My One Year Sabbatical Pt1
Hell week, Girl Power Gaslighting, and Aperol Spritz
When I was at Marist College, I decided I was going to pledge a sorority. And no, I’m not talking Kappa Kappa Kappa. Think less Ana Faris’ The House Bunny, and more like … actually, there isn’t a film or series I can say accurately depicts the experience of joining a Latina organization. You’ll have to use your imagination. And before you get too crazy, let me confirm I did not get hazed. I don’t play that.
Anyway, the point is that I had decided to willingly take on this HUGE challenge my second semester of sophomore year. I was both a little scared and a lot of excited. The sisters were a little quirky, had big opinions, and most importantly — substance. I’ve always loved surrounding myself with strong women, so this made sense. I also (not so secretly) wanted to join the national stroll team (think of it as a dance team). I’d imagine myself proudly wearing my letters on stage knowing I had earned them.
And while I understood that the process would be rigorous and that there were rules, like wearing a uniform after going ‘above ground’, I ultimately was walking into very unknown territory.
The process was full of highs and lows. An intense amount of learning. And some of the most memorable moments of my undergrad career. My ace and I were very different. We shared many nights full of laughter stemming from my anxiety around following all rules to a T, and her rolling her eyes and denouncing all those damn rules. She is an aries.
The process culminated with something that is called ‘Hell Week’. I don’t think I’m giving away any secrets using that terminology as you can easily google it, but I won’t get into the specifics (I’m still a sister!). However, I will say that it was a mentally and emotionally taxing few days. And for someone who was already feeling delirious, it truly pushed my 19 year old mind and body to an edge I wasn’t aware existed.
To be frank, I was this close (-) to quitting.
Unbeknownst to me, I was two days away from crossing (finishing), but… I had HAD IT. I was ready to wrap it up and head back to my comfortable dorm. With my comfortable clothes (we had to wear these fake timbs that had my feet sweaty AF), where I could eat my comfort food, and watch my comfort shows. I am a taurus.
And then, I called my mom. Crying. Telling her I was tapped out and I was going to quit. My mother let me vent, and then told me to wipe my tears and finish the process. I had said I wanted to do this, and so I needed to finish it. Why come all this way to then give up on something I wanted so much? How did that make sense? That sobered me up QUICKLY. And gave me the energy I needed to cross the finish line.
Years later, I found out that one of my chapter sisters had called my mother and told her to not let me quit because I was finishing in the next 48 hours. That I was SO CLOSE to the promise land, if I could just hold on a little bit longer.
This serves as a reminder that:
No one makes it alone in this life. Even having just one person in your corner to believe in you and cheer you on makes a difference
Most people give up right when a breakthrough is about to happen. Committing to a vision that we know to be true in our spirit is important. So is consistency!
A little faith that the universe is always conspiring in your favor goes a long way
The process took 9 weeks, two days, seven hours, 23 minutes, and 13 seconds. If someone you know pledged an organization that is part of the Divine 9 (Historically Black Fraternities and Sororities) or NALFO (National Association of Latino Fraternal Organizations), they likely remember how long it took them to cross. It be like that.
Pledging has carried me through so many difficult moments in my life, because when you pledge (commit to a process)… and when you GET pledged, you learn your skin is a little bit thicker, your mind is a little bit stronger, and most importantly you know that the tough seasons in life are temporary.
That’s what part of my sabbatical has felt like, especially the last four months. Like I was getting pledged all over again. That is not to say that there have not been some really magical beautiful moments in this process, because there have been plenty. From my day long escapade at the Louvre in my white tennis skirt, to the month at my besties house, where we had dinners with her son and welcomed the late hours of a Wednesday night laughing at unhinged Hinge profiles (making that into a mini-substack series, don’t steal it).
And while I regret nothing, I do want to give ya’ll an accurate depiction of the last twelve months of my life. So that perhaps you feel braver when walking into your next hero’s journey. And so that you can embrace ‘Living, Loving, Laughing’ a long the way.
How it started.
