AQ'S Corner

Photo Credit: ChatGPT

On March 28, 2025, I found out my job of almost six years was ending. I knew it was coming. The signs had been there for months. Layoffs were in the air, and though no one said it out loud, you could feel it. I also must admit I watched and read the news way too much.

But still… I thought I had more time.

There’s a strange ache that comes with preparing for the worst but still being surprised when it knocks, like standing in the rain with an umbrella and still being caught off guard when the thunder cracks right above your head.

The moment I knew it was real, I snapped into survival mode. Subscriptions? Canceled. Streaming services I barely used? Gone. That backup internet service? Snipped. I didn’t flinch. I did what mothers, warriors, and women who’ve been through fire know how to do, I started cutting away the excess so the core could survive.

But nothing hit harder than canceling my first island trip in over a decade. Puerto Rico. A dream long overdue.

I had imagined showing my daughter a new kind of beauty, waves that didn’t crash like ours do, food with soul in every bite, music that moved like memories. I wanted her to see that the world was so much bigger than our zip code. That there was joy beyond routines. That I could take her places.

I was so proud. I had made this happen.

And it crushed me to cancel it. I also only got half my money back, and that hurt, too.

It felt like a quiet betrayal, not of anyone else, but of myself. Like the joy I worked so hard to create had a return-to-sender stamp slapped on it.

But then came the moment of grace. I realized I was thankful we weren’t already on that trip when the news hit. Can you imagine? Standing on a beach, trying to soak in the sun while the sky back home is falling? That blessing, quiet as it was, gave me something to hold onto.

Now I look at my daughter and I’m torn.

She’s in Art and Dance. Her joy spills out in color and motion. She’s found her voice in sketches, and after a few years of dancing, she finally has some rhythm in her step. But money doesn’t stretch like it used to, and I found myself stuck with a gut-wrenching decision: which one do I pause?

The dance recital costume is already paid for, and her eyes light up when she talks about performing. But Art… that’s her heartbeat, her dream. Dreams should be fed, not shelved.

I asked the Dance and Art Studio what would the penalties be if I pulled her out of classes. They got back to me and said they would like to cover her dance class for the remainder of the season, they also offered me half off on her Art classes and two free recital tickets.

I had just joined a gym back in November, finally reclaiming my own body, my own energy. But even that had to go. I called, ready for the awkward conversation, and to my surprise, they offered me a month free.

Then came the hair appointment for Puerto Rico. I messaged the stylist to cancel and told her why. And she replied, ‘I’ll do your daughter’s hair for free. So you won’t have to worry about it.”

I cried again. The tears were soft, grateful. Because in a world that can feel so heavy, these small, soul-saving moments remind me: compassion is still alive. People still show up with open hearts.

And now, here I am, cut back, stripped down, yet somehow still standing.

This layoff didn’t break me. It shook me, yes. It changed me. But it didn’t end me. If anything, it’s reminding me what I’m made of.

I’m made of grit and grace. I’m made of spreadsheets and lullabies, canceled trips and still-hopeful hearts. I’m a mama with a plan.

This is not the end. This is the pivot. This is the moment I reroute. And it may not be glamorous, but it is real, and real is where the power lives.

To anyone else walking through this valley: I see you. You’re not alone. Let’s breathe, build, and rise one decision at a time.