One thing that I can always count on, when my suegra visits, is homegirl is going to “get-down” in the kitchen. That lady can cook like there is no tomorrow. And I…. let’s just say that I am 100% fine with that. However, the day after, I can literally hear my arteries crying, as they continue to process all the refined grease (manteca) and spices that we, Mexicans, like to indulge in.
I rushed home, buried my face in my pillow, & began to cry… I felt as if I was losing control. I felt alone. I felt less-than. I felt shame. I wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Why me? I was trapped in a shell of perpetual fear.