The idea of taking a sabbatical came to me back in May of 2022. I had returned to the states from my birthday trip to London, and realized that I wanted to give living in Europe a try. I intuitively knew that Twitter was getting bought by EM. How did I know? Well, because I believe people when they show me who they are.
I think there were high hopes that he wouldn’t go through with the sale. That he would get bored and toss the idea to the side. But I had full faith that he would go through with it. Much like I believed Trump would win office. When men of power, who are driven by their ego, and by a desire to make those who don’t take them seriously suffer get fixated on something… it’s like a dog with a bone. You better be prepared to lose a finger if you want to snatch it out of their teeth.
So I asked myself, what do you want to do here? And the answer was: go travel and give myself time to be carefree and be still. To reconnect with my highest self and my curiosity. And to hopefully make some serious room for my creativity to get through on what had felt like three years of a busy dial tone.
I slowly began to un-attach myself from my work at Twitter. I had already established big boundaries with the external partners I worked with. My out of office messages were notorious for telling people to turn off their laptops and go get some fresh air (partners would often thank me for such reminders).
To be clear, I had not mentally checked out from my duties. I still felt a responsibility to my projects and my colleagues. But I had created emotional distance between Yari the person and Yari Blanco who led Multicultural Partnerships at Twitter. This was a lesson I had learned the hard way at my previous company, The Wing, where I saw and called out the iceberg months prior to the companies demise, while none of the executives listened. It was an important tactic for self-preservation, as I was once again bracing for impact.
And so when the sale of the company went through, a lot of my colleagues felt like the rug had been pulled from under them. Some folks had never been laid off from a company before. Others had only worked at Twitter their entire careers. For the first time in their lives they had to ask themselves: who am I without this title and this company? Who am I am when faced with such public adversity? Who am I when I am forced to pivot? Folks were scared and felt lost. Understandably so.
Here’s the thing.
In the US our idea of self-worth is enmeshed with the companies we work for and the titles we have. And it will have you all the way fked up when either of those things are taken away from you. Especially when you work in an image driven industry like entertainment. If you are not in, you’re out. Out of sight, out of mind. I do not say this bitterly, I have been in and out many times. This merely comes with the territory.
Okay. So, why is the US this way? And why do we continue to buy into it?
Researchers and psychologists point to 3 pillars of messaging in American culture that hugely shape this thinking: the Protestant work ethic, the emphasis on individualism, and what gives one status in the States.
The Protestant work ethic dates back to the founding of the country. When the Puritans, Protestant reformers escaping persecution, arrived in New England in the 1620s, they brought with them a certain set of religious principles. Among them was the belief that hard work and vocational success were a sign of eternal salvation. That, in fact, being a hard worker was a sign of one’s value as a human.
Central to individualism is a belief in meritocracy, the idea that one succeeds by dint of ability, talent, and hard work, and therefore that every person is the master of their fate. In many cultures, when people are unemployed for a long time, their conclusion is that “something is messed up with the system. The system is rigged,” says Ofer Sharone, a professor of sociology at the University of Massachusetts Amherst and author of “Flawed System, Flawed Self.”
Americans, by contrast, tend to blame themselves. “I feel like I’m flawed in some way” is a common refrain among the American job seekers Sharone has talked to, he says. Because, per this meritocratic thinking, “if it’s all in my control and I’m not getting a job,” he says, “then something must be wrong with me.”
For those not born into wealth or connections, work is the way to get money — and, with it, status. In human societies, status is “how we organize,” says Cecilia Ridgeway, professor emerita of sociology at Stanford University. Individuals within societies have a certain knowledge base, for example, that the group needs to survive, and others then defer to them and their expertise in an effort to ensure their own survival.
Human societies are complex, so how status plays out within them is complex as well: It’s tied not just to getting by, day to day, but to social survival as well. Status is “about how people respect you,” says Ridgeway, “and whether or not you feel in yourself that you are a valued and respected member of the community.”
In the absence of a traditional caste system, Ridgeway says, what you could do for yourself and your family singled you out: “In the United States, [status has] all crystallized in work.” But even if you have that work, “how do you and others know you have, in fact, done well, [and] made an exceptionally valuable work contribution?” asks Ridgeway. “By those status symbols it earns you: titles, money, and valuable possessions.”
