08/02/2025
On the days when motherhood feels heavy—when I’m overwhelmed, overstimulated, touched out, and utterly exhausted—I often think of my abuelita. I only have three children, and she raised eight. Beyond being a mother, she immigrated to a foreign country, learned a new language, and became a pillar of her community. I constantly wonder how she balanced it all.
It amazes me that even now, when I visit that small town in Oklahoma, people still speak her name with reverence. I love hearing the stories of how she supported women through childbirth, reading the newspaper articles that capture pieces of her life, and knowing that I’m a part of her legacy.
Sometimes, I wonder if she’d be proud of me. What would she say if she saw me now? What wisdom would she pass down?
It might sound strange, but in the hardest moments, I whisper to her—and without fail, I feel a surge of something unexplainable. A presence. A strength. I know she’s with me. I feel her guidance woven into my days.
Her spirit lives on in me.
Carmen Vega Guadarrama Gonzalez.
My great-grandmother.
My anchor.
