish in the morning is…well there’s no other way to say this…for the birds.

I am a sleepy head through and through. I believe there’s nothing better than a good nap and will unabashedly talk your ear off about the physiological and psychological benefits of a good night’s sleep (a recommended 7-9 hours a night for most adults). Yet still, up I am, every Tuesday through Thursday before the sun comes up. Well my body is, I should say, because my mind sometimes has other plans.

There are days I wake up completely restless and it feels impossible to enter a state of flow. Those are the days, as my good sis Jessica, integrative wellness coach, healing artist, and CEO & Founder of Bliss Leadership & Wellness, LLC, reminded us during camp one morning: you gotta let the wiggles out.

Do not fight the resistance, embrace it, and let it lead you back to the task: acknowledge the preoccupied mind, reset (stand up, stretch, shake it out), and once ready, start small, work on something that feels doable until the momentum returns.

That day, after our session, I unrolled my mat for my daily Yoga practice and the Universe (via my Youtube algorithm) presented me with this video that serendipitously culminated with a little wiggle at the end: Anytime Unwind | Full Yoga Practice 🧘‍♀️.

3. Collective Resonance: We are more aligned than we think

One Summer camp morning we created space for introductions. In hearing the brief overview of everyone’s journey, I was surprised (but not really), at the similarities.

It reminded me of a story I once heard about Michael Jackson. It was said that when he had an idea he would immediately run to write it down because otherwise “God may give it to Prince”. That’s how energetically aligned he felt they were, how much he believed they functioned on the same creative field.

I was happy to discover this sort of collective unconscious within our own little community. Human experience, in my opinion, is more alike than it is different and like-minded people attract each other like magnets.

Psychologist Carl Jung called it synchronicity. If you are more spiritual, you may see it as vibrating in the same frequency. Whatever you want to call this resonance, finding others tapped into the same zeitgeist, is a sure indication that you are on the right path.

✨ Thank you, my fellow campers, for this reassurance! ✨

See you next week for week 4.

Ready to join us?

Simply fill out the registration form: Summer Bootcamp Registration

Once you’re registered, you’ll receive a confirmation email with the meeting link and calendar invitation before our first session.

Right before I took the subway stairs to get to the train I needed to transfer to, I looked up to see the most handsome man I’ve seen in a long time, his hand stretched out toward me.

“Can I help you with that?”

I melted like an ice cream cone in July. Seriously, this guy was novela-level hot.

“I’m good, thank you.” I didn’t even think about it. It just came out.

He smiled and proceeded on his way. I sighed before lifting my suitcase up the steps, my right arm throbbing from the tennis elbow aches that physical therapy was still trying to help me mend. I could have used the help.

A few weeks after that, there was a downpour. It came out of nowhere. One minute it was bright and sunny, the next, a flash of lightning split the darkened sky followed by a roar of thunder so loud I almost turned into Chicken Little: Is the sky falling?

Umbrella-less, I took cover under the front door awning of an apartment complex. A few moments later, an older gentleman scampered in. I moved away from the door as he fumbled to find his keys.

“Whewww,” he exclaimed, “Where did all this rain come from?”

“Doesn’t look like it’s slowing down.” He took in my soaked clothes. “Would you like an umbrella?”

“No, thank you.” Instinct.

“We have plenty,” he insisted, “I can bring one out. It wouldn’t be much trouble”.

“That’s so nice,” I was touched by his kindness, and yet, old habits die hard, “but, it’s okay.”

He went into the apartment, I walked home, my suede slip-ons ruined. I could’ve used that umbrella.

Now, I could go on with countless other examples: the compliments I’ve minimized, the “let’s go dutch” moments I’ve held firm on, the favors I’ve refused, the “Don’t go out your way”s that have come at my own expense. But, I think you get the point: I am a chronic I’ll-do-it-my-self-er. I have a serious problem accepting help.

Perhaps it’s because I’ve lived alone from the age of 20 or because I’ve been single for most of my life. It could be because I have a problem trusting and a crippling fear of losing control. Or maybe because as much as I like to help others, I perceive my own needs as a burden I don’t want to put on anyone else. Whatever the reason is, although I have a great support system of family and friends, my modus operandi has always been: “No worries, I got it.”

The dilemma is that, sometimes, I don’t, and I’ve caught myself in contemplation with the Universe asking it for more: more abundance, more grace, more opportunity, more love.

But how can I receive, if I refuse to accept?

Well, I’ve been practicing: last week I took a beat before automatically refusing a seat in the subway, the week before that, I let my dad treat me to lunch, and when a woman I never met stopped me in the street to tell me she liked the way I styled my hair that day, my heart became full, and I said “thank you”.

Saying I was excited to take the trip (and on company dime, no less!) was an understatement, I simply could not wait! After all, the Dominican Republic is MY country. I was born there, went to school there, and still have family members I dearly love and miss there. At the same time, however, I was a bit nervous. In past trips, I’d always tag along with my parents, lounging around in the confines of our close-knit small town, while my mother handled the logistics: how would it be to navigate the biggest city in the entire Caribbean on my own?

To put it plainly, it was great. In between work responsibilities, I got to sneak off to the Malecón, wander around La Zona Colonial (founded in 1496, the oldest settlement in the Americas), bask in the beauty of Taino underground caverns at Los Tres Ojos, and catch the most exhilarating baseball game I’ve ever witnessed (my beloved Águilas Cibaeñas 🦅 coming out victorious over our arch-nemeses, Los Tigres del Licey 🐯).

