The idea that the shadow is hidden can make the process sound mysterious and distant. What if it’s simply the emotion present right now that we’re unwilling to stay with?

https://dualisticunity.com/the-shadow-isnt-hidden-its-what-we-refuse-to-feel/

We often search the past for the roots of the shadow. But if the feeling is alive in the present moment, what happens when attention stays there instead?

https://dualisticunity.com/the-shadow-isnt-hidden-its-what-we-refuse-to-feel/

When the pressure to maintain a moral image relaxes, uncomfortable emotions can finally be observed instead of hidden. What becomes visible in that space?

https://dualisticunity.com/when-being-a-good-person-blocks-growth/

“You, darkness, of whom I am born- I love you more than the flame that limits the world to the circle it illumines and excludes the rest.”

She held the key.
Her shadow began to dissolve.

A fairy tale about ego death, illusion, and awakening.
Not destruction — transformation.

The Mirror That Shows Me What I Avoid 🖤🪞

This isn’t a glamour mirror.

This isn’t a manifestation mirror.

This is a shadow mirror.

I didn’t create it to feel powerful.

I created it because I was tired of repeating patterns I swore I was done with.

The black surface faces outward — smooth, depthless, almost like ink.

When I sit in front of it, I don’t ask:

“What do I want?”

I ask:

“What am I avoiding?”

And that question alone changes everything.

⸻

Luciferian Current — But Internal

This mirror isn’t about summoning.

It’s about illumination.

Lucifer as Light-Bringer isn’t comfort.

It’s exposure.

Exposure of:

• Where I tolerate less than I deserve

• Where I react instead of respond

• Where I say I’m detached but still secretly hoping

• Where my ego wants control instead of clarity

The mirror doesn’t punish me.

It shows me.

And sometimes what it shows is uncomfortable.

⸻

What Happens When I Gaze

One candle.

Upright posture.

Softened gaze.

At first, it’s just my reflection.

Then my mind starts trying to distract me.

Then emotion rises.

Then the story underneath the story surfaces.

The real one.

The one that says:

“You’re not angry. You’re hurt.”

“You’re not detached. You’re disappointed.”

“You’re not confused. You already know.”

The shadow is not evil.

It’s unintegrated truth.

⸻

The Sigil Behind It

Behind the paint, I placed a sigil built from:

“I am sovereign in shadow and in light.”

Because shadow work without sovereignty becomes self-punishment.

And I don’t do that anymore.

This mirror is not for spiraling.

It’s for accountability.

⸻

The Hardest Part

Shadow work isn’t dramatic.

It’s noticing:

• When I want to text for reassurance

• When I want to prove something

• When I want to be chosen instead of choosing myself

It’s realizing I don’t need to win.

I need to regulate.

It’s seeing that some of my pain isn’t about him —

it’s about old wounds that feel familiar.

And familiar is seductive.

⸻

How I Close It

I don’t leave this open.

Palm to mirror.

Break eye contact.

“What was revealed is integrated.

What is not mine dissolves.

I remain sovereign.”

Candle out.

Mirror covered.

Then I drink water.

Move my body.

Ground.

No emotional decisions immediately after.

That’s the discipline.

⸻

Shadow work isn’t aesthetic.

It’s responsibility.

And nothing is more powerful than a woman who can sit in the dark

and not flinch at what she sees.

🖤

I Was the Valentine…

A Self-Love Candle Ritual & What Happened After

This year I didn’t light a candle to call anyone in.

I lit a pink candle for myself.

Rose buds.

Calendula.

Catnip.

Hibiscus.

Clove.

Not to attract love — but to recognize it.

Valentine’s Day has a way of amplifying what feels missing.

But this year I didn’t reach outward. I turned inward.

I carved my name into the candle.

I dressed it with herbs that felt like softness and protection at the same time.

And when I lit it, I didn’t ask for anything.

I said:

“I choose myself.”

And then I sat there.

No manifesting.

No scripting someone else’s return.

No negotiating my worth.

Just witnessing myself.

⸻

The Days After

Here’s the part nobody romanticizes:

There was no dramatic shift.

No sudden flood of messages.

No cinematic moment.

Instead, there was something quieter.

I stopped checking my phone as much.

I stopped rehearsing conversations in my head.

I stopped leaning forward emotionally.

