I knew the TikTok comment was wrong the moment I read it, but not because it offended me. I have a pretty high tolerance for internet nonsense. I knew it was wrong because it collapsed under the same basic logic I navigate every time I work with editors on my books. The commenter’s argument was this: Spain-Spanish is Latin American Spanish.

This is raw. It’s fresh. And it’s sitting heavy in my chest, so I’m going to write it the only way I know how: honestly. It started with something that, on the surface, looks small. I was watching hair salon videos, the kind that flood social media feeds, and I made an observation to my husband that I’ve made many times before.

The prologue of The Forgotten Bruja does not open with magic. It opens with a word. Cabeza dura. Hard-headed. Not strong-willed. Not resolute. Not a woman who knows her own mind. Just difficult. Defective. Something that needs to be corrected. That distinction matters, because from the very first page, Isadora Espinal is not being framed as a girl who doesn’t understand her destiny.

Let’s talk about something that rarely gets named out loud in Latine spaces: being an introvert and being misunderstood, shamed, or outright dismissed for it. This isn’t theoretical for me. It’s lived. It came up during a dinner conversation with my mother-in-law, a Latine elder who, like many in our community, carries ideas that were passed down without question. The conversation drifted toward my stepson’s plans for having a social life once he moves into our house.

My closing ritual is not elaborate. There are no extra steps, no second-guessing, no bargaining with the universe. My closing ritual is an unequivocal belief that what I asked for is already happening. Once I’ve asked, once I’ve whispered the petition, once the spell has been cast or the intention spoken, I let it go with certainty. Not hope. Not wishing.

I hate bullies. I hate them with a passion. Not in a casual, eye-roll way. I mean a deep, lived-in dislike that comes from decades of being on the receiving end of their cruelty. I was born with a lazy eye, clinically known as strabismus. It is part of my body. It is part of my face. It is something I did not choose and cannot control.

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.

Just a short blog to let you know the Bold Journey interview is officially out, and I’m sitting with a mix of gratitude, vulnerability, and quiet pride. This wasn’t just another interview for me. It felt like a pause. A moment to look back at the winding, messy, nonlinear road that led me here and to name it without minimizing it.

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.

A lot of my childhood is blurry. Survival trauma does that. Your brain learns what to keep and what to lock away, and for a long time I thought I had lost more memories than I kept. But there is one moment that never left me. One memory that feels so alive, so sensory, so magical, that when I return to it, I swear I can still smell it.

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.

There was a long time when I didn’t know how to write a message to my younger self. Not because I didn’t have things to say, but because I didn’t know how to look at her without wanting to scoop her up and protect her from everything she had to carry too soon. So instead of writing to her, I became her.

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.

There’s something tender and powerful about the moment you sit down to light a candle with intention. For me, this ritual has become one of the softest parts of my bruja practice, especially as we get close to the new moon and the new year. These seasons always make me think about possibility: the life I’m building, the books I’m publishing, the family I’m supporting, and the softness I want to wrap around myself like a warm blanket.

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.

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:

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.

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.

Nighttime has always carried a specific energy for me. It is the in-between space. The place where the day’s noise begins to fade and my inner world becomes louder, clearer, more present. For many people, nighttime is a moment of relaxation. For me, it has become a sanctuary of intentional release, but it wasn’t always that way. There was a time when nights were the hardest part of my day.

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.

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.

Some books feel like curling up under a warm blanket.Some books feel like a cup of chai on a cold afternoon.Some books feel like softness when the world is too loud. The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches by Sangu Mandanna was exactly that for me — a cozy, magical, uplifting story that wrapped itself around my heart in the gentlest way.

When I think about music that makes my spirit sit up straighter, music that taps into my bruja energy, music that feels like both a spell and a declaration… there is only one song that hits every time: “Brujas” by Princess Nokia. The first time I heard this song, I felt it in my bones.Not just in the lyrics, but in the energy.

There are moments in life when strength does not feel like strength.Moments when your spirit feels tired.Moments when the weight of everything you carry makes your chest tight.Moments when you feel trapped in a situation with no clear exit.Moments when you question yourself more than you trust yourself. And in those moments, I remind myself: You are power incarnate.