About two years ago my siblings said they didn’t want our place in Costa Rica anymore. Willy’s Place, as I’ve lovingly named it, had been more a source of worry than of pleasure for them and they wanted to sell. I happened to be working on reviving myself after separating from my husband and the shifting nest of single parenthood and young men becoming adults was allowing space for me to travel more. The new found freedom of working for myself and online allowed for me to have a business from anywhere with internet connection. Not to mention Willy’s Place needed it’s own revival, so it kind of just made sense. WP was dusty and dirty, all the landscaping was overgrown and wild. The most painful thing for me was to arrive and have to reconcile the belief that nobody ever really wanted her. This unwanted casita. It was all too familiar and real, as if this house were some sort of mirror for my belonging and sorrow.

I chose to take on the management of WP and slowly see if I could make something of myself and this place. There are some other real things to be prepared for as I move through Costa Rica, a beautiful, brown skinned, outsider. For example, the very high rate of acts of violence against women like me. Just see what the internet tells you about femicide in Latin America and sit with the numbers, you’ll see what i mean.  Imagine what it’s like holding caution and doubt  with every male figure I encounter, it is exhausting. It’s also in clear conflict with what I am trying to build, namely with my two sons and hopefully one day with a love I can call my own. The place and problem all comes back to this. My father and I.

He broke my heart, many times, but I think something specific happened around age 4. It pains me to admit that it was violent and angry. He was often flustered and frustrated. If he had been drinking it was usually worse and my memory tells me this may have been the case. When we are hurt by those who love us, love gets a distorted importance. It’s how I learned to keep secrets and look away. It’s what I believe led me to abusive partnerships and poor boundaries. It is also the source of this gnarly little habit of wanting to help people who are troubled in similar ways as him.  I can see the ways in which this manipulates my understanding on how to raise and support my sons. It’s problematic and heavy baggage for where I plan to venture. It's also a worthy cause with perfect timing.

Some of this is heavy but listen, it’s not all I learned. What is really key to know too is that now is time for letting go of who I have thought myself to be as a mom and of letting go of my anger towards every man I have ever loved, beginning with my father.

This is what gets clear when I am here at WP.  I can see for myself the challenges and the pleasures that await . All the parts of me are feeling ready to release a lot of emotions and misplaced responsibility. I don’t have to pick up my dad’s pieces, I don’t have to honor his blood, sweat and tears. There is no punishment for letting his legacy die with him. But my whole body responds like yes I do! Yes there is! I feel bound and charged with guardianship of what once was his. I feel accountable for the heartfelt love and remorse I get to literally live in. This house, this place, it’s how and where he poured his heart and cement for a foundation, it’s the most truth he spoke and manifested in his life. I get to know him more by these walls, these views, the hard work that went into this rustic beauty.

Sometimes I can feel that he was thinking of us as he built this place. I imagine him crying over all the mistakes he made and letting this same cotton candy sunset soothe his aching soul. I sit and toke endlessly into the breezes hoping one day I’ll forget or remember and i'm sure he  sipped on ron rico and coca over all the love that was lost.

We have some things in common, he and I. The way we process our pain, co depend, overextend, burst outward. The question today is, do I want this to be what connects us, makes us similar? Is that how I want to express myself? With my vices and hardships, with the truth of self loathing always front and center? 

There is so much I suppose I thought was true. And now I see that it's not and that it serves me and those I love most that I drop it. For my big vision to have full expression my attention has to be other than tangled in a child’s trauma. This is the thing to look at and respect. It’s time for the sweet medicine to be self induced and applied. I’m so lucky I get to do this deeply spiritual and liberating work in this paradise. It’s a total dream and he did this for me, for us, out of love.

As I look forward on this 42nd birthday of mine, I hope to let go of some of the arrogance that was adapted from rejection and fear.  I hope I learn to let love in and forgive my dad. I pray the freedom I crave is tucked and waiting behind this release.  May I own my wellness, like radical responsibility! My wellness matters and it matters for what I see WP becoming.

Here it is,  a plan for a space where I grow a flower farm and living apothecary in honor and reverence for the great mother and all her emanations. A place for people on the path to healing and sovereignty. A home to rest and let the real you unravel from the constraints of a conditioned life. A place for writers and dreamers. Also a place to right the wrongs of men, a place to stand for what can be between men and women.  Somehow I make it happen.

Maybe even a place for me and my boys…me as an abuelita, all the babies learning about plants and eating fruit off the trees. An old desk and many many stories, a full life. My sons in loving connection with me, peace in my heart.

This piece and these efforts are dedicated to Angel, my baby boy, Happy birthday and god bless you.

All my love 💖🌸✌🏾