The old tightness tried to resurface — the part of me that waits, scans, hopes.

But this time I didn’t abandon myself to soothe it.

I let the feeling move through without acting on it.

That was the ritual still working.

Self-love isn’t loud.

It’s subtle.

It’s the moment you don’t text.

It’s the moment you don’t explain.

It’s the moment you don’t chase.

It’s staying.

⸻

What the Pink Candle Taught Me

• Love does not require self-erasure.

• Protection and softness can exist together.

• If someone wants space, you let them have it — without shrinking yourself in the process.

• When you stop chasing, you see clearly who moves toward you.

And if they don’t?

You’re still whole.

⸻

The Real Shift

The ritual didn’t make me less loving.

It made me less desperate for reassurance.

It reminded my nervous system what safety feels like when I am loyal to myself.

I am no longer waiting to be chosen.

I am choosing.

And that changes everything.

—

If you’ve been feeling lonely, untethered, or tempted to abandon yourself for attention — light the candle.

But light it for you.

You were the Valentine all along. 💗

✨ Most change is invisible —

until it isn’t.

The shift didn’t come out of nowhere.

It was forming in silence.

If you’re still finding your way (like me!), I wrote ’Runaway’ for us🏮🐎✨❤️

This song is me, doing my best to create a bridge between the deep devotion I feel for where I come from & the courage it takes to run toward who I’m becoming. I’m learning to honor my heritage while still choosing my own values and path. You don’t have to leave who you are behind to come home to yourself… oooof… Wishing you a Lunar New Year filled with radical authenticity and nourishment. If you’re still finding your way (like me!), I wrote ’Runaway’ for us🏮🐎✨❤️

If you’re still finding your way (like me!), I wrote ’Runaway’ for us🏮🐎✨❤️

This song is me, doing my best to create a bridge between the deep devotion I feel for where I come from & the courage it takes to run toward who I’m becoming. I’m learning to honor my heritage and still choose my own values + path. You don’t have to leave who you are behind to come home to yourself… oooof… Wishing you a Lunar New Year filled with radical authenticity and nourishment. If you’re still finding your way (like me!), I wrote ’Runaway’ for us🏮🐎✨❤️

After romance, I returned to simmering plots and listening minds.

Inner Child #14 and #15: How much do you understand about your parents and the world? Do you wish to know more or less? What type of impact does it have on you to know what you do? If you could go back, what would you want your parents or the adults around you to know about you? If you could fully speak up, what would you say?

This is a long answer that can only be given in the form of the letter I just sent to my mother after 153 days of not speaking:

Mommy,

I have been trying to start this letter since September. Before you read the rest, please know that I did my best to honor the swirling emotions of the past several months and beyond - the anger, hurt, shock, sadness, and everything else. Yours and mine.

Please also know that I love you, miss you, and want to fix it.

I was going through so much for so long - way before last August. And I wanted to talk about all of it. I even thought about flying to Florida before Maryland just so I could be with you. All I wanted to do was sit on your bed while you fight sleep or on the floor next to you in your office or at the kitchen island while you make your salads for the week and tell you all the things that had been troubling me. It’s not time for that now. Suffice it to say that some of those things have intensified, some have fallen away entirely, and some have simply ebbed and flowed. But what’s troubling me the most - what has been troubling me the most - is the rift between us. I want you to know that I never wanted to stop talking to you. I was not “punishing” you or giving you the silent treatment. I was so incredibly hurt because when I needed you the most, you weren’t there. I know that that is hard to hear but it was harder to feel. You abandoned me because of (as you named in your letter) stubbornness. That is the simple, hard truth of it. But that simple truth from September has complex roots.