But then it was time to come home. And as luck would have it, I missed my flight. I will bite my tongue regarding El Aeropuerto Las Américas, but iykyk, because of course they changed the gate without even making an announcement, and so I had to spend the night at the airport waiting for the next flight out which wasn’t scheduled until 6am the next morning.

As afternoon turned into evening, the only spot that remained open was the airport bar. There, I sat for several hours with a family who took me in as one of their own. We laughed together, we shared stories, and we drank together (I, alcohol-free at the time, opted for a few tazitas de café, while they, in true Dominican fashion, crushed so many Presidentes it prompted the bartender to raise one of the empty bottles above his head and ask: “Y e’ picha que ‘tan?”).

Once I was finally on the airplane (thanks in large part to the sweet counter girl at the airline who took pity as I sobbed uncontrollably when I realized I would not be going home that day and upgraded me to first class), I took some time to reflect, and noted the following on my Instagram stories:

And we are.

Now listen, there is a lot about the Dominican Republic I can criticize (the newly imposed gag order threatening freedom of speech and rising rates of femicide, among other very serious issues, for example). However, in this piece, I want to focus on the positive because it is also true, as I have witnessed many times over, that at it’s heart’s core, the country remains a collectivist one. In DR, the emphasis is on the whole, a stark contrast to the U.S, which has consistently been rated as THE SINGLE MOST individualistic society in the world.

Community is central to life in DR. While family is everything, it is the entire village that raises you. Loyalty, social connection, and cooperation are at the core of who we are. It’s why I always feel comfortable there.

Since that first work trip, I’ve taken a couple more solo ones to the motherland (outside of work), and there’s so much I’ve gotten to explore: Humpback Whales in Samaná, waterfalls in Jarabacoa, bird watching in Los Haitises, a three day climb to the summit of Pico Duarte, and motor-boat rides through the mangroves in Monte Cristi.

Recently, I spent a few days in Santiago de los Caballeros, la ciudad corazón.

And in addition to that sense of community, the saludos from strangers on the street, being called “corazón” and “cariño” so often that I almost forgot my own name, here’s a few more things I enjoyed this time around:

1. A quipe and Quisqueya at Casa Bader: There’s a reason it’s been around since 1939!

   

2. Museums, museums, and more museums:

   I hit up about five, all low cost and some even free. I really loved:

   • This statue of Anacaona, the legendary Taína cacica, poet, composer, and translator, at Fortaleza San Luis (a historic fortress which served as the location of numerous battles during the Dominican Restoration War against Spain).

     

   • The Amber museum where I got to see the famous blue amber (found only in the DR).

     

   • Centro Leon: A museum and cultural institution founded by la familia León (owners of La Aurora Cigars and the company that created the Presidente beer) with a great selection of contemporary art and a permanent exhibition on Dominican identity.

     This table highlights the confluence of cultures (Indigenous, African, and European) that make up everything down to the food we eat. Here’s a breakdown of the quintessentially Dominican sancocho:

   • In LA CONFLUENCIA GALERÍA ETNOGRÁFICA (my favorite museum of all) I learned that the Dominican tambora is two-sided, with the skin of a male goat on one side and the skin of a female goat on the other. The “macho” side is played with a stick, while the “hembra” side is played using the bare hand.

     

3. A ride over Santiago city through the teleférico (aerial tramway)

4. An unexpected but very welcomed visit to my hometown, Villa Tapia, Provincia Hermanas Mirabal.

   

5. Fresh fruits and veggies

   

6. Estadio Cibao, home of the aforementioned Águilas

   

7. What I think is a little Cigua Palmera (Palmchat)- the national bird of DR, catching the sunset at El Monumento a Los Héroes de la Restauración

   

8. A day trip to Puerto Plata

   

9. Trying new beers:

   Presidente is the undisputed …errr…. presidente of beers in RD. But these days, theres a bit more variety. I had a good time trying a few:

10. And of course, the food: Some of my favs…

    Until next time, RD! Thanks for the love. ❤️

    Note: All photos by me.

Register Here!

Hello, Substack!

We’re hosting an Accountability Summer Camp: a space for busy bees to finally tackle that pending project you just haven’t been able to get to 🐝🍯

Whether you’re working on:

• ✍🏾 Creative expression (writing, art, music, etc.)

• 🌱 Self-development (journaling, affirmations, reflection)

• 💼 Professional goals (business planning, career pathing, passion projects)

...come through and make that honey. 🍯

Why are we doing this?

We’ve been close friends for over 20 years (college roommates, sorority sisters, and coworkers), but we didn’t officially become accountability partners until 2022.

That was the year we both stepped away from the traditional 9-to-5 to pursue the work that brings us the most joy and fulfillment: writing.

Building a new life and career from scratch wasn’t easy. There were moments of excitement, uncertainty, self-doubt, and burnout.

But one thing made all the difference: showing up for each other.

What started as daily voice-note check-ins evolved into daily virtual work sessions where we’d simply log on, work on our individual projects, and hold space for one another to stay focused.

That simple practice changed everything.

It kept us committed when motivation faded, encouraged us through setbacks, and reminded us that progress doesn’t happen through inspiration alone: it happens through consistency.

Looking back, we know this accountability partnership has been one of the biggest reasons we’ve been able to keep creating while building lives that feel aligned with who we are.

So we thought: Why not share that with others?

If you’ve been feeling isolated in your creative journey, struggling to stay motivated, or simply wishing someone would ask, “Did you work on it today?”...this space is for you.

