My Writing

Clean the table with Clorox wipes I don’t know if I believe in God. But I think I believe in Jesus. I like to make the joke that I am an inverted Jew (because Jewish people believe in God and not Jesus). No one laughs at that joke when I say it. I probably should keep it to myself. My grandfather (my mother’s father), Abuelo, had a figure of Jesus on the cross on his hallway wall. I remember staring at it one day. I must have been around 5 years old. “¿Pero por qué está sangr

I lay in the hammock for what was probably four hours, but what felt more like minutes, yet also like days. We were going around adding songs to listen to. Songs to help us make sense of the moment, to make sense of what we were feeling. My husband, J, was sitting to my right on a white plastic chair. My brother, G, and his wife, H, were across from J. I have been experiencing on-and-off panic attacks. Shifting from dissociation to feeling to distress to panic, and back to ca

But I didn’t know I had no chance to be anything but his possession His obsession For his pleasure His colonization A daughter with many roles to fill An obligation But I didn’t know I didn’t know that fathers didn’t behave this way I like to dream that my soul chose this life That I made the decision That you didn’t steal it from me I walked into it Knowing I had a mission to complete But I didn’t know I didn’t know this life wasn’t normal I thought every child knew of v

My story is a quest story, but right now it feels more like chaos. I want to write about my life as a survivor of sexual abuse by my father. I want to write about how I survived, how I endured, how I figured out how to build myself up, all on my own, with the help of my ancestors. There was no before and after in my story. The beginning of my life was the beginning of my abuse, the beginning of my pain. Surviving is all I know, and I’m tired. I’m tired of the masks and walls

“You’re going to experience what we call ‘the purge’ for the first couple of days when you start the medication,” my pharmacist, Jonathan, told me. Jonathan was explaining to me all the details of my new medication, Alyftrek, to help me with my cystic fibrosis. First of all, I can’t even believe I have a pharmacist, and I know his name and phone number. Jonathan is a kind, young Black man who is the pharmacist at the adult CF clinic and who took 2 hours to sit with me and exp

My heart is broken. In a way that I never knew it could break. It’s not broken based on romantic love. I have experienced that type of heartbreak before. It is painful, like your heart gets pulled out of your body and squished by someone else’s hands. Hands that you once desired, who you thought you would spend the rest of your life with, together as one. I am not feeling that type of pain right now. This one is deeper. It’s not just my heart that is impacted; it’s my soul. I

I am not a jealous person by nature. I don’t spend my time worrying about my partner’s exes or ruminating on whether he still thinks about them from time to time. I do notice tinges of jealousy, though, when I log on to social media and see acquaintances going on lavish vacations, or buying a beautiful 1.2 million dollar home, sharing posts of their perfect family, and how happy they are in their marriage. But then I remember, these posts are a facade, a partial and oftentime

“Your father molested you. It is called molestation.” My therapist shared these words during our 9:00 am virtual session on Wednesday, January 21, 2026. Forty years old, and my life just got turned upside down in a matter of seconds as I sat alone in my office in Washington, DC. Molested? Me? By my dad? I always knew things were off, and my abuse felt different from my brothers'. I always felt like my gender and being his only daughter colored my abuse, but he never touched m

“Julianna, you’re too stoic.” My pulmonologist softly reprimanded me. It was my second exacerbation of pneumonia within two weeks. My aunt drove me to the hospital as I was too ill to drive. I was in pain. Everything hurt. Every breath in and out of my lungs sent a sharp pain that went all the way up to my neck. I tried to slow my breath down. I had to move intentionally since my whole body felt like I had run an ultramarathon the day prior without any training. I had a fever

If I let myself feel, Truly feel What comes up when I picture you, Think of you Tears will come down, Happy tears, of course, But tears nonetheless I didn’t know men like you existed True love was for the movies It didn’t exist in the real world We dream about it, Write about it, Sing about it, But it’s not real It’s a dream we all hope and long for But it’s not attainable At least that’s what I thought, Until I met you Your hands hold my heart Carefully, Attentively Any s

Pulling out the scale in my bathroom I step on it because Noom told me Daily checks to see the fluctuations Ugh, it’s too much I just want to return before kids I don’t want to think about my weight daily Anxiety creeps up as I stare at my feet If you live with your mother, you’re going to be fat like her Being fat was a moral flaw, according to my father I know he is saying this so I would live with him But he didn’t actually want me He just didn’t want to pay child suppor

Two days before my wedding, a day that is supposed to be the best and most magical day of my life, I spent it crying inconsolably. I was sitting alone on a bench at the park right in front of my grandmother’s apartment, surrounded by chickens, trying to get a tan so my skin wouldn’t look so pale against the white wedding dress. That’s when my cousin texted me. As soon as I saw her name pop up on my phone, my heart accelerated, and in a matter of seconds, my body was overwhelm

I always had to be perfect No! Así no es! He just showed me the stroke I needed to do I didn’t get it right the first time The yelling begins You’re not paying attention! I am I’m just learning I’ve never done this before I say out loud in my head Why does he expect it perfect right away? Otra vez, Julianna Keep your eyes on the ball Bend your knees It’s better but not quite right No, Julianna! Massage the ball Mira, así We pause again He shows me the stroke Does he not rea

Yo creo que nacer en Puerto Rico, no sé, hay una magia. Hay una magia en Puerto Rico que no se ve, pero está ahí presente. Y como yo digo en el intro de P fuckin’ R del concierto. Que al final del día, lo mejor de cada logro es decir que soy de P fuckin’ R. Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio aka Bad Bunny Puerto Rico, la isla del encanto, is my home. But its significance is so much more than a place, a location. It’s who I am in the deepest sense. Puerto Rico and its history, it

I have a terrible memory. I don’t even remember what I had for dinner last night. I blame it on all the weed I have smoked. At the same time, I have some memories that have lived with me my entire life; they have traveled all over the world and have accompanied me in so many intimate moments. And no matter how hard I try, they are too comfortable, too colorful to get evicted from my mind. These memories even live within my body; I can taste them. They exist in every cell of e

There is one question that I have asked myself often. Too often, if you ask me. I still ask myself this question to this day. I wish I didn’t. This one question has haunted me my whole life, shaped me, formed me. I’ve had multiple debates with myself regarding the answer. Sometimes it’s a resounding no, and other times, it’s a shameful yes. But most of the time, I just repeat the question in my head, like a disgraceful song, swallowing and burying everything that