Everyone calls me a strong woman, but no one noticed that I needed them.

One morning, I woke up, and my body felt tight. My mind felt like it was ready to burst, and my chest felt weighed down by something I couldn’t explain. I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew something wasn’t right.

I wanted to scream and cry, but I wasn’t home alone.

I got out of bed and couldn’t bring myself to look in the mirror. I was angry—at something or someone—but I couldn’t figure it out. Still, I moved through the motions and started on breakfast.

My eight-year-old wrapped her arms around me and said, “I love you, Mommy. I’m hungry.”

I gave her a half hug, flipped the pancake, and responded in a monotone voice, “I love you too. Almost.”

My husband came downstairs and hugged me. I told him breakfast was ready and asked him to serve everyone while I finished a few things up.

Back in my room, I cried in silence. I didn’t even know what I was crying about or how to put my feelings into words, but I couldn’t stop.

I wondered if this was my body finally exhaling after completing a rigorous doctorate program, or maybe the delayed grief I’d been carrying for over a year. The truth is, I didn’t know. I only knew my body was responding in an unfamiliar way, and that scared me.

That’s when I realized I needed to pause. And that realization came with shame.

Taking care of myself felt wrong, selfish, and weak.

I heard a familiar voice in my head: Why are you being so sensitive? What’s wrong with you? Get it together. People need you!

I battled that voice for days, then weeks, until I had enough.

As a therapist, I finally took my own advice and reached out for help. It was the best call I’ve ever made.

Four months into therapy and talking to God, I began to stand up again. However, this time, things felt and looked different. I still wrestled with guilt and shame, but somewhere between my therapist asking, “Who is it helping?”, my faith in God, and my own determination to get well, I knew things had to change.

I stopped shrinking to meet expectations and started prioritizing ME.

Thanks to my new “f*ck it” approach, I began to see the world from a better angle.

What once kept me silent, obedient, and exhausted by cultural and societal expectations and my own upbringing, no longer had a hold on me.

It was time to let that sh!t go!

Finally, I was ready to speak up and stand up for myself.

I needed to do me!

I didn’t know exactly what that would look like as a Latina woman navigating motherhood, marriage, career, identity, and everything else in between—but I knew I couldn’t go back.

What I thought was a breakdown was actually a breakthrough.

I was doing life wrong all along because I was doing it on everyone else’s terms but my own. And I know now that I’m not the only woman who’s gone through this.

Don't get it twisted, I still have work to do. Trust me, a lot of it. But now I accept something bigger that I was missing: the belief that my horizon resets every day, and that I get to choose again and again until it feels right.

And I want that for you, too.

It is how Herizon came to be. An idea sparked in me to create a space for women of color who are tired of just surviving and ready to live fully, authentically, and unapologetically.

I don’t want you to do this alone. You deserve community, safety, and women who understand you.

If any part of this story felt familiar, you’re already in the right place. I’m looking forward to creating a safe space where you feel seen, heard, and understood, because we all deserve our Herizon.

Stay here. Stay tuned. We’re building something good.

XOXO,

Monie