Cruzando el Umbral
Entering an Afro-Puerto Rican Family and Finding Otro Flow
- Phillip Phillips
In my very first Substack publication, “Catharsis On Shuffle,” I reflect on the powerful hold that music has over me, especially while in the car. Well, on February 23rd, 2026, I cried in my car like a baby to a song that had never hit a nerve in me before—“Home” by Phillip Phillips. I’m used to it from the cheesy car commercials and its overuse on television, but suddenly, the words were for me. Somehow. In some way. I crossed a threshold into a world I didn’t know I was missing.
Seven months and two days prior, I met a man whose smile enchanted me so much that—after a brief period of intensity and me ghosting him to “kick off his scent”—I caved to the incessant private story posts of a slinky-like dog named Mello, so named for his disarmingly calm demeanor. Little did I know he would fill over half a poetry chapbook (at 22 poems), occupy a “Texts Left Unsent” folder in my notes app that peaked over 50 files, fill countless journal entries—both in my notes, handwritten journal, and ChatGPT folder (we listen and we don’t judge, hehe)—and be the topic of numerous conversations in therapy sessions, hair appointments, massage appointments, art classes, kikis with coworkers, and lamentations with mi familia. But, lack of foresight notwithstanding, all said things did occur.
Now, this was not a clean-cut, “boy meets boy,” happily ever after arc. It was messy. Passionate. Enraging at times. Despair-inducing at others. Borderline neurotic. Chaotic. Hell, he even called himself psychotic at one point. The issue was never love. It was timing, yes—but also attachment patterns, coping habits, and two nervous systems trying to regulate in the middle of unresolved storms. Chiefly, he was still healing from a wound that was not only sore and deep but also severely infected. And eventually, I caught it too.
You’ve got some strain working to flush, to drain. I’ve got baggage, always checking, but yet to all fly— fly past the skies of broken glass, where bluebirds cry, doves dive, and time halts From You and Me?
After four years of being single, I was ready to quell the amorous rage within me. Now I’m technically rearing five if this thing doesn’t become official soon. However, the political scientist in me is increasingly encouraged by my model’s confidence intervals. Which brings me back to the 23rd and to “Home.”
Mi osito, as I call him, introduced me to his family. And let me tell you, I don’t know exactly what I was expecting, but I met a rhythm—a flow—I’ve not seen in a lot of the circles I walked in. And, as an introverted-extrovert in the Deep South, that’s a lot of circles.
Osito is Afro–Puerto Rican: Puerto Rican on his mother’s side (with a little Guatemalan spice) and African American on his father’s. He has one of the most radiant and unique smiles I’ve ever seen. It instantly lights me up, no matter how upset, tired, angry, sad, or otherwise disgruntled I may be. And that smile was contextualized even more when I met su familia.
Their presence was warm, embracing, and electric. I first met his mother, and true to his words, she was everything I expected and more. Full of life, passion, wit, sass, and abundantly curious and forthcoming. Whereas Osito is more of the grounding energy in our dynamic, his mom is much more my vibe—el fuego.
We're like fire and rain (Like fire and rain)
You can drive me insane (You can drive me insane)
But I can't stay mad at you for anything
We're Venus and Mars (We're Venus and Mars)
We're like different stars (Like different stars)
But you're the harmony to every song I sing
And I wouldn't change a thing
- Joe Jonas & Demi Lovato
Su abuelita—another firecracker. His sister—maybe the most expressively electric of them all. So when I started wondering where all that llueva came from, I found my answer in his dad—the grounding rain (or maybe snow) of the house.
Padre—looks to Osito, “Are you happy?”
“Yes.”
To me, “And are you happy?”
“Yes.”
“Then sounds good to me. Congratulations,” and a thumbs-up.
This was such a snow-dad response. His mom, abuelita, and I chatted up a storm for probably 20-minute intervals at a time. His dad—zero investigation. Osito—like five to ten percent investigation, slow drip. Me—501 questions written, ready, and spine-bound.
Yet I am also capable of restraint. I’m a very thermostatic individual, an empath, sometimes even an “echo,” so I’m good at sitting in the middle. I can be calm. I can be intuitive. But I can also be on. Activating. Challenging. Encouraging. And I move between. I can feel the shifts—on, off, on, off—and I adapt. A lot of the time, I code-switch without even trying.
Some of what I write is heavy. Some of it’s light.
But all of it’s honest.
If you like that kind of space, I’d be honored to have you here.
I realized, in meeting his family and in his very clear implications of what that meant in his world, that I am crossing a threshold into a new season of my life. A period of growth, love, romance, adulthood, lessons, family, friendship, and partnership. I’ve been gearing up for this for a while now and probably picking at my skin a little too long in the pursuit of “readiness.” It’s finally time for me to stop “tinkering with myself” and finally just “experience myself in the world.”
I’m excited to see what this new world I’ve discovered has to show me. The people, places, and spaces I’ll encounter. The shifts in my future, in my travel desires, in my hobbies.
When I was at his house, every part of me that I love felt activated. The joy. The charm. The Spanish. The dancing. I was playing Latin music, doing salsa in the kitchen, genuinely smiling. The anger, the exhaustion, the weird heaviness I carry from work were gone. I was bubbly, open, alive.
If I’m being vulnerable, I sometimes circle back to this question—can I really have this?
Imposter syndrome is a powerful psychological force, and it’s easy for people who’ve experienced trauma or high-intensity experiences to feel it. I know I’m good. I know I’m worthy of something like this. But the past—the things I’ve gone through—has conditioned me to expect less. To move in circles that aren’t as nourishing. To tolerate people who diminish me. To believe that love has to come with friction, secrecy, or struggle.
This experience quietly challenged that. And the times I’ve visited him since then have continued to recondition my feelings. They have shown me that if I can move past that imposter feeling, I don’t have to shrink. I don’t have to brace for chaos. I don’t have to accept less.
A lot has changed in such a short time. Things really started to pick up for us by late January, but the undercurrent of life has been fighting us for a long time now. I’m having to reprioritize what’s really healthy for my energy right now and learn to pull back from things that are causing me distress. Now more than ever, I want to surround myself with the kind of people who play “Ahora Quien,” dancing around a house party. I want to walk into spaces that make my chest expand, not collapse. To feel warmth and love and people grounded in the present.
The body does keep the score, and some trauma gets so embedded in our bones that it becomes subconscious and beyond our control. But the more you condition your present self with positive experiences, the more you will teach yourself and your body that you are safe, secure, and in the arms of peace.
This fire has finally found new rain, and I am excited to see where it takes me.
Estoy cruzando el umbral. Descubrí otro flow, y lo quiero.