Hello, community, first time publishing here 👋🏻. I’m from Cuba. If any of you are Cuban too (hello!) or know what life is really like here right now, you’ll understand that having control over anything these days is practically an illusion. To make matters worse, I have a strong tendency toward what my psychologist calls "meltdowns." The only way to describe it is this: You see a mountain of tasks ahead, and your body reacts by shutting down completely.
It’s those moments we’ve all experienced—when resting feels guilty because you "should" be doing something else, but your mind and body refuse to cooperate. So you replace that sea of important things with addictive behaviors (video games, social media, Netflix, junk food…), which only fills you with… more guilt. And more chaos. Before my psychologist gave it a name, I defined it with a beautiful Spanish term: "me abrumo" (I feel overwhelmed). Abrumarse (to feel overwhelmed) is exactly that: becoming so emotionally or sensorially overloaded that you lose control.
If, on top of that, you’re a recent immigrant (I moved to the capital less than a year ago, completely alone, surviving only on what I earn), have a cat, three jobs, and countless projects swirling around, chaos will take over your life faster than a rooster crows. That’s why people like me need tools—not just psychological ones (which I’ll talk about), but practical ones too.
I’m not good at meditating, and I absolutely refuse to take any medication that isn’t natural (luckily, I haven’t reached a breaking point in a while). My favorite techniques revolve around what I call "the hill metaphor."
I spent most of my life in Santiago de Cuba, a city defined by its hills. As a child, climbing them exhausted me, and I’d always complain. So my mom invented a game: "Don’t look at the top of the hill—look at the ground and count your steps." It worked perfectly. Later, I realized the mountain of tasks was the same: a series of small, ordered steps to reach the summit.
So I listen to my mom: I don’t look at the peak because it only reminds me how huge the mountain seems. I break tasks into tiny steps, number them, and tackle one thing at a time. Before I know it, everything’s done.
Another tool I use is rewards. "If I manage to write for three hours, I’ll treat myself to something sweet for dessert." "If you want to watch another episode of El Ministerio del Tiempo, finish everything on today’s list first." I know I’m training myself like a puppy, but being your own boss means if you don’t control yourself, who will?
Finally, if I’m already abrumada (overwhelmed), good old breathing techniques plus some calming herbal tea always help.
I love making lists and charts. I adore that feeling of order—checking things off, having a system. I keep two planners, divided into three sections each. One is for my three official jobs, the other for my three personal projects.
My three jobs are editorial houses where I handle communications. I use charts like this one to plan content by hand (I know it looks chaotic, but trust me, it’s not).
I note meetings and any tutorials or courses I come across to improve my efficiency. Then I break all those tasks into… you guessed it, lists. Small steps. The path up the mountain. My favorite part of the day is making these lists. I know it’s not normal—but at nearly 30, I’ve made peace with not being normal.
Then there’s my other planner. I founded and run a cultural project called Atabey (named after the Taíno goddess of waters, creation and fertility, and, in some specific myths, a feminine primordial principle or order aginst chaos).
It focuses on Caribbean speculative fiction (sci-fi, fantasy, etc.), reviving forgotten cultures and blending them with modern elements. My personal motto for this project is: "If it won’t make me money, at least don’t let it make me lose money." In Cuba, culture rarely pays the bills, but I’ve never bought into the myth of the artist who lives on air.
With Atabey, I have a thousand things in progress: registering the brand, legal paperwork (which requires finishing my address change in the capital), at least five anthologies in "pre-production" (finding authors, pitching to publishers) or "production" (chasing authors for stories, organizing them, getting contracts signed—artists aren’t always organized 😒). Plus online courses, future events, and networking for funding.
Then there’s Hive. I organize content similarly to my official jobs and check things off. It’s a job in itself, as you all know.
Lastly, my actual writing career. I now have six books (I just got the news of the 6th one yesterday! 😁) in editing with six different publishers, two outside Cuba. That requires a lot of lists. And I’m simultaneously writing three more books, plus a pile of ideas on standby. Ideas aren’t the problem—time is.
So I create what I call "stalker mood boards." It started with one… now there’s one for each book and another for random ideas. Honestly, like with lists, I enjoy making these as much as writing.
(Sorry for the blurry photos. If my editors find out a post giving away ideas for free, I'm done 😅)
And finally, house stuff. As I mentioned, I have a cat. I didn’t want the responsibility while adjusting to a new city alone, but KP3 was abandoned in a dumpster and has special needs. The moment I saw him, I knew no one would love him more than me. Yeah, he’s as weird as his owner. We’re good.
KP3 finding interesting places to take naps 😒. Survival tip from the tropics:** When the blackout hits, ditch the bed – tile floors stay cooler.
So I manage the house (which, given my personality, must also be clean and scheduled) and cat care (he’s not just a pet but an adopted child—a real responsibility). I jot these tasks on papers stuck to the fridge. I also note the weekly planned blackout schedules for my home and my first (in-person) job’s neighborhood, so I know which days to go in when there’s power.
And that’s my life. Before you ask: Yes, I’m on the spectrum and only found out recently. Still don't talk about it a lot (to whom?). My psychologist noticed, but before we could explore it further, I left my hometown. It’s fine. I always knew I wasn’t normal. Even my mom wasn’t surprised. I wish I’d known sooner, but… it wouldn’t have changed much.
All my meltdowns, depressive phases, and low self-esteem were part of a long, hard journey that made me who I am today. And I’m pretty happy with who I am—but even happier with who I’ll become. From here, it’s onward to infinity, friends.