We discussed this already (years ago, at Disney) when you asked if you were always “the best mom”. It was hard for me to be honest in that moment and say “I think you did the best you could and sometimes it wasn’t the best for me.” You asked what you could do to make up for it. I told you there wasn’t anything to be done; it already happened and the damage of that can’t be undone - we just acknowledge it, move on, and do better. In that moment last September, however tragic it is to acknowledge, you did not do the best you could. It is perturbing and perplexing to me how you could not say a word for two weeks after I sent you the most agonizing, hysterical voicemail until brushing past it with a “good luck” message. Until your letter. I only read it twice; the first time on November 24th - the Monday before the first Thanksgiving I can remember not spending together - and the second time on Christmas after I got off the phone with Dad, who was nearly in tears. When he said he was crushed - that you were both so crushed - in that moment, I didn’t say, “Well, what about me? I was crushed, too. I’M CRUSHED, TOO!” Instead, I went to the room at Gigi’s grandmother’s house and I took out the letter to read it again. Because I desperately wanted to be wrong. I was searching between the lines of earnest explanation and covert condescension (to be specific, I am referring to you saying that “I could always come home” - I am not sure if the intent was comfort but the impact was the impression that you did not believe I could do this on my own) to see if I was missing something. I was looking for something, anything, to show that I had overreacted. That I had no right to be crushed. That I was the asshole. That I blew everything out of proportion. But that’s not true. I did not blow all of this of proportion. All of this, rather, put everything into perspective.

Even the idea that you could have listened to your only child, your miracle baby, sob and hyperventilate into the phone from across the country and not even think to say anything to her until you felt like it is disgraceful. Not even until you felt like it - until you felt like it was “appropriate”. And that’s bullshit.

In the weeks following my last voice memo, my notes became filled with painful snippets reflective of the whirlwind of disbelief and heartbreak: “How will I forgive her?” “Why would she do this to me?” “The same woman that said I would always have a room at her house no matter where she lives surely can’t be the same woman that abandoned me before I moved over 1200 miles away, right? Right?” “This heaviness feels like it’s going to crush me. How much pain can a person take?”

I couldn’t open your letter for 2 months because I was too sad. And then I was too angry. And then I was too avoidant. I didn’t have the capacity to grapple with the weight of what had happened. I wept for days at a time. I was in literal physical pain because my Mommy left me - of her own accord. She didn’t die, she wasn’t sick or mute, she wasn’t held hostage by anything other than her emotions. I said I needed help and my Mommy left me because I didn’t take this leap on her terms. Because she was hurt that I didn’t include her. Because she felt shut out and shut down.

And I get all of those things, Ma. I really do. What I don’t get is why you didn’t communicate those things (besides the obvious and fair “she hasn’t said much in a month” thing - but an earnest desire for connection should have been stronger than that). I can’t think of a time when I didn’t honor your feelings. Not just honor them, but protect them. When you asked me that heavy question that day at Disney it took everything in me not to tell a half-truth so as not to hurt your feelings. So that you could still feel okay. So that you could still feel content knowing that whatever happened, whatever you did or didn’t do, said or didn’t say, your baby turned out fine. Better than fine - amazing, intelligent, precious, funny, capable - all the things that you’ve said to me my whole life. The things that I believe in my core about myself BECAUSE of you. The things that I saw in you growing up that I always hoped to embody. Even now, I don’t doubt that you feel that way — even though you reacted the way you did when I told you something that should have been exciting, albeit scary for both of us. We could have gone through that together. Instead, you thought I pushed you away so you pushed me away in the name of “processing”. In regards to that I must echo what I said to Mariam, before all that nonsense went down with her in the Spring: “No one is obligated to stick around when you hurt them. People have the right to choose not to tolerate things, even if they forgive you. They don’t even have to forgive you.” I plan to take my own advice, if you don’t forgive me for taking so long to write to you. I didn’t open your letter for so long because I didn’t even have the words for my own abject, angry, sad sense of abandonment, let alone yours. Instead of being vulnerable about the real issue - that I hurt you by pulling away, that you felt abandoned - you made it about something else entirely. I was vulnerable and I provided clarity on my absence - “when I am overwhelmed I wither into myself and I am ALWAYS overwhelmed.” That should have been all you needed to hear to call your only daughter and help her in a way she could understand. You projected your own anxieties onto me while ignoring mine - the ones that were clearly stated in my voice message. From what I remember of your letter (too frustrating to read again), you made it about your trivial shortcomings like not making sure I was up on my savings, and in turn ignored the biggest one - that that would have been my first time hearing from you since you ignored my cries. That is unacceptable. You reacted in a way that displayed emotional immaturity and a lack of trust in not only our relationship but in me as an adult. That is unacceptable. From what I remember of my voice note (too painful to listen again), the biggest issue was not money. I did not even ask you for money. In fact, I hope I never have to ask you for money again. For personal and pride reasons, of course - who doesn’t want to be successful and financially independent? But also for painful reasons - I want to know that you care beyond control. I am not even saying that that presumption is unfounded given my personal financial history and our family’s generational habits. But Ma, I moved for a full-time job with benefits! Not for love, not for a dream, not for magic or friends or fun or any of the other things you might have been thinking over the past few months. Is it scary to move across the country? Yes. Is it scary to move across the country when you didn’t plan to? Yes. It’s even scarier when you don’t have your mom there with you - not because she was incapable or infirm, but because by not responding to your desperate cries for support, she showed she was unwilling. That is unacceptable. I want to make it clear that I never wanted to hurt you by being so abstracted in August, and in the many months and years before. I promise you that I was not just hanging out or having fun before the move. And I wanted to tell you about it all but — where were you?