So I guess Lil’ Kim said it best in ‘98:
I’ll touch on status in Pt2. Now, back to my story.
While I had already been doing the work of un-attaching myself, and mourning the loss of a company and a team I had loved working with, by the time we were laid off on October 28th of 2022, I was emotionally burnt out.
I realized that the amount of space I had been holding for my peers had left me on negative zero. While I took pride in being sought out for my optimism and encouragement, I had become a catch all for their fears and anxieties.
Ya girl was tired.
I avoided the heavy news cycle that followed for the remainder of the year. And I said no to a lot of social gatherings. Everyone wanted to know “what had happened!”. Forgetting that this was a moment that had very real consequences for very real humans who had groceries to buy, car payments to make, kids to provide for and health insurance to worry about. What was hot gossip for the public was our livelihoods. It was like being on the Truman Show. And it wasn’t great.
I needed the type of rest and TLC that I imagine Mariah Carey gifts herself every year after she’s finished bringing Christmas to the world.
And that’s exactly what I granted myself.
Exhale.
I found solace in quietly planning my escape to Western Europe. I started to save TikToks under an ‘Abroad’ folder. Fantasizing about being at the beach in the South of France, and savoring wine in Madrid. I began to daydream about dates with men that looked like Lee Pace. I know he’s from Oklahoma, and a proud gay man who is married, but I DON’T CARE. He’s 6’5 and has the type of face I’d stare at while completely missing the point of whatever story he was sharing. I love those faces.
And then on January 24th, under an Aquarius sun, I bought the flight to Europe. It was happening. I felt the joy and exhilaration of when my high school college advisor called me to tell me I had gotten into my number one school. The road to adventure was right around the corner, and I was mentally embarking on it while driving a turquoise 1975 Ford Bronco with the top off. Blasting Motomami.
I texted my closest girls to announce that I had done it! I had bought this ticket, and I was going to spend the spring and summer living in Europe. Away from the chaos that was US politics and over-processed food. And solely focused on deepening my relationship to self.
I was going to LIVE LOVE LAUGH.
I started to map out which cities I wanted to go to, and I ordered more bikinis, because a gal could never have enough triangle tops and thong bottoms. I spent hours and hours (and hours) meticulously reading airbnb reviews. Making sure each location was co-signed by WoC, and looked like the type of place I wanted to lay my head at.
Parallel to the planning, I also had to make the decision of what I’d do with my apartment. Should I sublease it? How would I feel about dealing with someone in my home while I was on the other side of the world? If I didn’t find someone to take the place for a few months, was I comfortable with paying thousands of dollars in rent and utilities while I was gone? And, did I even want to come back?
At the start of the year I had told myself that if there was something that was overwhelming me, or causing me grief, and I could easily remove it from my path— that I had full permission to do that. And after a few days of deliberation on my apartment, I told myself it was okay to give that place up. That the universe had a different home for me, and in letting this current home go, I was saying a resounding yes! to what could be somewhere else.
So I put all my things in storage and left my car at one of my besties house. I had been given the green light to travel with lightness and to truly practice being carefree.
Hard lesson numero uno
Part of feeling carefree for me, is not having financial worries.
So what about making money while I traveled?
Very early into my planning I had decided that I was only going to say yes to work that came my way if it was fun and easy. I repeat, FUN AND EASY. I was not looking for a job. I had poured over my finances and knew that I could travel at my own leisure, without worrying if I could afford an extra Aperol spritz at an Italian piazza.
And so when the friend of an ex reached out to me via social, telling me how much of a fan she was of mine and the work I had done with The Wing and theGIRLMOB, I was flattered and grateful for the acknowledgement. She mentioned that she was working for a hair brand that was focused on women of color, and that she wanted to plan an event series around empowering women and thought I’d be great to lead it.
I immediately lit up!
I love bringing women together, especially around topics that deepen our connection with self and others. This type of work does not feel like work, it comes natural to me as I find it to be fun and easy.
I said yes. We agreed on my hourly rate via text and then again via a signed contract.
