Setting the Stage

When we recorded our episodes on brujería, spirituality, ghosts, and UFOs, I realized how much of my own story sits right at the crossroads of these conversations. What some call superstition, others call medicine. What some call wickedness, I call heritage. For me, talking about brujería and spirituality isn’t just spooky-season content—it’s about unlearning shame, reclaiming identity, and figuring out how to raise my kids with both faith and roots intact.

The Weight of Faith and Family

I grew up Catholic, learning all the Catholic practices and participating in those traditions. Later, I spent 15 years committed to a megachurch, where I quickly learned that certain practices—like limpias, house cleansings, or even traditions tied to New Year’s—were labeled as “savage” or “wicked.” I was even told that the practices I did growing up in the Catholic church were also “wrong.” 

Add in the mixed messages from family—my mom (a Jehovah’s Witness) saying she “doesn’t believe in that stuff” while also admitting she’s afraid of it—my cousin and her husband pushing their own interpretations of faith, and I was left balancing on a tightrope between shame, confusion, and curiosity.

My mom is sacred to me. I don’t openly practice around her because I want to respect her beliefs, even if the respect isn’t always mutual. But my spirituality matters too. What I pass on to my children matters, and it’s in this way that I can ensure they are immersed in our culture.

Brujería as Medicine, Not Sin

The practices I grew up seeing weren’t about conjuring demons or worshipping darkness. They were about cleansing. Protecting. Honoring. Things like egg limpias to pull heavy energy away, or sweeping the home from back to front on New Year’s Eve to clear the path for blessings. These rituals carried wisdom from my aunts, but they were never allowed to root deeply in me because of the shame tied to them.

Now, in my 40s, I realize that people-pleasing and hiding parts of myself is exhausting. My confidence may waver, but I’m learning that reclaiming these practices is also reclaiming myself.

Ghosts, UFOs, and Ancestors Knocking

In our latest episode, we shared stories that show just how thin the veil feels sometimes. Jen spoke of a moment with her mom when they both felt her grandmother’s presence. Stella shared her chilling story of an encounter that felt demonic, but also how she’s unfazed by horror movies (unlike the rest of us). And me? I told my “almost UFO” story—the thing I saw but was too scared to confront.

*note*- I actually love the idea of aliens and space, but the movie The Fourth Kind lives rent-free in my head. So my curiosity only reaches a certain point. 

But the most important part for me is what happens every year when I build my ofrenda. Without fail, strange things happen. My house shifts, my spirit feels a little heavier, and sometimes I get signs that I connect directly to my father or my beloved pets of years past. Most recently, and I truly wish I could explain it, the room shook as I added illustrated portraits of Palestinian families to my altar. For me, that’s the universe telling me that connecting with my ancestors isn’t just personal—it’s collective.

Claiming the In-Between

Between brujería and church. Between ghosts and faith. Between the culture I was shown and the culture I was told to hide. That’s where I’ve always lived. And maybe that’s the point. To hold the tension. To pass on both the prayers and the limpias. To let my kids see me wrestle with identity instead of pretending it’s neat and polished.

Because the truth is, my spirituality, my faith, and my heritage aren’t contradictions. They’re the medicine I’m still learning to honor.