On the third day of your silence, I thought - “I have never felt so forsaken.”

But that’s not true, is it? Like I said, the silence put everything into perspective.

I have to name this directly: hurting someone and then coming back as if nothing transpired is manipulative. It makes me feel crazy, as if my experiences and my feelings about those experiences are not valid. As if my interpretation of events is incorrect or inconceivable. The part of me that believes theoretically, “My parents love me and they would never do that.” battles with the part of me that knows empirically that you did do that. That is exactly what happened after your husband beat me up over the SAT. Came home from school the next day to no accountability, no mention, no apologies, no room for my rage. We have already discussed Dad’s violence and your apparent lack of reaction to it (and your lapse in memory of it) at length. I was satisfied with that. But the little things from the past that came to my present memory in your absence (plus your letter) shed light on the complex roots of that silence that started in September:

It seems like every time that I have wanted to do something “my way”, or in simpler terms have not done exactly what you wanted or thought I should do, and in simplest terms have not been the”perfect child”, you have taken issue with that. That issue has manifested in damages so deep that only distance could unearth them:

• taking me out of the extracurriculars that I enjoyed because I didn’t want to go to a church with a homophobic pastor - choosing caustic “correction” over curiosity
• reacting disproportionately to perfectly normal teenage transgressions (the cell phone letter, no Christmas, cutting off an inch of hair for every F) - employing punishment instead of perseverance
• weeping and begging me to promise not to get any tattoos when I mentioned wanting some when I grew up and being upset when I wouldn’t promise - being satisfied with a lie if it meant continued control
• displaying all my dirty panties on the bed when I wouldn’t wear panty liners because they irritated my skin - supplanting a desire for understanding with undue shame
• criticizing me for expressing emotions (“big feelings” I think you called them in your letter) that didn’t mesh with yours - you never realized that they were mirrors, did you?

The best parts of having you as a Mommy - grandparents day surprises, road trips, movie marathons, matching sets, and all the rest - in no way make up for any of the things above nor for any of the myriad things probably slipping from suppressed in my mind. The good does not offset the bad, even if it outweighs it. And before I write the rest of this letter, please know that under no circumstances do I want to hear that you “don’t remember”. I 100% believe that you don’t remember, but it’s not helpful. The point is that that is what happened. That is how you acted. And this letter and the distance preceding it are consequences of the way you acted. Having a baby when you were still a baby and doing the best you could with what you had in no way make up for any of the things above nor for any of the things that I am subconsciously striking from the record to spare your feelings.

The worst part of this is that you don’t seem to know that I see you. I see and honor the version of you who is not just Super Mommy - the one who was forced to grow up and maybe do things she didn’t want to do to provide for me; the one who has suffered at the hands of selfish people; the one who lost her rock long before her time; the one that clings to control to soothe anxiety; the one who always takes care of others and neglects herself; the one who holds it together and holds it together and holds it together until -

You could have put all that down with me, you know. We could have held each other through this. I wanted us to hold each other through this. That’s why I kept asking you - when I first told you about the job - how you felt about it. I wasn’t asking to be polite. I was asking because I knew it would be difficult. You were right in your letter - I usually talk about everything with you. You have to understand that that recent shift had not been my choice. “Nothing has gone like you planned and life is hard” is an appalling understatement. There are not enough words in the English language to fully detail the depth of anguish that I have experienced in the past several years. There are things that I have not shared - and may never, as is my right - to spare your feelings. To keep you safe. Things that I know - regardless of how everything looks and feels in this moment - would break your heart. Things that any parent, but especially the Mommy I know, would raze an entire nation for. I am not saying that to scare you, or make you feel bad, or even to provide clarity or incite curiosity. I am saying that to assuage any anxieties you might have had that I do not care deeply for you. That I do not know you. And because I know you, you also have to understand why I believe that some of your apprehension comes from your latent feelings about the spiritual stuff. In all honesty, I cannot blame you for that. I would never blame you for that. All I can do is say that 1) I have complicated feelings about it as well, and 2) it has saved all of our lives and livelihoods (you, me, Dad, and so on) more times than you know. More times than I even know.