Whether you’re writing, creating, planning, studying, or finally crossing off that long-overdue project, come join us. We’ll show up together, do the work together, and celebrate the progress together.

The Details 🐝

• 📅 July 14 – August 27
  Six weeks of consistently showing up. The honey will be ready before you know it.

• 🗓 Tuesdays–Thursdays
  Mondays and Fridays are for rest, you’ve earned it! 🌼

• ⏰ 5:30–7:30 a.m.
  Stay for the full session or drop in (or out) as your schedule allows.

  Research from Harvard Business Review has found that many highly productive people rely on structured morning routines. Consider making this one yours.

Ready to join us?

Simply fill out the registration form: 🔗 Summer Bootcamp Registration 🔗

Once you’re registered, you’ll receive a confirmation email with the meeting link and calendar invitation before our first session.

Remember…

You already know what you’re capable of, and we believe in you too.

But passion alone isn’t enough. Growth requires intention, dedicated time, and community.

If you’ve been waiting for a sign to finally start (or finish) that thing you’ve been talking about, this is it.

We can’t wait to make honey with you. 🍯

The original home (then in what was known as “Amity Street” rather than 3rd Street) was demolished in 2001 to make space for NYU’s fancy law school’s Furman Hall, but after public pressure from preservation activists and the community at large, a replica of the original facade was reconstructed with the original staircase banister preserved inside.

As was chronicled by Poe’s friend, author and playwright Cornelius Mathews, it was in this area, when after attending a play at the Park Theater on a rainy day in 1844 that Poe suggested a raven should fly across the stage as an ill-omen. And that later that night, Mathews would find Poe standing in a puddle under a streetlight, frantically scribbling on a piece of scrap paper the infamous opening verse of "The Raven":

The first time I read Poe, I was in the 6th grade. Our English teacher had assigned us the short story: “The Black Cat” and asked us to pick a side and defend it: Was it the man that killed the cat, or did the cat kill the man?

In the literal sense, it was the man who quite obviously killed the cat. [⚠️ Warning: Spoilers and Violence ahead] Previously, an animal lover who owned many pets, his favorite among them a black cat named Pluto, the man descends into a path of madness fueled by alcoholism that leads him to mutilate and hang poor Pluto, then take an ax to his wife’s head, and bury her inside a wall.

Now, you might be saying to yourself: well, that escalated quickly… Pretty intense stuff for a 12 year old. And to some extent I agree; the story is quite dark. Yet so is, at times, human nature, particularly when it becomes apathetic.

When it came to debating the teacher’s question, I was in the minority with about 4 or 5 other students who believed that it was in fact the cat that killed the man. Not physically, of course, but as evident by the man’s ever present guilt throughout the story, the torment of being hunted by his actions, and his eventual tragic downfall that came about as a result of the cat’s cries from inside the wall.

Many modern readers believe that there was no supernatural cat. That the haunting came from the narrator himself. That it was the man who killed the man.

Over the years, I’ve learned how that can be true. Isolation can distort your thinking, sometimes the conflict comes from inside rather than out. Yes people are responsible for their own fate, but detachment makes it much more difficult to choose the right path.

So while some see ravens as a dark omen, others as a sign of protection, others, still, see it as a call for self-awareness: an invitation to heighten your self-perception and take a closer look at your own thoughts and patterns.

Where does individualism end and shared experience begin?

That night I went to bed in an oversized tank top I refuse to part with no matter how worn with holes it’s gotten over the years. Poe’s Alone printed on the front:

That was a heavy statement coming from me: a delusional dreamer, an eternal optimist who’d always made a conscious effort to, à la Monty Python, look at the bright side of life (whistle whistle whistle).

But that week, I’d been knees deep in current events: news of human rights violations and rampant corruption by our federal government, feeds of grifters that encourage it for clicks and views, and the skewed narratives of the community- at-large, whose preferred recourse for dealing with all this is turning on each other.

I’d tried to turn it off: listen to my favorite history podcast, but that was an even more stark reminder that those most revered are often the most ruthless.

Ruthlessness, i.e. lacking compassion for others, is something I just don’t have the capacity for. And I’m not trying to martyr myself here, I’m far from a girl scout. It’s just that I have too much shame. Morally, I just wouldn’t be able to live with it. I see myself as a decent person: how could I knowingly take advantage of others? Doing so would go against my self-image. And so, perhaps selfishly so, I try, for as much as I can, to put more good out into the world than bad.

But seeing how much the opposite of decency is rewarded, I can understand why others chose differently. Maybe I’d have more of what our society deems as “success” if I did too.

“I blame my mother” I joked to my friend over voice note the other day.

She raised me to be a good girl. Someone with morals and scruples. She taught me to have character, something that’s becoming more so a thing of the past. And when I find myself refusing to compromise my ethical standards for gain, I am broke (lol), yet I’m at peace.

And so, although I realize the second Sunday of May has come and gone here in the states, El Día De Las Madres Dominicanas is this weekend and I wanted to share this piece that I wrote at a Mother’s Day event several years back.

My mom is a traditional woman who sees it her duty to run the home. Whether I agree with some of the old school gender expectations that my very Dominican parents adhere to, or not, the reality is, that as the Matriarch, she is the heart of my family, the moral authority that we all look up to.

She’s the kindest woman I know and the strongest, by far. That may sound like a contradiction, but I’m of the belief that they cannot possibly exist without each other. You have to be strong to remain soft in a world that values harshness.

Thank you mami, for making me “good”.

