What We’re Told, What We Believe, and What We Choose

Introducing My New Blog Series

When I was about twenty-two, a childhood friend once asked me:

“Do you believe in free will?”

“Of course,” I said.

At the time, I was newly out from under strict religious parents and doing whatever I wanted, even when the consequences were messy. I believed every choice was mine.

She shook her head.

“There is no such thing. We are conditioned […] Well, I have a master’s. I know.”” she said, as if the degree had granted her ownership of truth.

Her comment hit a tender spot. It touched my shame about not having a degree yet, and it carried the implication that she understood something I didn’t. Here is what I understand now:

She was right about free will being shaped by conditioning.
She was wrong about me being unaware of it.

Even then, I already sensed that our choices were shaped by the environments we grew up in. I had watched conditioning play out in our community, in our church, and in our families. Sometimes I felt like I was the only one who noticed. What I did not have yet was the language or confidence to describe what I saw.

Now I do have a master’s, and years of experience with people across many systems. All of it confirmed what I knew intuitively:

We do not only inherit trauma. We inherit stories about who we are allowed to be.

Stories about what we owe, when to stay quiet, how we should show gratitude, and what we must sacrifice to keep the peace. Stories about identity, loyalty, limits, and possibility. These private stories often mirror the larger cultural stories we are taught.

These inherited stories don’t just show up on families. They show up nationally, too. Which brings me to Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving is one of the clearest examples of this kind of inherited narrative.

Most of us grew up with the school-friendly version: Pilgrims and Native Americans sharing a peaceful meal, unity, gratitude, and a simple origin story.

The real history is far more painful.
Yet the softened version is the one repeated, celebrated, and taught to children until it becomes unquestioned.

This is how conditioning works.
Quiet.
Familiar.
Comfortable enough that we do not pause to examine it.

The stories we inherit in families, culture, religion, politics, and even therapy function in a very similar way.

Why I am Writing This Series

In every setting I have worked in, including therapy, anti-trafficking work, juvenile justice, immigrant communities, spiritual trauma, child welfare, and national trainings, people name the same feelings again and again:

“I feel trapped.”
“I do not know how to leave.”
“I keep choosing the same thing.”
“I feel guilty taking care of myself.”
“I do not know whose expectations I am living for.”

People often believe they are making fully free choices.
In reality, they are responding to the stories they were handed long before they could understand them.

This series is about those stories.
The ones we grow up with.
The ones we carry.
The ones we question.
The ones we eventually outgrow.

Next Month’s Post

In December, I will be exploring one of the loudest and most universal forms of modern conditioning: holiday consumer culture, advertisements, influencers, and MLMs.

These systems shape our decisions in ways that feel personal but are actually designed.

As we move through this holiday season, I hope you approach your inherited stories with gentleness.

Some of them protected you.
Some of them restricted you.
And some of them are finally ready to be rewritten.

This series is my way of walking through that process with you.

Minimization as a Defense Mechanism: The Role of Cultural Resilience and Laughter in Health

In the realm of mental health and self-discovery, the concept of minimization as a defense mechanism holds a significant place. It serves as a coping strategy to deal with overwhelming emotions, traumas, and difficulties by downplaying their magnitude or impact on our lives. However, if we lean too deep into minimization we risk bypassing the experience of authentic emotion. This defense mechanism can have intricate relationships with our healing journey. How do we hold cultural resilience and laughter, acting as protective factors in our overall well-being; while honoring our truest, life shaping experiences, for the validity of what they are and what they brought up for us?

Personal Story: Finding Validation in the Journey of Therapy - After a Lifetime of Minimizing

On a personal note, my journey in therapy has been a quest for validation. I often find myself questioning the validity of my grievances, wondering if I am just being "dramatic" or exaggerating my struggles. As an adult, I've shared true stories of hardship with a touch of humor, only to be met with shocked expressions, particularly from individuals of a different cultural background. This reaction has always gotten under my skin.


