A Heart, and A Home for My Mother’s Fears
Words by Isabeth Mendoza
It was almost 12:45pm on a Monday in September and I had my blanket ready, chamomile tea, a journal and pen, a candle lit with a soothing lavender aroma, and sage. I was sitting on my bed with my laptop propped up on a pillow, ready and nervous for my first appointment with a curandera. I grew up with a curandero when I was a child until my teenage years but I didn’t know it was uncommon or that it had a specific name - curanderismo.* I was kind of expecting the same practices, but during a pandemic I knew there had to be some differences. Either way, I was excited and nervous to return to a practice that was so familial and grounding. I needed it.
A few days before, I had gone to the emergency room because I had a heaviness in my chest that I had never felt before. It felt similar to the feelings that come up right before a panic attack, but the attack itself never came. I felt the pain and pressure for the first time after having a conversation with my mom on a Friday afternoon about things that were happening at home. I thought a hike the next day would help me ease the stress I was carrying, and it did for a few hours. But once we started entering the city it returned, like it was waiting for me. I had friends who at 25 years old already had strokes or heart attacks and for whom panic attacks were the norm. So I decided to go to the emergency room. After an EKG, checking my lungs, and consultation, I was told that my chest pains may be due to the smoke from the wildfires the Bay Area was experiencing for the past few weeks. I knew it wasn’t that. I walked out knowing spiritually and emotionally my heart was not okay and western medicine would not be the one to give me the answers I needed.
A wave of sadness hit me as I left, but it wasn’t until later that night that I cried. I felt disappointed in me. That I let myself become engrossed in my family's decisions so much that it led me to the emergency room during a pandemic that I was so fearful of. I had to compartmentalize my fear of COVID when visiting the hospital because I could only let my fears come one at a time. I decided to reach out to curanderas and therapists after that. I wasn’t sure if that was doing too much, but I knew I needed multiple people on my team to not let this happen again. It was a turning point.
When I reached out to my curandera it was the first day that I felt free of the chest pain, but I could still feel that I wasn’t breathing deeply and fully. In an email all I told her was that I had a stressful call with my mom and how my emergency visit went. When she jumped on the call and asked me what brought me to her I reiterated the same things. Then she said, “I can hear your mother’s fears through you.” I had no idea how to respond. I knew she was not wrong. I always knew my mother’s voice was in my head and her habits were within my own, but I never considered where her fears lived in me. Now looking back, there is no doubt they made a home in me at a very young age. I always wondered if other women felt the same suspicion and paranoia of people around them. I concluded that it was part of being an immigrant woman – or the daughter of one – in this world.
For the rest of the year I had weekly appointments with her and my therapist. I was ready and dedicated to doing the work and making healthier decisions – spiritually, emotionally, and physically. Geesh, was it work! The emotional fatigue, the physical exhaustion, the crying, the headaches because of the crying, and the hard truths of those you love and yourself. I remember texting my best friend and telling her, “There is no pretty quote on Instagram that captures how hard this work really is.” But I knew it was long overdue and I wanted something better. I wanted to feel lighter. I wanted to laugh more often and more deeply. I wanted to feel less pulled apart. I absolutely did not want to have any more chest pains or situations where my body has to scream at me to finally pay attention to it.
When I look back at the phases of the pandemic, I think of them as phases in this specific process marked by ‘when I tried to do it all by myself’ and ‘when I assembled my team.’ I can now see clearly that I wasn’t doing great being alone back then. Like the world, I was trying to adapt to a pandemic, not work all the time from home, do my part for racial justice, and try not to worry every second of the day about loved ones dying. I can’t even imagine what my spirit was trying to hold altogether.
These days, my heart takes each day as it comes. It revels in the moments that I love life, but when it’s beating too fast, it tells me I am not breathing normally and need to take a break. My heart has made me aware that my throat gets tight and becomes a barrier when I am hurt, confused, or afraid. My curandera said that the throat is where the fears have made a home. I need to awaken it, to open and clean it. So everyday I try to charge through the fortress of fears. Everyday the dust is swept aside for the passage from my heart to my voice to be made clear. On the days that I can’t push through, I ask myself what my therapist asks me, “Where do you feel it most in your body?” And I give my body what it tells me it needs.
*Curanderismo: A traditional native healer/shaman found in Latin America, the United States and Southern Europe. The curandero's life is dedicated to the administration of remedies for mental, emotional, physical and spiritual illnesses. The role of a curandero can also incorporate the roles of psychiatrist along with that of doctor and healer.