She cooks,

She cleans,

Patches torn clothing,

Tends to the sick,

Loves unconditionally, 

Nurtures, 

Forgives.  

For a long time I resented her, 

I DO get tired of giving.

She brushed the curls off my face,

Mi’ja, all you can be is who you are.  

I found the film to be strikingly beautiful. An immersive sensory experience, with superb acting (Sterling K. Brown, in particular, gives a hauntingly chilling performance as “The Monster”), and a remarkably nuanced story that you won’t stop thinking about even after the film is done.

I also had the honor of chatting it up with the Pulitzer Prize finalist playwright herself, Aleasha Harris. The film marked her directorial debut. And so, I was curious about the adaptation process from play to film. Particularly, how she was able to maintain her artistic vision while also preserving the collaborative aspect of a film environment.

She spoke about balance: making space for your collaborators but also understanding that your collaborators need you to be confident. They need to feel like you know what you’re doing.

And that stuck out to me, because in my own craft, as a writer, I’ve always grappled with releasing control. It’s perhaps why three drafts into my novel, I have yet to relinquish it to an editor.

The fear of being dismissed, as women of color frequently are, is real. I think the assumption is often that we don’t know what we’re doing. And so, if you invite too many cooks into the kitchen, you risk being pushed to the side and losing your original recipe. On the other hand, inviting the right ones, might just introduce you to the spice needed to take your dish from instant noodles to Michelin-star rated.

It’s like when I went horseback riding in the Dominican Republic. The guide tapped me on my clenched hand and advised:

I was so confused: What in the oxymoron was that supposed to mean?

How in the world was I to maintain the horse in a steady direction if I didn’t keep a firm grip on the reins?!

I guess, what I’d forgotten was that the horse (my friend, Gonzalo), was in this too. A loser grip was more comfortable for him, it gave him more range of motion, more room to interpret my prompts, and, most importantly, it allowed him to trust me more. Whereas it was I, who knew the direction, I could only get there with his cooperation.

We could only get there together.

That’s the narrative I’m going with.

That’s what I’m going to call my unintentional hiatus from Substack.

I’ve made it a point to post once a week. I mean, I didn’t name the publication “Good Energuia Weekly” for nothing (While I’m at it, I should probably also clarify that the misspelling of energia is intentional as I mean this practice to be a (self)-guide of sorts).

Yet still, for the past month or so, I just haven’t been able to show up.

I could blame it on work, a number of tight deadlines for on-assignment freelance pieces, or a couple of prior engagements, but in all honesty, the impediment has been me. For some time now, mentally, I just haven’t been around: preoccupied, encumbered, no where near here.

My mind is generally a busy, chaotic place. It’s messy. I’m a chronic over-thinker who tends to operate from a constant state of doing the most. These days the noise has become louder, and as such, harder to manage.

Disassociation helps.

Sometimes.

Most recently, I spent an embarrassing amount of time comatose on the couch binging a cult documentary series on Youtube that made me grateful for every problem I never had. But being constantly online has never been healthy for me.

The one thing, however, I can always count on, is creating.

“Creativity” I wrote for Her Agenda a few weeks back “is a skill that can be learned and strengthened over time. Meditation, physical exercise, and a consistent sleep schedule have been linked to boosting creativity.”

Sadly, I’ve been failing at all three, which could explain the conundrum I find myself in, in the first place. But, turns out you can also optimize a creative mindset by “engaging in new experiences and seeking out diverse perspectives”, and that, I’ve done plenty of: as best I could, however small, in as many ways as have been available to me.

Since my last post, I…

• Bought and arranged a pretty bouquet

• Finished reading “A Tree Grows In Brooklyn” and started “Parable of The Sower”

• Edited two chapters of my novel

• Framed some collages I made of my mom

• Painted a spiral (which I’m calling a portal) over an enlarged photo of a forested area that I took in Costa Rica

• Made homemade Kkakdugi 😋

• Caught a pre-screening of “Is God Is” (Do yourself a favor and watch this film when it releases, tomorrow, 5/15/26!) and interviewed the film’s incredibly talented writer, director, and producer, Aleasha Harris.

• Partied it up uptown for the first time in years for the post-writing conference Hooky Party (Thank you to my sister, for the invite!).

• Added a few elements to my kitchen gallery wall

  

• Went art gallery hopping

• Took at least three trips to the New Museum (one of my favorite places for contemporary art EVER), and explored one floor at a time.

  

In conclusion, I’m feeling a lot more energized, and so, I’ll see you back here next week ✨.

Water is the mother of all beverages. You wouldn’t catch me dead without a stainless steel insulated bottle of good ol’ H2O by my side.

It’s also the world’s worst kept beauty secret. Why is my skin so clear? Because I drink my recommended 11.5 cups daily, of course (…and because I mind my business).

In addition, water also happens to be one of the most pleasing sounds (second only to the sound of Bamboo, in my book).

Over the years, I’ve gotten into the habit of doing a simple sensory exercise whenever I need grounding. Regardless of where I am, whether sitting in a nearby garden or walking down a busy street, I take in the environment around me and focus intently on identifying: five sights, five sounds, five smells, five somatosensory experiences (touch/bodily sensations), and five tastes (this one is my least favorite because how many times can I say “my own saliva”).

I have a very keen sense of smell, so olfaction is fun, but the most interesting one has to be, audition.