Growing up, I come from a family that embodies resilience in the face of adversity. I was taught that life is never easy, we should always be grateful for what we have (in comparison to those with less), and we learned to navigate its challenges with laughter as our steadfast companion. In our culture, we believe that not everything needs to be approached with intense seriousness; sometimes, you have to laugh to lighten the burden of reality. Which is great!

Laughter can help with adversity by providing a temporary escape from stress, boosting mood, increasing resilience and fostering a sense of connection to others. It can serve as a coping mechanism, helping individuals to find moments of joy and levity even in difficult situations; thereby improving their overall emotional wel- being and ability to navigate challenges.

While laughter and humor can provide temporary relief and help individuals cope with adversity, it’s important to acknowledge that they are not a substitute for addressing underlying pain or serious issues. We need to feel so that we can heal.

Unpacking Minimization: Unveiling the Root Cause

Over time, I have come to a profound realization: I have been minimizing real and profound struggles in my life. But why? This introspective journey has led me to understand that my tendency to downplay the gravity of my experiences stems from a deep-seated need to protect myself from the overwhelming emotions that accompany them. By making light of difficult situations, I inadvertently shield myself from confronting their true impact on my well-being.

Cultural Influences on Minimization

The cultural lens through which we perceive and navigate the world plays a pivotal role in shaping our defense mechanisms. In some cultural contexts, there exists a collective belief in the power of resilience and laughter as tools for survival. However, this cultural resilience can sometimes manifest as minimization, leading individuals to overlook the gravity of their struggles in an effort to maintain a sense of control and composure. This hyper-independent super power is by design. It helps us fall into place.

The truth is:

We CAN and we SHOULD laugh, it’s great medicine for our souls. Though, not at the expense of FEELING every wound, gift, loss, doubt. Our TRUTH matters. Every experience should be felt and each emotion should move through you.

Embracing Vulnerability and Seeking Authenticity

As I continue to unravel the complexities of minimization in my own life, I am learning to embrace vulnerability and seek authenticity in my experiences. It is essential to recognize that acknowledging the true weight of our struggles does not diminish our strength; rather, it empowers us to face our challenges with courage and honesty.

The interplay between minimization as a defense mechanism, cultural resilience, and the healing power of laughter is a complex and multifaceted one. By delving into the root causes of our coping strategies and embracing vulnerability, we pave the way for genuine self-discovery and emotional growth. Remember, it is okay to confront the depth of your emotions and experiences – for it is in this raw authenticity that true healing and resilience can flourish.

THE DANGERS OF FAMILY SECRETS: Why Avoiding Conflict Isn’t Always The Best Solution

Families are often considered the cornerstone of our lives, providing love, support, and a sense of belonging. But many of us grow up learning an unspoken rule: some things must never be said out loud. Beneath the surface, many families harbor secrets—unspoken truths that are often born out of a desire to avoid conflict. While conflict avoidance may seem like a way to maintain peace and harmony, it can inadvertently lead to the creation of family secrets, which can have far-reaching and damaging consequences.

As a parent and a member of a family, I worry about the potential dangers of avoiding conflict and the subsequent impact it can have on our children. I’ve seen how quickly silence becomes the family’s default language. Not because anyone intends harm, but because discomfort feels dangerous. When we tiptoe around sensitive issues to protect each other's feelings, we inadvertently send a message to our children that it's acceptable to keep secrets, especially if it means avoiding conflict. This normalization of secrecy can have profound implications for our children as they navigate the complexities of adolescence and adulthood.

By modeling avoidance of difficult conversations, we risk teaching our children that it's permissible to withhold the truth to spare someone's feelings. This can create a culture of secrecy within the family, where important issues are left unaddressed, and genuine communication is stifled. Family secrets, whether they pertain to financial problems, substance abuse, infidelity, or other sensitive matters, can erode trust and intimacy within the family unit. Silence may feel like protection, but it often becomes the very thing that fractures connection.