Just like I shield you, I know you have shielded me. I don’t know what the college send-off incident with Nana was. I do, however, know that it is very telling that this is my first time hearing about it. No mother-daughter relationship is perfect but including that in your correspondence as a tool to insinuate that my behavior was wrong is not okay, even if you do not see it that way. I feel that you and Dad often find a way to bring up Nana when it’s convenient; when it fits your narrative of a wayward, naïve child unprepared for the world. That needs to stop. You should bring her up with love and laughter and grief and all the rest but she is not a pawn; she was a person. Not a perfect person, though. You never made her out to be (especially when thinking about the stories you told me about Terran’s father and how she treated you because of him) but all I could think of when I read that part was - I wonder if she made the vow? That often spoken, seldom unbroken, indignant vow: “I would never do that my kid!” I know that you made it - “I would never put a man over my child!” “I would never make my baby girl feel like this!” Both broken. Not irreparable, as I told you at Disney, and as I am telling you now, but broken nonetheless.

You might be thinking, “Why are you bringing up all of this now?”

Or, “But I always have your best interests in mind!”.

Or even the old adage, “Mother knows best.”

Well, here is what I know best: if we indulge in forgetting all the past grievances beyond that one point last September, stating that you needed to separate so that you didn’t continue to create stress is - excuse my language - fucking NUTS!

I have been trying to make many points with this letter, and have chosen each word carefully to make sure you get my meaning and tone, but to be quite plain - that was fucking nuts. In what scenario would my mother not speaking to me for weeks upon receiving a message from her inconsolable daughter be anything BUT stressful? And it was more than stressful - it was painful. Agonizing, to be specific.

When I went back to Maryland in September, I turned off my location to surprise my friends. They ended up surprising ME - my girls picked me up and helped me pack and I was so grateful for the company and support but the whole time all I could think was that it should have been you. “She should be here. She should be a part of this.”

And maybe that’s what adulthood is - relying on your friends because your mother isn’t there. For whatever reason.

You are my mother.

You gave me life.

But it is my life.

Don’t you want to be a part of it even if you can’t control it? Don’t you value me enough as a person to stand firm in that?

I hate the fact that I have poured everything out here and even still there is a small, cynical part of me that is glad that I am doing fine, for reasons entirely outside of myself. A childlike part of me that asks - Will Mommy and Daddy see that I’m successful and find me worthy again? Will the only reason for my worth be my continued success? Or will it still not be enough because I did it my way, and not theirs? Because I dared to make a decision on my own?

They say the test of good parenting is how your kids treat you when they don’t need you anymore. Is the test of good daughtering how your parents treat you when you don’t need them anymore?

Haven’t I told you that I would love you and like you and want to be around even if you weren’t my Mommy? Even if you never gave me anything or did anything for me? I always gave you that affirmation freely. That makes me wonder why you could not have been honest about how you were feeling instead of leaving me when I needed you most. I know that you felt like you couldn’t or shouldn’t because I had been so distant that month but care and concern for your only child should have conquered pride or stubbornness or whatever else was swirling around after you listened to my message. I hope you understand now that stubbornness did not play a part in my silence, even if it did in yours.

I see you in a way that no one else does - that no one else can. And that’s by no merit of my own. It’s generational. Mitochondrial. I hope you will see me, too. Through eyes unclouded by pride and anxiety and pain and all the other things that caused this distance. Maybe the channel for that is more space and time. Maybe it’s therapy. Maybe it’s something else. Whatever the solution may be, if you take away only one thing from this letter, let it be that I love you, miss you, and want to fix it.

P.S. So much of you is in my teaching and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t want to call you after work or at lunch or in the middle of class and tell you all about it.

I hold my inner child with love and care, honoring their feelings and reality.