Our sense of hearing, although not as good as say my dog’s, for example, is still pretty remarkable. You’d be surprised what you can hear if you really listen: the soft shutting of a door several feet away, the jangling of keys in a passerby’s pocket, or the medley of assorted songs coming from a single feathered friend (once you hear the birds, I promise you, you’ll never un-hear them again).

What makes the hearing part of the exercise so fascinating is the wide ranging amount of sounds a single source can emit. For example, in perceiving vehicles, you may notice a truck does not sound like a car, and a car sounds different depending on the type, the speed, and even on the direction the wind is blowing.

The most varied sound, however, has to be water.

A beach sounds different than a river which sounds different than a lake which sounds different than a stream. The rain sounds distinct each time it falls. I’ve never heard two rains sound exactly the same. And the water in a water fountain, and this I know due to the embarrassing amount of time I’ve spent sitting in front of the historic Jacob Wrey Mould Fountain in City Hall, makes significantly distinguishable sounds depending of where in the process it is: when the water first comes out, when it is suspended in the air, and then when the droplets fall.

Last week I ventured over to Niagara falls, the Canada side, and as one would expect from the most famous waterfalls in the world, the sounds did not disappoint.

It was lively, it was serene, it was soothing, it was unique, it was everything water could be.

Just, listen for yourself…

You may have noticed because the company you work for likely hosted a women’s panel, released some “limited-edition” pink and purple branded merch, or posted a couple inspirational quotes about how the “Future is Female”.

Performative diversity, we call it: creating the appearance of inclusivity without taking any significant action to address the systemic biases that lead to inequality.

Companies engaging in PR campaigns “celebrating women” while still maintaining gender pay gaps, lacking comprehensive policies such as paid maternity leave, and failing to provide leadership pipelines for the women that work there, are simply: putting 👏 on 👏 a 👏 show 👏. None of that is effective in moving the needle on gender equality.

Earlier this month, I wrote an article for a digital media platform focused on empowering women in their careers called Her Agenda, on ways in which we can honor women’s history without corporate performative activism. You can read the piece 🔗 here 🔗.

But it appears that companies are no longer even doing the bare minimum. In my research for that article, I was sad, but unfortunately not surprised, to learn that organizations are showing less commitment to gender diversity than ever before. As per the latest Women in the Workplace report by McKinsey and LeanIn, it’s just not a priority for them anymore.

As such, the number of women in leadership roles continues to be markedly lower when compared to men, statistics that get even more ghastly when you consider women of color.

The most disappointing thing about the report however, is that not only are women being overlooked, but for the first time, an “ambition gap” was observed: Women are now notably less likely than men to say they want to be promoted.

That statement absolutely shattered me: Have things gotten so bad for women at work that they don’t want to seek leadership roles anymore?

The same report, however, indicated that this gap closes when women receive the same career support that men do. Ambition grows when you are mentored and sponsored.

And who is more likely to champion women? Why other women, of course.

And so, it becomes a loop: to bring women into leadership roles, there has to be other women already there.

I want to pause here for a little bit so that we can all let out a collective sigh. I hate to add another thing for us to carry.

This should not be on us. We deserve to work in psychologically safe environments that support and build us up. I can’t blame us for wanting to protect our peace and stay away from “leadership” roles that exploit us, underpay us, punish us for being mothers and caregivers, and constantly and consistently center the needs of men over ours (A.k.a: Androcentrism, making the male experience the default or “universal” standard, it’s why the temperature in your office is so cold, for example, because it is based on the metabolic rates of the average male body).

I don’t blame us at all. But I fear, deeply, for a world without feminine leadership. Look where that’s gotten us.

And that’s not even scratching the surface of the terrors that await us: the looming “economic apocalypse”, an unstable labor market characterized by increased unemployment and decreased jobs, and of course, the incessantness of ICE wrecking havoc on American cities (this time Vermont).

It all feels so heavy. Ominously so. And if you’re anything like me, then you can’t help but carry it with you.

This week, I missed my scheduled Wednesday post. In all fairness, I was swamped with teaching responsibilities, it being midterms and all. I was also working on a freelance article whose deadline, uncharacteristically to me, I also missed, and ended up submitting a day late. In addition to all of that, my mind just wasn’t there. It was far gone, in the land of anxiety, pre-occupation, despondency. I get like that sometimes. It happens when I don’t take care of myself, do my workouts or journal, but mostly when I forget to turn the tv off, as Kendrick would say, and take a break from the news.

And so, true to this newsletter’s name, I wanted to share a little burst of good energy, a few things that made me smile this week. The purpose is not to minimize the pain of the world, or gaslight you into thinking it’s all fine and dandy. The purpose is to remind you, and to remind myself quite frankly, that good exists, and that recognizing the good, however small, attracts more of it.

1. The Dominican Republic bringing ✨ good energia ✨ back to baseball

My father loves baseball and I love my father, and so logically, I love baseball as well. Some of my happiest moments have been watching games along with him, cursing out Aaron Boone, convinced how much better our plays would be if we were Manager instead of him.

As you may have guessed, we are Yankee fans, and being a Yankee fan who also happens to be a progressive thinker is not for the weak. The Yankees with their stuffy rules and questionable political allegiances leave a lot to be desired. But thank God for the World Baseball Classic (WBC).

The WBC takes place every three years (sometimes every four). It consists of 20 teams from all over the world and includes both international as well as MLB stars.

The Dominican Republic team, to the surprise of no one, is stacked: Along with Captain Manny Machado, one of the best defensive players in the league, they’ve got some of the biggest all-around talents: Juan Soto, Vladimir Guerrero Jr, and “El Niño”, Fernando Tatis Jr. In just four games, this team of superstars has already recorded 40 hits, 13 home runs, and 41 runs scored.