Moreover, the impact of family secrets extends beyond the confines of the home. As children grow into adulthood, the burden of carrying these secrets can manifest in profound psychosocial issues, including anxiety, depression, and low self-esteem. Children who grow up managing adult emotions often become adults who fear telling the truth. Even when honesty would set them free. The weight of maintaining these secrets can be isolating, leading individuals to struggle with their emotional well-being and interpersonal relationships.

Additionally, the culture of secrecy within families can leave children vulnerable to predatory behavior. When kids learn “we don’t talk about things,” they also learn not to disclose danger. When open communication is discouraged and secrets are the norm, children may be less likely to share experiences of abuse or exploitation, fearing that they will disrupt the fragile equilibrium of the family. This can perpetuate cycles of harm and prevent the early detection and intervention necessary to protect children from harm.

So, what can we do to address these concerns and foster healthier family dynamics? It begins with recognizing the importance of open, honest communication, even when it involves uncomfortable topics. Instead of avoiding conflict, we should strive to engage in constructive dialogue, demonstrating to our children that it's possible to address difficult issues with empathy and respect. Healthy conflict is not a threat; it’s a skill, and children learn it from watching us.

Creating an environment where children feel safe to express their thoughts and concerns without fear of repercussion is essential. By nurturing an atmosphere of trust and openness, we empower our children to communicate openly and seek support when they need it most. This doesn’t require perfection; it requires presence.

As parents and caregivers, we must also be mindful of the examples we set for our children. By modeling healthy conflict resolution and demonstrating the value of transparency, we can help our children develop the skills and resilience needed to navigate life's challenges with integrity and courage. Our children don’t need us to be flawless. They need us to be honest.

While the impulse to avoid conflict within families may seem well-intentioned, the long-term consequences of cultivating a culture of secrecy can be profound. By addressing difficult issues head-on and promoting open communication, we can work to break the cycle of family secrets and create a more supportive and nurturing environment for our children. Silence may preserve the family’s image, but truth protects the child.

Decolonizing Mental Health: Breaking the Chains of Perfectionism in Parenting

In today's fast-paced, achievement-oriented society, parents often find themselves under immense pressure to be the perfect parent. We strive to limit screen time, be actively involved in our children's lives, work full time, and ensure they excel in every aspect of their lives. However, in my journey towards decolonized mental health, I have come to the realization that this pursuit of perfectionism is detrimental to both my well-being and that of my children. Instead of performing parenthood through unrealistic standards, I’ve shifted my focus toward raising grounded, emotionally aware critical thinkers and breaking the generational patterns that keep us stuck.

1) Embracing Imperfection:

As parents, we are bombarded with messages that suggest we should constantly strive for perfection. We are made to believe that our children's success and happiness depend on us being the ideal parent. However, this unattainable standard only leads to immense stress and anxiety, both for ourselves and our children. It is crucial to recognize that perfectionism is a colonial construct, rooted in oppressive systems that prioritize conformity and productivity. When we name perfectionism as a tool of social control, not a personal failing, we are better able to release it and reclaim our humanity.

2) Minimizing Anxiety:
(I know. It’s easier said than done.)

In our quest for perfection, we often inadvertently pass on our anxieties to our children. Children are perceptive beings who absorb the stress and pressure around them. By constantly pushing them to excel in every area of their lives, we unintentionally contribute to their anxiety and feelings of inadequacy. Recognizing this, I have chosen to prioritize my own mental health and that of my children by creating a nurturing environment that encourages self-expression, exploration, and personal growth rather than rigid achievement. Regulation in the home begins with the adults—we become the nervous system our children borrow.

3) Redefining Success:

Society often measures success through academic achievements, sports prowess, artistic talent, and other external markers. However, I've learned that true success lies in raising critical thinkers who challenge societal norms and systems. In a world shaped by inequity, teaching children to question, analyze, and make meaning is more protective than any resume of accomplishments .By nurturing their curiosity, encouraging independent thought, and fostering a love for learning, we can empower our children to question and dismantle the flawed systems that perpetuate inequality.

