Is This Your Reality?

Yet another conversation with the Comedian sparked today’s reflection. One of the most beautiful things in a relationship is when your conversations ignite creativity and self-awareness. Lately, we’ve been talking a lot about “other people’s realities.” It’s a tricky concept to explain, but when you start living consciously and staying present, the noise of gossip and drama just doesn’t hit the same. You start to see how much time and energy people give to things that don’t actually matter.

I’ll admit, there have been moments when I let someone else’s reality throw me off—when their negativity or judgment distracted me from my peace. But I’ve learned that when toxic energy interrupts your joy, the goal isn’t to fight it. It’s to gently guide yourself back to the beauty of the moment.

I’m reminded of something I heard in The Secret: if you wake up on the wrong side of the bed, you might feel like the whole day is ruined. But in reality, you have the power to change that energy at any time. You can shift your mood, reset your perspective, and reclaim your day. You are in charge of your emotions and your environment—including the people you choose to keep close.

In The 4-Hour Work Week, Timothy Ferriss says that you are the average of the five people you spend the most time with. That hit home for me. It’s taken time, but I can honestly say that the people closest to me now reflect the values I cherish: growth, peace, and authenticity.

Everyone lives in their own reality. You can’t change theirs—but you can shape your own. You can choose to live in alignment with the person you want to become.

This past Sunday, Joel Osteen said something that stuck with me:
“Nothing you have done has canceled your destiny.”
God still has a plan for you—it’s your choice whether or not to listen.

As for me, I choose to keep walking this path of positive enlightenment.
What about you?

The Evolution of Val

The other day, I was perusing my old laptop when I stumbled upon some college-era blog posts. Reading through them felt like time-traveling into the world of my younger self—a drama-filled, boy-crazy, party girl phase that I remember all too well. It's wild to think I’ve been blogging since 2004. Back then, I was writing on MySpace, convinced I was the next Puerto Rican Carrie Bradshaw.

Honestly, I’ve been journaling since middle school. (Yes, I even found those too.) One memory that still makes me laugh—though it definitely wasn’t funny at the time—was when my sister took my high school diary to the neighbor’s house and read it out loud. I was going through puberty and “discovering myself” (you know what I mean), and I thought that diary was a safe place to write about… certain experiences. Spoiler: it wasn’t.

Still, reading through those old entries made me proud. I’m in awe of how much I’ve grown. Some of the same thoughts and values are still with me, but the woman I am today is more grounded, more intentional. I think growth like this often starts after hitting some kind of rock bottom—a moment where you say to yourself, “I don’t want to be this version of me anymore.”

That moment came for me at 21. I won’t go into all the details—that’s a blog for another day—but I made a conscious decision to be better. And I stuck with it.

Life is a constant evolution. I truly believe we should always be learning, always growing. The last time I felt like I was spiraling, I found comfort in positive thinking and faith. And with those two things on my side, I know I won’t return to that place again.

My 20s were full of messy dating experiences, adulting lessons, and self-discovery. And honestly? I think my 30s are going to be fabulous. Maybe 10 years from now, I’ll look back and write “The Evolution of Val: Part II.” And I hope I’m still proud of the woman I continue becoming.

Ignorance Is Bliss... Until It's Hurtful

I’m normally a pretty positive person, but there’s one thing that really gets under my skin—maybe because I’ve experienced it firsthand growing up—and that’s discrimination.

Recently, Marc Anthony was ridiculed on Twitter for singing “God Bless America.” People claimed it was un-American. I was floored. I mean, seriously?

1. He was born in New York.

2. He’s Puerto Rican—which makes him a U.S. citizen.

3. Spanish is the second most spoken language in the world.

4. And the U.S.? It’s literally built on being a melting pot.

He’s also a Grammy-winning artist, but let’s be real—that shouldn’t even matter. Not even a month ago, students at the University of Southern Mississippi chanted “Where’s your green card?” at a Puerto Rican basketball player. Puerto Rican. As in, American citizen. That’s not just offensive—it’s ignorant.

What makes it worse is that many Americans don’t know their own history. Nearly all of us are descendants of immigrants in some form. Even Native Americans are believed to have crossed the Bering Strait from Eurasia. If you have European ancestry, someone in your family got here on a boat, too.

Just because someone speaks another language—or looks different—doesn’t make them any less American. I don’t speak “Mexican” or “Puerto Rican.” I speak Spanish, English, and even a little Italian.

My father served over 30 years in the U.S. Army and retired as a Lieutenant Colonel. I cry every time I hear the national anthem. I have cousins serving in the military. I am proud to be American. But sometimes, I walk into certain places and immediately feel judged—just for how I look.

And yet, at the end of the day, I still love my curly hair and my brown skin. I love that I speak multiple languages. I love my culture. I love how excited we get when someone’s roasting a whole pig in the backyard. I love the music, the food, the spirit, the warmth.

This country is beautiful because of our differences. It’s ignorance that makes it ugly.

Contrasting Mistakes: Choosing Integrity in a World Full of Excuses

This past Sunday, the Comedian and I went to church, as we try to do as often as possible. Our usual pastor was on vacation, so another stepped in—and I’ve grown fond of this particular one because he always makes his sermons relatable.