But it’s not just about the numbers. What makes this team exceptional is the enthusiasm they play with. The excitement and chemistry among them is palpable. When they hit a homer, they flip the bat, they hype up the crowd, they pound their chest, and they do a little dance. The whole team comes out of the dugout with props: a platano power dumbbell, a red and blue RD necklace, a showy bomber jacket personalized with all their names. They are pure, unadulterated joy. It’s infectious. It’s the way the game should be played, and me and my dad are so grateful to get to witness it.

2. Climate Education Is Now A Requirement For All K-12 Students In New York State

The Climate & Resilience Education Task Force (CRETF) has been advocating for climate education legislation for a number of years. On March 10th, the NYS Board of Regents approved a statewide requirement for K-12 climate education!

This means that by 2027–2028, students will learn about:

• The causes of climate change

• The impacts of climate change

• Solutions and ways to build resilience against climate change.

At a time as precarious as this, during which we face a number of environmental issues such as rising global temperatures, food and water insecurity, and loss of biodiversity, this is a huge win!

Education is power, and hopefully this curriculum requirement empowers the leaders of tomorrow to protect, and influence policy to preserve our planet.

3. Costco Aims To Make IVF Treatment Affordable

Infertility is increasingly common, with one in six people suffering from it worldwide. Infertility treatments, however, are difficult to access, largely due to how expensive they are. The cost of a single cycle of IVF, for example, is around $24,000. Considering that most IVF patients often need two or more cycles, it can be almost impossible to afford.

Earlier this week, Costco, online healthcare Marketplace, Sesame, and fertility clinics IVI RMA, announced a partnership that aims to make IVF treatments more accessible.

The program is available via: https://sesamecare.com/fertility.

For a monthly fee, the member gets access to fertility care coordination, diagnostic plans, specialty treatment programs, and fertility medications (fulfilled by Costco) with savings of up to 80%.

This is not only great news for the many individuals that struggle with this issue, but for women’s reproductive care as a whole, which has been sidelined for way too long.

It’s a bit more personal than I am comfortable sharing, but a little vulnerability goes a long way.

Besides, we are currently in the midst of a powerful cosmic event: a full blood moon lunar eclipse 🌝, a time that calls for the closing of old chapters, to make space for the new.

I’m finally ready for that release. What are you prepared to let go?

Madness met me in March.
Your voice unshaken, your mind made up,
a clear and resounding: “I’m not coming back.”

In April, encumbered in shame.
Pining for a love for longer than I had it: How could I be this obsessed?

The showers didn’t bring flowers in May,
only more questions my therapist would ask me to re-frame.

And when the sun shone in June, I barely knew what day it was,
all I knew was it started and ended with you.

It was scorching in July.
Cheeks flushed, fist balled up,
I hate that I bent over backward for a man who refused to step up.

I’d thought it useless in August, to think we could rebuild what we lost,
but continued to hold onto hope, 
that one day we’d fall right back to love.

By the time the leaves fell in September,
I’d accepted all the blame.
Tell yourself it was me if it helps mend the holes,
I must’ve forgot, 
I too, am a broken soul.

Stealth in October,
treating myself to stanzas of your consciousness,
seeking answers I still feel I am owed.
Got tricked by alliterations of a love whose timeline preceded our own.

I gave thanks in November,
for how good we were together,
how good we were on our own.

Then sobbed desperately in December.
I blamed it on the hormones.
Except I’d been crying ever since.
On the subway, in the garden, over the bridge.
The entire city’s seen me weep.

Aiming for a fresh start in January,
told myself to release it all.
Goodbye, to what could’ve been.
Goodbye, to what never was.

Still, February didn’t get easier,
my body insists on remembering.
Coincidences stranger than fiction,
the Universe wants me to remember.

Lucky the months that pass by.
Lucky the seasons, for they change.
Lucky you, I don’t get to walk away.

It then goes on to list some very alarming statistics about how women are more prone to certain illnesses, not just genetic and hormonal ones, but psychological and psychosocial ones, as well.

The data backs it up.

A 2023 study by the CDC, for example, found that women are more likely than men to have high-impact chronic pain. Research also suggests that women are more likely to have mental health issues, such as depression. In addition, women report higher levels of stress.

Our need to be liked, to play nice in the sandbox, to not ruffle any feathers, comes at a cost.

That is why, in my work to help women in leadership, one of my main areas of focus is Self-Advocacy.

Growing up a “trasendía”, a little girl who couldn’t help but interject my very strong opinions onto adult conversations, earned me many an (often deserved) ass-whooping. Becoming an adult woman that is not afraid to speak up for herself and set boundaries, however, has turned out to be one of the most rewarding practices in both my personal and professional life.

Self-advocacy is an active process that involves managing your thoughts, feelings, and behaviors to optimize how you view your own worthiness and value as a human being.

For a couple of years, I hosted a class on the topic and shared some tips on how to be your own champion. I’ve included the tips, in addition to a video of one of the remote sessions, below. Hope it can serve some value!

Closed mouths, as they say, don’t get fed. Being meek about your accomplishments only benefits the mediocre, those whose ego is stroked by you minimizing yourself. Don’t shrink for their comfort.

Five Tips for Self-Advocacy

1. BE SELF-AWARE

• Recognize that discomfort around speaking up is normal

• Be aware of your inner thoughts: What is your inner monologue? What stories are you telling yourself?

