Sometimes, life demands that we uncover and face our truths, no matter how deeply we’ve buried them or how much we try to shield them from the world. In this blog, I’m opening the doors to some of the most intimate parts of myself. Yet, even now, there are truths I hesitate to admit—truths so painful that even writing them feels like a confrontation. But the act of putting them into words makes them real, and with that reality comes a chance for healing.

In a previous blog, I shared how a car accident changed my life. I talked about the silver linings—the gifts it revealed about my connection to spirit and the newfound understanding of my abilities. But what I didn’t share was the harder truth: how much it hurt, how much it took from me, and how much it still takes.

To heal, I turned to the arts—specifically, Afro-Puerto Rican drumming (Bomba) and Afro-Cuban dance. These practices have helped me reconnect with myself and my roots, but showing up to class always reminded me of something I wasn’t willing to admit.

The accident left me with a learning impairment—a challenge that has reshaped every corner of my life. It affects my focus and my ability to retain information. I jokingly refer to it as “ My broken mind,” but the reality isn’t always so lighthearted. I double-check everything and constantly fight the frustration of leaving things behind.

Bomba and dance have become more than creative outlets—they’re tools for rewiring my brain. My love for the culture drew me to them, but they’ve also become exercises in patience and resilience. Learning the rhythms, movements, and transitions has been far from easy. My brain often lags, processing one beat while trying to adapt to the next. I struggle with transitions, and sometimes I feel like I’m falling behind everyone else.

Every session reminds me of the parts of myself that feel “broken.” I often get lost in thought while playing or dancing, unless I’m verbally cued. This can be frustrating, as I’m still figuring out how to navigate these challenges. Learning Bomba rhythms took me longer than it did for most of my peers. And as I work through musical transitions, my brain is often stuck on the current rhythm while the next one is already demanding my attention.

Yet, despite these struggles, I show up. I persevere. But there are moments when the sadness creeps in. Recently, I was offered an opportunity that, years ago, would have been a dream come true for my younger self. But now, the lingering effects of my accident hold me back, making it impossible to fully embrace.

Last night, I turned to my spiritual team—those voices that have always guided me with wisdom and love. Their advice was clear and compassionate: reveal your truth. I heard a quiet voice remind me, “Don’t take on more than you can handle.”

So here I am, learning to honor my limits. I’m giving myself permission to step back when I need to, to let go of the guilt of “not doing enough.” There’s power in saying no. There’s grace in knowing when to bow out. And there’s healing in sharing these truths—even the ones that hurt the most.

“Neurodiversity is not a condition to be fixed, but a different way of being. It’s not about making people fit into the world, it’s about making the world fit for everyone.” – Stuart Duncan