He opened by talking about old-school TVs with the dials. Remember those? You had to stand up to change the channel—or, in my case, my parents made me do it. He mentioned the dial labeled “contrast,” and asked something that stuck with me: How do we stand out? How do we show contrast as Christians, as people?

As the sermon went on, I found myself leaning in, curious about where he was going. Then he touched on something that lit a spark in me: moral responsibility.

It reminded me of something I wrote in my earlier post Is Divorce an Option?—how society has gotten comfortable with failure, brushing it off like it’s no big deal. “We’re only human,” we say. Mistakes are just part of life, and somehow, we’ve begun to expect them… even excuse them. People cheat, so it’s normalized. People steal, so we shrug it off. But where’s the accountability?

I do believe mistakes are part of life, but I also believe what defines a better person is how they respond to those mistakes. I have deep respect for those who don’t hide behind excuses—who simply say, “I messed up. I’m sorry.” That’s integrity. And to me, integrity is one of the most honorable traits anyone can have.

Over the years, I’ve chosen to live transparently. Lying never got me far—it just made things messier. So now I try to live by the simple truth. It’s not always easy, but it’s worth it.

The pastor mentioned something else that struck a nerve: how people who live “pure” or hold themselves to a higher standard are often seen as fake or even judged more harshly. Isn’t that wild? We strive to become better, more honest, more compassionate people—and yet, when someone really walks that talk, they’re often criticized instead of celebrated.

The world’s a little upside down that way. But we still have a choice. Every day.

Do we want to be transparent and accountable? Or do we want to keep hiding behind our mistakes?

The contrast is clear—what side do you want to stand on?

The Best Advice I Ever Got Wasn't About Love... It Was About Money

Ironically, the best advice I’ve ever received wasn’t about love, career paths, or what college to choose—it was about finances.

Growing up, I didn’t get much guidance from my parents when it came to money. Like many college students, I was suckered into credit card offers and lived the cliché broke student life. I never loved ramen, but I definitely remember my best friend and I scraping together change to hit up the dollar menu.

After graduation, things didn’t get much easier. I worked at a publishing company where I was sexually harassed by the owner. When I confided in a coworker that I planned to file a complaint, I was conveniently fired. Then came a stint at a company owned by Lou Pearlman (yes, that Lou Pearlman), and when he went bankrupt, I was once again out of a job.

Eventually, I landed at the company I work for now—a breath of fresh air after so many letdowns. But in the chaos of those early years, someone gave me a piece of advice that changed everything:

"My father was a wise man. He told me: never depend on money you don’t have."

A light bulb went off. That one sentence sparked a whole new way of thinking about my finances. I stopped living paycheck to paycheck and started paying my bills first—then saving for a rainy day. It may sound simple, but in my early 20s, it was revolutionary.

That one shift gave me freedom. I didn’t have to panic over the next bill or depend on a credit card to get through the month. And while I’m still not exactly where I want to be, I’ve come a long way. Just writing this blog, I’m declaring it: a year from now, I’ll be in an even better place financially. (Positive thinking = positive results, right?)

Big thanks to The WordPress Chick for inspiring this post—you’re awesome!

3 Reasons Why You Should Embrace Mistakes!

Repost from one of my favorite bloggers.

3 Reasons Why You Should Embrace Mistakes!.

Happy Birthday, America! 🇺🇸

Occasions that involve the military always get me in my feelings. I’m the type who cries during the national anthem—every single time. It’s not just patriotism; it’s personal.

My dad retired as a Lieutenant Colonel in the Army and still works for the military as a civilian. I have three cousins currently serving—two in the Navy, one in the Army—and I was once engaged to someone who served in Afghanistan. So, needless to say, I have a deep respect for the sacrifices our servicemen and women make to keep us safe.

I get especially emotional when I see videos of soldiers reuniting with their families or speaking to them while deployed. That stuff hits me right in the heart. I consider myself a strong person, but those moments always bring me to tears.

Right now, I’m especially torn. One of my cousins—who is like a brother to me—is heading back to Afghanistan this month. While I know danger exists anywhere, there’s something especially heavy about someone you love being in a known war zone, where walking on the wrong path could change everything.

Growing up, I told myself I’d never date someone in the military—not because I didn’t respect them, but because I knew I couldn’t handle the lifestyle. My love language is Quality Time (read The 5 Love Languages by Dr. Gary Chapman if you haven’t), and I need that emotional closeness to feel connected. Being apart for months on end is something I really struggled with when my ex-fiancé deployed. I cried nearly every day that first month he was away. The constant worry? It’s a weight that never lifts.

That’s why I have so much admiration for military spouses and partners. Holding down the fort while your person is overseas is no small feat. It takes courage, strength, and endless resilience.

So, this blog is for all the brave men and women who serve, for the families who hold space for them, and for those who’ve lost loved ones in the line of duty. Your sacrifices are seen. Your strength is honored. And today, I’m praying extra hard for my cousins—one heading out soon, and two already far from home. I love you all. Come home safe. 🇺🇸❤️

Cranky Mornings

This morning, I woke up in a mood. Not the cute kind, either—the kind where every email makes you want to flip your desk and crawl back into bed with reruns of "The Real Housewives" and zero responsibilities.