• We all have self-doubt, but rather than accept it as true, challenge it: What other thoughts can you have about this situation? What else can be true?

2. IDENTIFY YOUR VALUE

• Self-advocacy includes knowing your worth and making it known- DO NOT downplay your accomplishments

• 📝: Make a list of your strengths, contributions, areas of improvement and what you have done to improve on them, the value you can bring to a situation, the impact you have had, etc.

• 📌: Keep this list nearby for when you need the reminder.

3. BE PREPARED

• When asking for what you want, be clear and specific about it. For example: If you want a raise, what is the amount/figure you would like?

• Whenever possible use data to support your requests. For example: What is the market industry standard salary for your role?

4. ALIGN IT TO THE BIGGER PICTURE

• Oftentimes, what you want doesn’t just affect you, it affects others as well. For example: A promotion doesn’t only impact you; it also impacts your company. Aligning your goals to organizational goals and showing the impact of your accomplishment helps show how your promotion can benefit everyone.

5. DON’T BE AFRAID TO FAIL

• There is a chance that you will not get what you ask for, but if you really want it you must be willing to take that chance.

• Taking calculated risks is a part of life! Everyone that has accomplished something has failed. If you fail, you will recover, and you’ll have a new perspective to boot!

• Where else can you go from here? Don’t be afraid to move on if you have done all you can and the situation is still not working for you.

See a video of a remote session I hosted in 2022, here:

You see, I’m writing a novel. My first novel. And, it’s been a journey.

Most of my published writing, so far, consists of business/management and workplace culture articles due to my background in Industrial Organizational Psychology (I currently write for a digital media platform focused on empowering women in their careers, called “Her Agenda”. See my portfolio for more: My writing portfolio 🤓)!.

My novel, however, is fiction. Women’s literary fiction or contemporary fiction or magical realism (Contemporary magical realism? Is that an oxymoron?). I’m not even sure what genre it falls into, yet.

And therein, lies my (fluctuating) frustration.

I’m on draft three. Four hundred and something pages and 80,000-ish words in, and I fear, nowhere near being finished. The more I write, the more disorganized I often feel. There are times when I open the document and legitimately hate everything about it.

However, I’ve read enough craft writing books to understand that this is par for the course.

As Hawthorne famously said, “Easy reading is damn hard writing”.

When I first embarked on this adventure a couple years ago, I made sure I was cognizant of the fact that it was going to be a challenge. But as an avid reader and story lover (in and out the page), I knew it would be worthwhile.

Writing has always been my first love and I’ve engaged with it in various capacities over the years: from scripting “telenovelas” that my sister and I would act out for the family as an elementary schooler, to penning sappy love poems using my then-boyfriend’s initials as a teen, to serving as editor-in-chief of the student organization I was part of in college, to publishing on-assignment pieces for a Latino lifestyle magazine in my 20s— It’s what I’ve always been called to do. So when I decided to go forth with my novel, I delved right in.

I joined, and then went on to lead, a group of remote writers from all over the world, for an open writing session that met daily at 6am Eastern Time. As the farthest thing from a morning person, this was HUGE for me.

Typing away, day in and day out, I was initially proud of myself, but as one year turned to two, then three, I became anxious:

How am I still so far behind? How am I still finding mistakes every time I re-read?

It served me well to remember the renowned novelist Haruki Murakami’s words in “Novelist As A Vocation”:

“I’m an imperfect person writing imperfect works…”

That’s really all I can do.

The reality is that I’m a slow writer. I’m a panster not a plotter, so my story is developing as I go. I’m an over-thinker. An over-editor. And like Erykah Badu, very sensitive about my ish!

And so my writing process will reflect those challenges, and my novel may take some time before becoming a complete work I am truly proud of.

Yes, it may be trash now, just like the early drafts of anything else I’ve ever written have been. But as I work on it, it will become better, just like everything else I’ve written has.

To all my writers, especially us newbies, stick with it. If you’ve ever felt as hopeless as I, perhaps this quick video may help: “Ira Glass on Storytelling”.

“We’ll have a better time,” he promised, “Restaurants won’t be as packed…”.

I didn’t give it so much as a second thought. All I wanted was to spend time together. I didn’t care which day we did it.

So, on Friday the 13th, we went out to dinner, and on the evening of Saturday the 14th, he was nowhere to be found.

I called multiple times, left a voice-mail, sent a couple “u good?” texts. I spent the entire night worried sick. I finally heard from him the next morning.

“My bad babe. I was tired, knocked out early.”

He works hard, I reasoned, he surely deserves the sleep.

Some moments later, I logged onto Facebook (Again, this was several years ago, let me remind you), and saw a status post dated 2/14 from an old college acquaintance: “If your man aint with you today, then congratulations, YOU ARE the sidechick.”

I laughed, and then…hmmm.

My brain quickly started machinating, identifying patterns, recognizing inconsistencies, putting two, and three, and four, together.

And, well, that’s how I learned that my boyfriend of three years was cheating on me.

Sometimes you can be so enveloped in something that you don’t see it for what it is. Whether that be an unhealthy relationship, a toxic workplace culture, or even your own self-sabotaging behavior.

In his commencement speech at Kenyon College in 2005, the late author David Foster Wallace touched upon this with his infamous fish story:

“The immediate point,” Wallace went on to explain, “... is that sometimes the most obvious, ubiquitous, important realities are often the ones that are hardest to see…”

Unfortunately, sometimes, we never do. After all, how can we be aware of what we’re unaware of (i.e. you don’t know what you don’t know).

