Meeting Your Inner Wild Child - Mine? She’s Crazy, Curly, & C✨ty.
Healing isn't just about navigating the chaos of now. It's also about reconnecting with the raw, playful, wounded, and unashamed spirit within us—our inner child.
Today, I want you to meet them.
Give that little badass a name — something that embodies their wildness, their dreams, their mischief, their unapologetic authenticity.
Journal Prompt:
Who is this fierce inner child of yours?
How do they show up when you're manifesting, mourning, or indulging your deepest pleasures?
What does your inner child need you to remember, reclaim, or honor right now?
Grab your journal, meet them face-to-face. Let them speak.
✨ Ready to meet your inner wild child?
I was a tiny, curly haired ball of nerves trying to survive the chaotic heartbeat of New York City—I remember being scared. Like, frightened-to-my-core scared.
The city was massive. I was small.
And somehow, I’d wander off like a stray cat in Times Square more often than I’d like to admit.
Who let me outside, unattended?
Multiple times? We may never know.
I wasn’t the bratty Target kid screaming for toys (did it once, caught a swift backhand, never tried again.)
Puerto Rican moms didn’t play. There was no “gentle parenting”—there were loud voices, phantom chancletas, and discipline that stung more in pride than skin.
Yet my mom—my loud, fiery, no-bullshit mom—was always my safe space. Even through arguments (and there were plenty), even through silent treatments, she’d circle back with unsolicited advice… and, of course, a jab about fixing my face.
FYI: Resting Bitch Face originated with Puerto Rican women.
Looking back, I think losing a sibling—a year and a day before my youngest sister was born changed everything. My mom’s fierce love for my sister felt like I’d become background noise.
As a mother now, I get it. Grief reshapes you. It makes you claw at what’s left with both hands.
Still, those early “I’m lost again” wanderings planted seeds of fear that never left.
Up until recently I felt frightened of everything: the unknown (terrifying), the known (somehow worse).
And despite all the “go-with-the-flow” affirmations I feed myself, the truth?
The flow is clogged. The flow needs therapy and a large glass Spanish Chardonnay.
Because I’m not exactly sure where her mind was at during some of the SHIT she put us through…
Why did she often feel alone? Why did she think getting pregnant at sixteen was going to unlock some kind of deep, unconditional love she was missing?
Why did she often look to men for a comfort that lasted a mere forty seconds– just long enough for my ex-husband to nut.
Now, as I’m ready to face that CRAZY, CURLY, CUNTY little bitch, listen up…
Never beg for attention from anyone. Most of all from a man who isn’t willing to make the necessary and conscientious efforts one needs in order for the relationship to thrive— not just survive.
I am SCREAMING…trust in the intuition your Hoe-liness gifted you.
Utilizing empathic ability isn’t as easy as one thinks while healing. It’s difficult to distinguish my Nana’s blaring ‘run-in-the-opposite-direction’ warning signs from the — what-I-thought-were— BUTTERFLIES.
At the mere ripple of whatever-fucking-color flag is waved, you communicate your feelings on the subject, and if that mother fucker isn’t willing to improve on that behavior to ensure you are comfortable in all aspects of your relationship— then you peace-the-fuck-out.
DO NOT continue to give warnings upon warnings of empty promises — “we are never speaking” again just for you to find yourself underneath him, screaming his name once more.
Because YOU, my beautiful hot mess of a soul, deserve someone who shows up, shows out, and hypes you like their life depends on it.
Not because you need them to… but because they want to.
Someone who loves your wild, crazy, curly, cunty self.
Someone who isn’t afraid to speak about it.
Someone who is willing to show up for you when it means the most.
Someone who is willing to support your dreams, be your biggest hype-man, and willing to go to the ends of the UNIVERSE to ensure YOU make those dreams happen. The right person will be there for you, supporting you the entire way through.
You are worth so much more than anything those men were ever willing — or capable — of giving you.
More than a lousy fuck.
More than empty promises of “all night” sex romps and their conterfeit, fake-ass big dick energy.
Never give up.
Never shrink your voice.
Never let yourself fade into forgotten background noise again.
Crazy. Curly. Cuny.
`You still have so much story left to tell.
Until next time…
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