I never quite understand how some days I can be this glowing ball of positivity, and other days I feel like clawing someone’s eyes out for saying “Good morning” too cheerfully. It’s wild. Like, what exactly shifts overnight? Is it hormones? Is it the moon? Is Mercury in retrograde again?

I always thought emotions were a human thing—not a woman thing—but I’m starting to reconsider. The older I get and the more in tune I am with myself, the more I notice the emotional waves that hit without warning. And yes, I do wonder—does this happen to men too? Because if it doesn’t, that feels wildly unfair.

Normally on days like this, I take what my coworkers affectionately call my “happy pills”—aka St. John’s Wort, a natural supplement that may or may not just be a placebo. But you know what? If the placebo works, who cares?

To shift the vibe, I turned on Joel Osteen’s podcast from yesterday. Usually, he gives me a jolt of encouragement, but even Joel couldn’t snap me out of it this time. Maybe tomorrow.

Today might just be a cranky kind of day—and that’s okay too. I'm still showing up, doing my best, and keeping an open heart. A little grumpy, but still grateful.

Who do I want to be?

A couple of nights ago, I was talking with the Comedian about my last blog post. We ended up deep in conversation about the human condition and our parents—how much of who we are is shaped by them, and how much we get to decide for ourselves.

Growing up, I used to compare my parents to my friends’ parents and wish things had been different. My dad had left, and my mom, while present, wasn’t emotionally available. I spent most of my teens and early twenties just trying to figure life out. I didn’t have much guidance—just this deep desire to leave home and go to college, which I did. I was the cliché lost college girl, trying to piece life together one experience at a time (or letting my friends do it for me).

It wasn’t easy finding my identity. I don’t think it is for anyone, really, but it felt especially hard without a strong example to look up to. Still, I’ve come to realize—everyone has a story. Some people grew up with abusive parents. Others had dads who drank too much or moms who never gave affection. We either repeat those patterns or we break them. That’s where our power lies.

Funny enough, I started this blog a few days ago, and on the way back from Miami this past weekend, the Comedian and I were listening to Joel Osteen—his sermon was about this exact idea. Serendipity at its finest.

At some point, you have to stop blaming your parents or your past and ask: Who do I want to be? You get to choose. Life is full of choices—what time we wake up, what we wear, how we treat people, and yes, even how we respond when life doesn’t go our way. I read a quote once that stuck with me:

“How people treat you is their karma; how you react is yours.” – Wayne Dyer

Joel said something similar—that we are the ones who decide whether to break generational habits and whether or not we pass them on to our children. It’s not easy, but once you consistently choose positivity and stay mindful of your reactions, something incredible happens: life starts to feel lighter. People treat you differently. The energy around you shifts.

You don’t have to carry your mother’s anxiety or your father’s anger. You get to rewrite the script. That’s the beauty of free will. That’s the power of the mind. It’s yours—so choose wisely.

Marilyn, Me, and the Masks We Wear

“I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.”
― Marilyn Monroe

Last night, in between watching the NBA Finals, I found myself caught up in a documentary about Marilyn Monroe. Call me a history geek, but I love digging into the stories of famous figures—their beginnings, their battles, the path they took to fame. There’s something powerful about learning who they really were beneath the glitter.

Truth is, I didn’t know much about Marilyn beyond the surface: the tragic suicide, the sultry “Happy Birthday” to the president, and the countless quotes that flood Instagram. But as I watched, I saw someone much deeper—someone who was incredibly insecure, hiding behind a persona she carefully curated for the world.

It was genius, in a way. She embodied the ultimate bombshell—confident, sexy, magnetic. But underneath it all, she was struggling. She wanted to be seen as more than the image the world adored. She read obsessively, trying to fill in what others said she lacked—because she never finished high school, because she wasn’t “smart enough.” It was heartbreaking and familiar.

I couldn’t help but see a version of myself in her story. I, too, used to hide parts of myself behind smiles and perfectionism. I wasn’t an orphan, I didn’t bounce from foster home to foster home, but I knew what it felt like to be deeply alone. Alone in the sense that no one really knew me, because I kept those pieces locked away. Vulnerability felt far too dangerous.

But here's the thing: living like that eventually breaks you down. You become a prisoner in your own mind. I’ve had moments—just like Marilyn must’ve had—where my thoughts raced, my emotions swelled, and I felt like I could scream from the inside out.

What changed? Self-reflection. And faith.

I started doing the hard work—recognizing my flaws, confronting them, and working to heal. I stopped pretending I had to carry everything on my own and finally realized I never truly was alone. God had been there all along, patiently waiting for me to understand that truth. That awareness has brought me more peace than I could’ve imagined.

I sometimes wonder what could have saved Marilyn. Maybe someone reminding her she was never alone. Maybe someone helping her believe that being vulnerable didn’t mean being weak. I wish she had found her version of peace before it was too late.