Most often, though, we’ll see it when we’re ready. And when we finally do, it can hit hard: “How could I have missed that?!’

At that point, it’d serve us well to remember the fish: some things are as invisible to us as the ocean is to them. And then, take a moment to appreciate the awareness. As the great teacher Eckhart Tolle explains: “Awareness is the greatest agent for change”.

The prompt was “Nature Speaks”.

I wanted to share this piece now, as with everything going on, I feel like she’s talking louder then ever. It’s just that, we have to listen…

My body talked in aches and pains, 

tight muscles, tension headaches, and fatigue.

Please listen.

My dog put his paws on my knees and his head on my belly.

He hears it all.

I became resolute to do more of the same.

So, I asked the moon, and she responded via my own:

Eat chocolate,

Nurture yourself,

Take it slow.

When I did, she spoke to me 

though singing birds,

and the whispers of the bamboo rustling in the wind.

A foliar leaf caressed my cheek, 

told me it was okay to weep.

The sun, she said, will rise again in the morning,

The moon, as you know, lights her own path.

And no matter how rocky the waves get, they’ll always return to a gentle flow.

The tale the rain told was wrapped up in an epilogue of petrichor.

She speaks.

Via little miracles,

through her resilience,

how she reinvents herself.

She is wise.

I learn more from her than from my own thoughts,

which can take me anywhere, or sometimes nowhere at all.

I promise to listen to what she reveals about me,

to what she reveals about us.

Talk, nature, talk.

The tumble sent my wallet, keys, and lip gloss flying out of my unzipped tote bag and scattered all over the platform floor. I watched a woman kneel down to pick them up and hand them to me in a neat stack, then, I saw a young man stand in between the closing doors, holding them open, so that I could catch the train I was so desperately running for.

I have many such stories like these: New Yorkers stepping up to help in times of need, big and small. It’s one of the things that fascinates me most about humanity: the helpers.

If you’ve taken an Intro to Psychology class then you’ve likely heard about the Bystander Effect, the idea that people are less likely to help when others are present. The term was coined after the brutal 1964 murder of Kitty Genovese in Queens. Kitty was returning home from work when she was attacked by a man who stabbed her, raped her, and stole $49 from her purse. It was reported that out of the 38 bystanders that witnessed the attack, none stepped in to help or even call the police.

Except that, years later, we now know those claims to be untrue. The number of witnesses was grossly overstated, as most were unaware or unable to see what was going on. In addition, two people, in fact, did call the police, and one cradled Kitty in her arms until the ambulance came.

The helpers, you see, have always been around to serve as beacons of light, in New York, and elsewhere. And yet this weekend we all picked up our phones and saw in 4K as a helper paid the ultimate prize (See this incredibly thoughtful post I came across while writing this piece: “Alex Pretti Was a Helper”).

And so, what are we to do? Especially in times like these when it feels like humanity is slipping away: when we read internet comments and wonder, “Are people really like this?!”, and when we see the powerful get away with wrongdoings time and time again and ask ourselves: “Does it even pay to be good?”.

Perhaps naively so, I still think it does. I don’t want to come on here and put a performative silver lining on what’s going on. It’s bad. The world is a dark place, but as we know, the only thing that can combat darkness is light.

The year started slowly for me. I fell ill with the flu and for over two weeks could not get back up.

As a very structured, task-oriented person, you can imagine how much this was NOT ideal for me. I didn’t get to my end of year reflection, set new goals, or even to wash three bags full of last year’s laundry until just a couple days ago. The discomfort from feeling like I failed to enter 2026 as a productive, efficient human being, was palpable.

Yet still, the last couple of weeks have been far from a failure. I rested significantly, caught up on sleep, tapped into my ancestral wisdom and nursed myself back to life with brews and concoctions galore: pots on pots of Dominican “rompe pecho” tea (NOT for the weak, see a recipe here) and chunky chicken noodle soups, I read a bunch, and also, I paid attention.

So to summarize: I’m sick, I’m running way behind, but still…I am noticing.

I’ve been terrified of the type of chaos we are experiencing now since Trump’s One Big Beautiful Bill passed mid-last year. I plan to write about the bill in detail at some point, as there are several stipulations written into it that will affect the workplace, but when it comes to current events, the biggest implication is how it transformed Immigration and Customs Enforcement, or ICE.

The Bill made ICE richer than most of the world’s militaries, allocating $75 billion to the agency across four years. That is an increase to about $27.7 billion annually, from the $8.7 billion of past years.

I don’t think most of us realize how much an actual billion is. To start conceptualizing it, take this, maybe not-so-fun fact: “If you earn $45,000 a year, it would take 22,000 years to amass a fortune of one billion dollars.”

So given this unnecessarily excessive budget, as well as the Department of Homeland Security basically saying that agents have federal immunity, believe you me, it’s about to get worse before it gets any better.

Both history and Social Psychology show us time and time again that ordinary individuals will commit horrendous atrocities under the guise of “I was just following orders”.

• See: The Stanford Prison Experiment

• See: Milgram’s study on obedience

• See any global conflict past and present

My hope is that the rest of us do not sit idly by while this occurs. As Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., who we celebrate today, once said:

“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy. The true neighbor will risk his position, his prestige and even his life for the welfare of others”

So in writing this, I aim to let January continue to be a time of rest and slow renewal, but I will NEVER EVER let it be a time when I become apathetic to what is going on. I will stand with my neighbors, I will stand with humanity, sick and all.

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