🌿 Note from Catalina:
This blog comes from a neurodivergent mind and an immigrant heart. It’s a mix of memories, plants, recipes, travels, and reflections—no straight lines, just stories from a brain that works differently.
I write to be the voice I once needed—for anyone who’s ever felt out of place, misunderstood, or too much. You’re not alone.
I decided not to have kids.
For most of my life, I thought I would. I even had names picked out: Isaac and Marco, after my dad and my grandfather. I pictured two boys — maybe because growing up as a girl, I saw how much harder we had to work to be taken seriously. Men seemed to have more doors open to them, and I knew it from a young age.
But life shifted. I thought about the environment, the wars, the lack of opportunities. When I came to the U.S. at 25, I knew that being both a parent and an immigrant would be overwhelming. And so, I chose a different path.
People love to say, “You don’t know what it’s like until you have kids.”
I disagree.
I may not have children of my own, but I’m not blind — and I feel deeply. I’ve seen what true parenting looks like. I’ve seen the struggles, the quiet sacrifices, and the invisible battles fought behind closed doors.
I’ve watched my cousin here in Miami raise her daughter through more than most adults will ever face. Her daughter has had two kidney transplants and still has health challenges, yet she pushes forward — earning her master’s degree during one of the transplant recoveries. And my cousin? She never loses her smile. She is the kind of person who shines with joy, even when life gives her every reason not to.
I’ve also seen the courage of two widows who raised three children each, all on their own.
One is my mom’s cousin, the woman who opened her home to me when I moved from Miami to New Jersey. She was like a mother to me during that time — warm, generous, and strong. She raised three beautiful daughters who are now mothers themselves, raising their own children with the same love and values.
The other is a dear friend who, after losing her husband in Colombia, found a way to give her children everything they needed to become professionals and remarkable human beings. These two women are more than survivors. They are proof that love and determination can grow a family in the hardest soil.
And then there’s my aunt — the mother of my cousins. She raised three children on her own, each just a year apart. Their father disappeared from their lives, started a new family, and never looked back. My aunt carried the entire weight of raising them, and she did it with grace and grit. All three went to college. All three grew into kind, responsible human beings. And now, together, they’ve raised three grandchildren who are just as amazing. My mom always said that if she could give a prize for “Woman of the Year,” she would give it to my aunt. I agree.
And no, I’m not a human parent. But I am a parent — to four dogs and two cats. I know it’s not the same, but caring for them has taught me patience, responsibility, and the weight of another life depending on you. I’ve stayed up through the night with a sick dog, whispering that everything would be okay. I’ve carried terrified rescues into my home and spent weeks earning their trust. It’s fur and muddy paws and vet bills — but also unconditional love that changes you.
That’s why I don’t believe parenting is just about genetics. It’s not guaranteed that because you “know” yourself and your partner, you’ll raise a good person. Parenting is like opening a tiny, beautiful Pandora’s box — full of surprises, challenges, and moments that can change everything in a second.
Children can be strong-willed. They can say things that hurt. We can spend years blaming our parents for our struggles. But children don’t come with an instruction manual — and I believe most parents do the best they can with what they have.
When I think about roots, I think about my grandmother. She was the backbone of our family — pure love in human form. She raised wonderful children and helped raise amazing grandchildren. I remember her as independent and steady, always there when we needed her, guiding us with kindness and care. She was proof that love can be a strong foundation that lasts through generations.
When I think about strength, I think about my mom. She didn’t have it easy raising us, and I didn’t always make it easy for her. We had our moments, but she gave me what she could, and a lot of who I am comes from her. Even now, she stands beside my brother as he navigates his own challenges as a parent.
When I think about guidance, I think about my dad. He wasn’t just important to us — he was important to my cousins, who didn’t have a father in their home. I remember one of my cousins, as a young man, caught in a custody battle after a divorce. His sister told him, “Just think about what Jorge would do.” Jorge — my dad. That moment filled me with pride. It reminded me how lucky I was to grow up with these amazing human beings as my parents.
We are not the kind of family that hugs or kisses a lot, but I’ve never doubted their love. I always joke that I’m their favorite — and while they laugh so my brother and sister won’t feel left behind, we all know the truth.
And maybe that’s the real lesson: love doesn’t have to look perfect to be powerful. You can be upset, you can feel misunderstood, you can even be angry — but you can also choose to see the ways people have shown up for you, even in their own imperfect way.
Life is short. Love, in any form, is worth holding on to.
Catyobi 
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