4) Grace over Perfection:

One of the key aspects of decolonized mental health is allowing ourselves and our children grace. We need to recognize that we are products of generations of colonization, and unlearning deeply embedded beliefs and patterns takes time and patience. Grace allows room for repair, humanity, and rest. Things perfectionism never offers. Instead of stressing over every little detail, I have chosen to prioritize self-compassion and allow room for mistakes and growth and emotional authenticity

5) Food and Snacks- A Balanced Approach:

Another area where the pressure to be a perfect parent can manifest is in the realm of food and snacks. We are bombarded with messages about the importance of healthy eating, organic foods, and the dangers of processed snacks. While it is essential to provide our children with nourishing meals, it is equally important not to become consumed by food-related anxieties. Instead of obsessing over every ingredient or feeling guilty about the occasional indulgence, I have learned to adopt a balanced approach. By providing a variety of nutritious options while also allowing treats ( no Switch Witch, here!), I am teaching my children the importance of listening to their bodies and cultivating a healthy relationship with food.

6) Breaking Generational Patterns:

Decolonizing mental health involves recognizing and breaking free from generational patterns that have been passed down to us. These patterns can include us leaning into some of our less preferred (or socially approved) coping mechanisms, “toxic“ behaviors, and limiting beliefs. By prioritizing our mental well-being and consciously choosing to challenge these patterns, we can create a healthier and more supportive environment for ourselves and our children. Breaking free from these patterns is not only liberating for us but also paves the way for future generations to thrive and embrace their true selves.

7) Supporting Critical Thinking:

Rather than pushing our children to excel in every aspect of their lives, we can prioritize their development as critical thinkers. This means encouraging them to question norms, examine power, and think independently. Critical thinking is not defiance—it’s an act of liberation. By fostering curiosity and open dialogue, we empower our children to participate in building a more equitable and just world.

Decolonizing mental health in the context of parenting requires us to let go of the pressure to be perfect and instead prioritize our well-being and that of our children. By embracing imperfection, minimizing anxiety, redefining success, allowing grace, adopting a balanced approach to food, breaking generational patterns, and nurturing critical thinking, we create a more empowering environment for the next generation. Parenting becomes not a performance, but a practice; one rooted in liberation, humanity, and wholeness.

The “Puerto Rican” in Me

As a woman of color who has had to navigate environments where defense mechanisms were shaped by the realities of living in marginalized communities, the complexity of my healing journey is further compounded. When I find myself in moments of anger, I am acutely aware of the ways in which I was forced to defend myself in the past come to the surface. The colonization experienced by my ancestors is echoed in the expressions of my rage, adding layers of historical and systemic trauma to my personal experiences. When did I begin to associate the experience of feeling deep, intense, anger with my identity as a Puerto Rican?

Growing up in environments where survival often meant adopting behaviors and attitudes that were born out of the struggle against oppression, I learned to protect myself using mechanisms that were shaped by the realities of systemic inequality and injustice. This has deeply influenced the way I navigate and express my emotions, particularly anger. I have had to confront the ways in which these coping mechanisms, while necessary for survival in those environments, may not always serve me well in my current context.

 In moments of intense anger, I find that the "Puerto Rican" comes out (a manifestation I recognize is rooted in the programmed association of my ethnicity with passion and rage) and I am reminded of the generational trauma and resilience that have been passed down through my lineage. I am reminded of the ways in which my ancestors were forced to fight for their survival and dignity in the face of immense adversity. My rage becomes not only a personal expression but also a manifestation of the collective pain and resilience of my community.

Navigating the intersection of my personal healing journey with the historical and systemic context of being a woman of color adds layers of complexity to my self-reflection. I am constantly grappling with the challenge of honoring my history and experiences while also striving to transcend the limitations and traumas that have been imposed upon me by societal injustices.

