Una abrazo para mis queridos amigos de @holos-Lotus
Cuando leo sobre temas como este que nos trae 
Llegar a una reflexi贸n como esta no es casual; es el resultado de batallas silenciosas, de heridas que tardaron en cicatrizar y de una libertad que cost贸 sangre, l谩grimas y, sobre todo, valor. Eso es recuperar o hacer valer el amor propio.
Elijo el an谩lisis de mi vida porque ella me fue dada para adquirir experiencias y dejar ense帽anzas, por ello expongo mis circunstancias, siempre aclarando que todos tenemos defectos y que la vida no va de cambiar a nadie sino de cambiar nosotros.
Desde joven, me marqu茅 expectativas r铆gidas: quer铆a un amor eterno, un matrimonio indisoluble. No entend铆a por qu茅 mujeres brillantes, llenas de vida, permanec铆an solteras, ni por qu茅 hombres atractivos y bondadosos no buscaban compromiso. Yo, en cambio, so帽aba con ser "la esposa" como si eso definiera mi valor. La vida, ir贸nica y sabia, me ense帽ar铆a que el amor no se mide por t铆tulos, sino por la paz que nos regala.
Mi matrimonio comenz贸 como un cuento: amor a primera vista, pasi贸n arrolladora, miradas envidiable. 脡l era intenso, posesivo; yo, devota, creyendo que el amor lo justificaba todo. Con los a帽os, ese amor se convirti贸 en una tormenta. Perd铆 la risa, cargu茅 con una vejez emocional prematura.
En p煤blico, sus celos eran espect谩culos humillantes: escog铆a a cualquier hombre del lugar y tej铆a historias de infidelidad en su mente, solo para terminar en gritos y reproches. Luego, el arrepentimiento y las l谩grimas m铆as.
El golpe m谩s cruel no era f铆sico; era la erosi贸n diaria de mi amor propio.
Fueron incontables los incidentes. Recuerdo que en un viaje a La Habana, quise comprar golosinas para mi sobrino, a quien adoro. Su respuesta fue un "Usted no tiene dinero". As铆 seco, tajante, como si mi sentimiento maternal fuera un delito. Pas茅 la tarde llorando, mientras 茅l, despu茅s, compr贸 lo que yo hab铆a pedido.
Mi sobrino, con su mirada l煤cida de joven, nunca aprob贸 aquella vida. 脡l, sin saberlo, fue uno de los primeros en mostrarme que el amor no amordaza.
Materialmente, nada faltaba: viajes, cenas, comodidades. Pero yo era una sombra, justificando lo injustificable. Hasta que un d铆a, mi fe, esa aliada silenciosa, me susurr贸 que hab铆a otra vida posible. Y decid铆 escucharla.
La separaci贸n fue un terremoto. Los consejos llegaron como dardos envenenados: 驴C贸mo vas a dejar lo que tienes?, Nadie te tratar谩 como 茅l, Te morir谩s de necesidad. Lo peor no eran los comentarios, sino la duda que sembraban: 驴hab铆a tomado la decisi贸n correcta?.
Pero una amiga, al separarse de su esposo "ejemplar" y enfrentar los mismos cuestionamientos dio la respuesta perfecta a quienes opinaban sin vivir mi realidad: 驴Y t煤 duermes con 茅l?. Esa frase lo resumi贸 todo. No se trataba de apariencias, sino de despertar cada d铆a sinti茅ndome lastimada.
Concientic茅 que sus virtudes como padre, amigo, artista y profesional eran motivos para admirarlo pero no para mi devoci贸n ciega. Cuidar mi amor propio es responsabilidad personal, requiere valent铆a para poner l铆mites. No permitir que otros definan mi valor ni me victimicen.
Recomenzar fue aterrador. Aprend铆 a administrar mi dinero, a tomar decisiones sola, a confiar en mis instintos. Descubr铆 que el amor propio no es un destino, sino un camino que se construye al decir no. Fui segura al soltar lo que me hac铆a da帽o, al elegirme, incluso cuando el mundo estuvo de su lado.
Hoy, al mirar atr谩s, agradezco las lecciones, incluso las m谩s dolorosas. Porque solo quien ha visto sus alas amarradas, como las m铆as, valora la libertad al volar. Y ese vuelo, libre y ligero, es la verdadera definici贸n del amor propio.
馃挏
Self-love: A story of rebirth
A hug to my dear friends at @holos-Lotus
When I read about topics like this one brought to us by
Arriving at this reflection isn't accidental; it's the result of silent battles, of wounds that took time to heal, and of a freedom that cost blood, tears, and, above all, courage. That's what it means to recover or assert self-respect.
I choose to analyze my life because it was given to me to gain experiences and teach me lessons. Therefore, I explain my circumstances, always making it clear that we all have flaws and that life isn't about changing anyone, but about changing ourselves.
From a young age, I set rigid expectations for myself: I wanted eternal love, an indissoluble marriage. I didn't understand why brilliant, vibrant women remained single, or why attractive, kind men didn't seek commitment.
I, on the other hand, dreamed of being "the wife" as if that defined my worth. Life, ironic and wise, would teach me that love is not measured by titles, but by the peace it gives us.
My marriage began like a fairy tale: love at first sight, overwhelming passion, enviable glances. He was intense, possessive; I was devoted, believing that love justified everything. Over the years, that love turned into a storm. I lost my laughter and suffered from premature emotional aging.
In public, her jealousy was a humiliating spectacle: she would choose any man in the room and weave stories of infidelity in her mind, only to end in screams and reproaches. Then, my regret and tears.
.
The cruelest blow wasn't physical; it was the daily erosion of my self-esteem. I remember a trip to Havana, where I wanted to buy candy for my nephew, whom I adore. His response was, "You don't have any money." So blunt, sharp, as if my maternal feelings were a crime.
I spent the afternoon crying, while he later bought what I had asked for. My nephew, with his lucid youthful gaze, never approved of that life. He, without knowing it, was one of the first to show me that love doesn't silence.
Materially, nothing was missing: trips, dinners, comforts. But I was a shadow, justifying the unjustifiable. Until one day, my faith, that silent ally, whispered to me that another life was possible. And I decided to listen. The separation was an earthquake.
The advice came like poisoned darts: How are you going to leave what you have? No one will treat you like he does. You'll die of need. The worst part wasn't the comments, but the doubt they sowed: had I made the right decision?.
But a friend, upon separating from her "exemplary" husband and facing the same questions, gave the perfect answer to those who opined without living my reality: And you sleep with him? That phrase summed it all up. It wasn't about appearances, but about waking up every day feeling hurt.
I realized that his virtues as a father, friend, artist, and professional were reasons to admire him, but not for my blind devotion. Nurturing my self-esteem is a personal responsibility; it requires the courage to set boundaries. Not allowing others to define my worth or victimize me.
Starting over was terrifying. I learned to manage my money, to make decisions on my own, to trust my instincts. I discovered that self-esteem isn't a destination, but a path built by saying no. I was confident in letting go of what hurt me, in choosing myself, even when the world was on its side.
Today, looking back, I am grateful for the lessons, even the most painful. Because only those who have seen their wings tied, like mine, value the freedom of flying. And that flight, free and light, is the true definition of self-esteem.
馃挏