Let me tell you something, being “freelance” has a learning curve. Especially around the politics involved in how you treat a client that becomes hostile and doesn’t want to pay you for your work. And that’s exactly what happened here.
After a few weeks of work, which included a few phone calls and ideas I sent via email for approval, I was told by someone, whom I was made to believe had minimal say in the project, that my services were no longer needed. I found that update abrupt, so I contacted the woman who hired me to ask if there was any specific feedback I should know that I could keep in mind for future projects. She answered a simple no, that they had liked what I had done so far but this other person wanted to bring in his own team for what was left and that she would definitely keep me in mind for other things coming down the pipeline. She asked me to send her my invoice.
No problem. I did not take it personal, as changes in vision happen. All I cared about now was getting the payment that was agreed upon.
Old girl had a different idea.
I have to pause here and stress the fact that this is a fellow Latina. Of similar age. Who sought ME out via instagram DM to hire ME to build an event series on empowering women of color. I had not spoken to her in years. And despite not giving me any actual guidance, not even insight on her own companies brand story (she leads marketing), I still managed to deliver an idea that was thoughtful, had substance and tied back to brand products (another thing she was not thinking of). This project included a list of women from Gen-Z to Gen-X that could be panelist. Women from my personal rolodex that I was going to ask to participate on her behalf. I was committed to this being a successful and inclusive event.
So imagine my surprise when she went all in on gaslighting me via email about the amount of work I had done and the cost attached. Hours and cost we had agreed to in our contract. I was confused.
Girl Power Gaslighting.
A few weeks went by of back and forths via email. I was at the start of my travels in Europe and was distraught by the messages I was getting from this woman. To put it bluntly, she was trying to bully me into forfeiting getting paid. And I almost did just that. Not because I didn’t know I deserved to be paid, I absolutely knew that, but because I was just getting my energy back after a year of the Twitter mess. All I wanted was Lee Pace and patatas bravas. Not my own personal hell of battling someone who projects ‘girl power’ but in actuality is an asshole behind close doors. I’ve dealt with many women, especially women of color, who have tried to belittle me into submission in my career. And it never feels less shocking or less hurtful.
Here’s the thing though. I fucking pledged (remember my story up top). And I know when someone is trying to pledge me. Once I recognize you’re trying to bully me, I tap into my inner Jordan O’Neill. If you think you’re a big dawg, I am either tapping into my own big dawg, OR I’m going to bring an even bigger dawg into the fight. Because among the many blessings in my life, one is my robust community. And whenever I’ve asked for help, the answer has been yes.
So I did what any reasonable professional would do. I brought a lawyer into our email exchange to show her that I was not fucking around. And wouldn’t you know it, all the gaslighting stopped. No more back and forth. No more questioning what work I had done. No more insults. Within a few weeks I was paid in full what was owed.
I learned a lot from that experience. Firstly, never let someone bully you into giving up what is rightfully yours. Especially money you’ve earned. Secondly, always have a client pay you half up front. That way you set the tone for compensation, and you see if they’re serious about the work they’ve contracted you to do (and if they have the budget, my hunch is lil miss girl power didn’t have it). And lastly, lean on your community for support. My girlfriends kept me calm, allowed me to vent and cheered me on every time I had to respond to another disparaging correspondence.
Remember. Everything passes.
Exhale.
She unfollowed me on instagram (lol millennials we really know how to sho em’)
She had the event and used everything I worked on, down to the title. Interesting considering “I had not done any work”.
I went on to enjoy that money in Aperol spritz’s and vintage, including a gorgeous red Saint Laurent blazer!
OTHER THINGS
Currently watching and loving: The Wheel of Time on Amazon
Inspired by Rick Rubin on Being episode podcast
Obsessed with personal year numbers in numerology and profection years in astrology
Alright cuties, thank you for reading part one of this story.
Excited to share more in pt2!
xx, your fav globe trotting bestie
Gurl....read this like a captivating novela! Sounds like an incredible growth journey! Onward and upward! B
Great read! That freelance experience is so disheartening, but glad you stood up for yourself.