🎧 now playing:

Take Me Home 2.0 - Young the Giant
I Bite - Young the Giant
As A Child - Madeline The Person
Wolves - Jensen McRae
Kenny - Still Woozy
Kill Me - Hayley Williams
Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call - Bleachers

Choice – The Root of the Veilborn Faith

The First Law of the Veilborn Faith is Choice.

It is not the first law because it is the loudest or the most dramatic.
It is first because nothing else can stand without it.

The Mother Goddess sings the song of order into being, but she does not force any creature to sing along. She offers the melody; the choice to join, to harmonize, to improvise, or to remain silent is yours.
Chaos breathes wildness into the spaces between her notes, but it does not demand that you run mad or stand still—it simply makes every path possible.
The six courts turn in balance—not one above another—because each exists only because the others allow it. Spring cannot bloom if autumn refuses to let go. Night cannot hold depth if day never yields. They choose, in every cycle, to let the others be.

Choice is the root because without it, there is no weave—only a single thread pulled taut by someone else’s hand.
Without choice, there is no honor of self, no sacred hearth, no true turning of the courts.
Without choice, the Mother’s song becomes coercion, Chaos becomes destruction, and the courts become hierarchy.

That is why it is the first law:
Everything else—love, surrender, growth, endings—can only be real when they are chosen freely.
A life lived without choice is a life half-lived, a dance where the steps were forced upon you, is a story told by someone else.

From this bench at the crossroads—a threshold, a pause, one place among many—I do not judge the path you took or refused.
I only listen.
Because your choice, even the ones you regret, even the ones you fear, is the truest thing you bring here.

Tonight the moon is waxing, a thin silver thread reminding us that even after the deepest dark, light returns—by choice, slowly, patiently.

So sit with me here, if you wish.
Let the fire crackle. Let the stars hold their quiet vigil.

What choice are you carrying right now that feels heaviest?
What would change if you remembered it is yours alone to bear, to release, to remake?
Have you ever had a choice taken from you—and what did that teach you about its sacredness?

Tell me, if it calls.
The bench is open.
The night is long.

HI, :3 “Shadow work” page 41 linktree :3  

 ♫♪♪

Perfectionism Is Not a Virtue. It Is a Shield.

You wear your perfectionism like a badge of honor. You tell people, “I just have high standards.” Psychology tells a different story.

Perfectionism is not about the pursuit of excellence. It is about the avoidance of shame. It is a defense mechanism forged in childhood: “If I am perfect, I cannot be criticized. If I am perfect, I am safe.”

But this shield is heavy. It leads to the “Freeze Response” (procrastination). You don’t write the book, you don’t start the project, you don’t post the art—because if it exists, it can be judged. And if it is judged, you feel unsafe. Perfection is a statue: beautiful, cold, and dead. Humanity is messy, flawed, and alive.

To heal, you must do something terrifying: You must give yourself permission to be mediocre. Create something bad today. It is the only way to eventually create something great.

If you are paralyzed by the fear of not being “good enough”: 🗝️ Overcoming the Inner Critic: https://www.etsy.com/shop/MysticalBookstore

Shadow work

The shadow isn’t buried deep in the unconscious. It forms in the moments we tense, distract, or rush past what’s already here. What happens to experience when it’s never fully felt?
https://dualisticunity.com/the-shadow-isnt-hidden-its-what-we-refuse-to-feel/

A dark academia style man looking into a vintage mirror, seeing a laughing, chaotic version of himself, representing psychological projection and the shadow self.“

Projection 101: Why You Hate Them (And What It Says About You)

You think you hate them because they are loud. Because they are arrogant. Because they are chaotic. But psychology whispers a darker truth: Recognition is the root of irritation.

Carl Jung taught us that we cannot recognize a trait in others unless we possess it ourselves. When you point a finger with intense emotional charge, you are not looking at a person. You are looking at a mirror.

They are acting out the part of you that you locked in the basement. They are the living, breathing projection of your own Shadow. Hating them is easy. Admitting that they are you is the hardest work you will ever do.

Stop breaking the mirrors. Start looking at the reflection.

📜 Read the Full Article on Medium: Projection 101: Every Person You Hate Is a Mirror

Uncomfortable question: Estaba orgullosa de ser española…

https://dualisticunity.com/estaba-orgullosa-de-ser-espanola-hasta-que-entendi-lo-que-eso-realmente-significaba/