"It is through this deep personal engagement that I am better equipped to approach my work. As a clinician, I recognize that the unique intersection of my identity and experiences shapes my approach to healing., It informs my understanding of the profound impact that systemic oppression and intergenerational trauma can have on individuals and communities of color. It also deepens my commitment to creating a space where these experiences are acknowledged, validated, and addressed with cultural humility and sensitivity.

In my journey of healing, I am learning to integrate the complexities of my identity and experiences into a narrative of empowerment and resilience. I am committed to engaging with my anger and pain in ways that honor the historical and systemic context from which they emerge while also seeking pathways to healing and growth that are affirming and transformative. This process requires a deep sense of self-awareness, compassion, and a commitment to dismantling the internalized oppressions that shape my responses to the world around me.

As I continue to navigate the complexities of my healing journey as a woman of color, I am reminded of the strength and resilience that have sustained me, and I am committed to cultivating spaces of healing that honor the fullness of our experiences and identities, acknowledging the profound impact of historical and systemic injustices while striving for liberation and wholeness.

The Path to Healing

As a clinician, the path to healing is not just one I guide others through, but one that I walk myself every day. It's a journey that has taken me from a place of struggle and hardship to one of stability and success, both personally and professionally. However, along the way, I've come to realize that healing is a complex and ongoing process, and that it's not always a linear journey.

There are moments when I feel like I've "made it." I look at my successful private practice, reflect on the years of hard work I put in from a very young age, and feel a sense of pride in how far I've come. I remember the days when I had to hop the turnstile (because I could barely afford my rent, never mind pay for public transit) and contrast them with my current life in Berkeley, where I can provide for my family without the constant fear of financial instability. Professionally, I feel like I'm coasting through, enjoying the fruits of my labor.

However, there are moments when I’m triggered and my body responds before my mind can catch up. I feel heat rise in my chest, muscles tightening, anger welling up from a deep place. It’s a familiar surge, one that pulls me back to younger versions of myself who had to stay alert, defend themselves, and survive. In those moments, I wonder whether I’m touching old scars or stepping into something genuinely unsafe. I question whether this is regression or simply my nervous system doing what it was trained to do: protect me when something feels threatening, even if the threat isn’t physical anymore.

This intensity of the fight impulse can make me want to yell, gesture big, or push back forcefully. The urge to react is so overwhelming that I find myself immediately reflecting on the thin line between toxic expression and authentic self-protection. Part of me asks whether that’s wrong or whether it’s a natural instinct rising to defend my boundaries. I sit with the tension between honoring my body’s alarm system and choosing how to express it. I ask myself: Is my anger signaling real danger, or an old danger being reactivated? What does it look like to let myself feel the full heat of rage without reenacting harm? These questions live inside me, not because I’m “unhealed,” but because my body remembers and because protecting myself, then and now, has always mattered.

As a clinician, I understand the complexity of these emotions. I know that anger is a natural response to pain and that it's crucial to acknowledge and process it. I know that sometimes “fight” is an essential recipe to create safety. I also recognize the importance of channeling it in a constructive way, without causing harm to others or myself. It's a delicate balance, one that requires self-awareness, self-control, and empathy.

I've come to realize that healing is not about erasing the scars of the past but about learning to live with them and finding healthy ways to cope with the triggers that come my way. It's about acknowledging that vulnerability and pain are part of the human experience and that it's okay to feel them. And yes, sometimes, react to it. In even the messiest ways. It's about understanding that self-expression is important, but it should be tempered with mindfulness and compassion.

In my journey as a clinician, I've learned that healing is hard, but it's also incredibly rewarding. It's a journey of self-discovery, growth, and acceptance, and it's one that I continue to navigate with humility and an open heart. As I guide others through their healing processes, I'm reminded that we are all works in progress, and that it's okay to be imperfect, as long as we strive to be better versions of ourselves every day. The work, as I remind both my clients and myself, is simply to keep navigating the mess with humility and grace.