Blog #2: My Journey to Spirituality
A part of me was dreading writing this blog post, but it’s a critical part of my story and something I need to get off my chest. The following events shaped me into the woman I am today and continue to inform my human experience in every way. In fact, this blog wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for the fact that…
When I was 17 years old, I lost the person who I love the most in the whole world. My mom.
Probably the most bitter-sweet part of this story is the fact that my mom died due to complications while giving birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl. I hate that my mom’s death anniversary will always be the same day as my sister’s birthday. The day we celebrate the gift that is my sister’s life is also one of the most agonizing to think back on. Baby Rosalinda will never get to meet her mother, yet she will carry her mother’s name and legacy forever.
When my mom passed away, I vowed to tell her story for years to come. Although each time I tell her story it’s underscored with the pain of missing her sorely, I know that it’s the only way to breathe her life into existence again. Most importantly, I want to make sure that Baby Rosalinda never has a doubt in her mind about the angel of a woman she comes from.
Simply put, my mom was a force to be reckoned with. She was someone who carried herself with conviction and purpose. She was one of the most hard working people I’ve ever known. She showed me and everyone in her life unconditional love at all times. She taught me what it meant to be a good person. She embodied strength and resilience. She was a free spirit. She was the most beautiful person, inside and out. She fiercely protected me with every fiber of her being. She filled me to the brim with love and validation in hopes that I could one day show myself the same amount of love I deserve. She pushed me to be the best version of myself at all times.
Without my mom, I’ve struggled so much with my own self esteem to the point that I’ve forgotten who I am a number of times. When you have someone cheering you on in life for the biggest or smallest achievements, you start to look to them after every win just to solidify that good feeling. After she passed away, I forgot how to cheer myself on. I was a shell of myself but I had to pretend otherwise to make life tolerable again. I pretended I was strong so that I could be strong.
I tried to fill the gaping hole that my mom left by being the rock for my family in every way I could. I took care of my baby sister for the majority of my days and emotionally supported my family members in whatever capacity they needed. With every step I took, I asked myself: “What would my mom do?” It led me to fully be there for my family, even if I wasn’t fully there for myself.
Some days it didn’t feel like I had to “show up for myself” because there was an incredible outpour of love for me and the rest of my grieving family. If I was too tired to cook, someone would swing by the house to drop off a meal. If I was too sad to drive, someone would assist me in my errands. Every day for weeks, I would get a flood of messages — people checking in to ask how I was doing and if there was anything they could do to make it better. It was a hard question to answer, when there was only one thing that could ever make it better. I needed my mom back. As much as I appreciated the messages, I started to realize that the sheer abundance of physical and moral support would dwindle down at some point. I had to figure out a way to support myself.
At the time of my mom’s passing, everyone asked me if I would continue onto college. No judgement would be passed either way — the expectation was simply lifted from me. I considered the possibility of postponing my education, but shortly after, I decided that filling my mom’s shoes was not my life’s destiny. I had my own story to write.
I started college at USC in January of 2018. Only three months after losing my mom. Going to college and surrounding myself with new people and a new environment was difficult at first, to say the least. No one knew me, yet I came with so much baggage. I understood the fragility of life like only a few people my age do. I hoped for someone to see me and accept me for who I was. A grieving, motherless daughter with a lot more potential to share with the world.
Most people in college would introduce themselves with their name, year, and major. In an unintended cry for help, I was tempted to introduce my name, year, major, and greatest trauma. Certainly not the best way to make new friends…
As I slowly started to figure out the best conditions to present that information in budding friendships, my confidence grew significantly. I found community and became more active in the clubs on campus, with a special commitment to my Filipino and Environmental Clubs. I made myself busy at all times. From classes, to clubs, to social life, I was booked from morning until night. I rarely journaled or sat with the thoughts of my mother because it brought me to a place of despair. As I paved a new way for myself, I left my grief at bay. The grief never left me, though.
Over the past pandemic year, I was isolated and forced to look inward — face my grief. Although this time, I was grieving for much more than my dear mother. I grieved for the thousands of lives taken by the coronavirus. I grieved for the black and brown communities that lost multiple innocent souls to police violence. I grieved for the slow death of our democracy as we knew it. I grieved for our hurting planet as wildfires, hurricanes and earthquakes decimated homes and habitats worldwide.
I became depressed, I was debilitated by my grief. I couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. How could anyone? When the future was cloaked with so much darkness.
After months of feeling stuck, anxious and depressed, I eventually got fed up with my state of being and searched for something better. Where I searched, I found spirituality. Defining my relationship with spirituality was the only thing that brought me peace and comfort. Spirituality didn’t just bring me back to the light, it brought me back to my mother.
They say that losing someone close to you brings you closer to the “spirit”, but I didn’t experience that for many years. For the first three years I felt a lot of anger, sadness and pain. I was traumatized every time I thought of my mother’s absence. I ached to share the love in my heart with my mom again. And then I realized something…
Loving myself and nurturing my spiritual growth is a manifestation of my mom’s own love, and love is the language of the universe.
In my meditations this past year, I’ve felt her presence in unmistakable ways. She communicates her love whenever I feel affirmed that I’m on the right path. Her voice rings in my ears and fills me with words of affirmation. I sometimes experience vivid dreams of my mom in a Universe where she never left; when she embraces me it feels so real. Every time I see our angel number “333”, I know that better times are coming.
I’ve come to understand that the love between mother and daughter is a bond that can never be broken. Instead of feeling hurt by her absence and closing in on myself, I try to lean into her spirit. I acknowledge that I have the unique opportunity to experience life in all forms, while my mom no longer has that privilege. For that, I express gratitude on a daily basis. Having that new perspective has led me to adopt new mindsets, try new things, and bask in the present moment.
This blog is a manifestation of the love I have for my mom. It is a living record of the life I’m constantly creating for myself, in her honor. I have an abundance of gratitude for the life my mom gave me, and I refuse to let my fleeting time on Earth go to waste. As I march forward, I choose to live my life with love and purpose — for myself, and for my mama.
With that, I can assure you — we’re just getting started. <333
