Author Archives: Lexi

Moms are doing a lot.
And somehow, they’re doing it all at once.

They’re answering questions, solving problems, remembering everything, keeping track of everyone, and still noticing the small things no one else catches. They know when something’s off before it’s said out loud, and they know what you need before you even know how to ask for it.

It starts early, too. Before we can even speak, they already understand. A cry isn’t just a cry. It means something. Hunger. Discomfort. The need to be held. And somehow, that instinct never really leaves them.

And they don’t clock out.

Even when they’re tired. Even when they’ve already done enough for one day. Even when no one is saying thank you in the moment.

They’re still showing up.

Still caring. Still checking in. Still making sure everything, and everyone, is okay.

Somehow managing conversations, responsibilities, and everything else life throws at them, often all at once, without missing a beat.

And somehow, they make it feel easy. Like it’s just what they do. Like it’s no big deal.

But it is.

It’s a big deal to be that steady. That thoughtful. That consistent.

They carry more than we see. And the way they love creates a sense of safety unlike any other.

It’s the kind of presence you return to. The one that reminds you you’re okay, even when things feel uncertain. The one that makes everything feel just a little more manageable, just by being there.

And through all of it, they’re still rooting for you. Still believing in you, even on the days you don’t believe in yourself.

That kind of love doesn’t have an off switch.

It stays with you.

So if there’s someone you think of when you read this, tell her.

And if you are that person, the one holding everything together more than anyone realizes…

We see you.

Thank you.

Walk into almost any bar in the United States on May 5th, and the scene is familiar.

Music is loud. Drinks are flowing. Tacos and margaritas fill the menu. The phrase “Cinco de Mayo” gets repeated all night.

It feels like a celebration.

But what is being celebrated?

Cinco de Mayo marks the Battle of Puebla in 1862, when a smaller Mexican army defeated French forces. It’s a historical moment tied to resilience, resistance, and national pride.

And in Mexico it’s honored, but it’s not celebrated on the same scale as in the states.

So how did it become such a big party in the U.S.?

The holiday first gained traction in the states in 1863, when Mexican-Americans celebrated it as a show of solidarity with Mexico. Though over time, as it spread, that meaning shifted. Businesses leaned into it and marketing amplified it.

What remained was the celebration. What faded was the historical context.

Don’t be mistaken, it’s entirely possible to enjoy the food, the music, and the energy of Cinco de Mayo without knowing the history behind them. That’s not unusual, as it happens with traditions all over the world.

But at its core, Cinco de Mayo is not purely about margaritas, tacos and parties. It’s about honoring Mexican’s strength, resilience and meaningful history.

Easter arrives in many forms.

At its core, it marks renewal. In Christian tradition, it commemorates the resurrection of Christ. More broadly, it has long been tied to themes of new life, reflection, and the transition from winter into spring.

But how that meaning shows up can look completely different depending on where you are.

In the United States, Easter often leans bright and celebratory. Chocolate bunnies, pastel baskets, and egg hunts fill the day. It’s playful, familiar, and centered around gathering.

In Spain, the mood shifts. Semana Santa processions move slowly through the streets, accompanied by drums and candlelight. The focus turns inward, toward remembrance and tradition.

In Guatemala, entire streets are transformed with colorful carpets made from sawdust and flowers. They are carefully designed, then walked over hours later by processions. The beauty is temporary, but the act of creating it is part of the meaning.

In Greece, Easter begins in darkness and turns to light. At midnight, candles are passed from person to person as fireworks fill the sky. The moment feels less quiet and more electric, marking a shared sense of renewal.

In France, the story takes a lighter turn. Church bells are said to “fly to Rome” and return on Easter morning, bringing chocolate with them. Children search for sweets scattered through gardens.

In parts of Eastern Europe, eggs are dyed and carefully decorated by hand, sometimes becoming small works of art. They’re shared, tapped together, and turned into a simple game to see whose egg remains uncracked.

As traditions move across cultures, they don’t stay the same. They adapt to the people and places that carry them.

In some places, Easter is quiet and reflective. In others, it’s loud, bright, and communal. In many, it’s both at once.

Underneath it all, though, the meaning holds steady.

A celebration of renewal. Of connection. Of new life.

For someone seeing Spain’s Semana Santa processions for the first time, the reaction can be immediate.
Rows of hooded figures move slowly through candlelit streets. Their faces are hidden beneath tall, pointed hoods. The atmosphere is quiet and solemn.

To many American viewers, the image can raise an uncomfortable question. Why does this look like the Ku Klux Klan?

It’s a reaction that occasionally appears online when photos of Spain’s Holy Week circulate without context. But the answer reveals a much older story and a reminder that cultural traditions often look very different when viewed outside their history.

Semana Santa, or Holy Week, is one of Spain’s most important religious observances. Held during the week leading up to Easter, it commemorates the Passion of Christ. Across cities like Seville, Málaga, and Granada, centuries-old brotherhoods known as cofradías organize elaborate processions through the streets.

Large religious sculptures depicting scenes from the final days of Christ’s life are carried on heavy platforms by costaleros. Surrounding them are participants known as nazarenos, dressed in long robes and tall pointed hoods called capirotes.

It is the capirote that often surprises outsiders.

The hood has deep historical roots in Spain. In medieval times, individuals performing acts of public penance would cover their faces as a sign of humility and repentance. Over time, this tradition became part of Holy Week processions. The pointed hood allowed participants to remain anonymous, emphasizing that the act of devotion was directed toward God rather than public recognition.

In other words, the hood was never meant to draw attention. It was meant to remove it.

These garments have existed in Spanish religious traditions for centuries, long before the Ku Klux Klan adopted its own hooded robes in the United States. While the visual similarity can be striking, the meanings could not be more different.

Where the KKK’s robes became symbols of racism and intimidation, the capirote represents humility, penance, and spiritual reflection.

Within Spain, the imagery carries none of the associations that Americans might immediately see. Instead, it is recognized as part of a deeply rooted cultural and religious tradition passed down through generations.

Semana Santa is not simply a religious ritual. It is also a cultural event that brings entire communities together. Families gather to watch the processions, streets fill with spectators, and centuries-old brotherhoods maintain traditions that connect the present with the past.

To those encountering it for the first time, the symbolism may take a moment to understand.

But like many traditions around the world, Semana Santa reveals how cultural practices often carry layers of meaning that aren’t immediately visible to outsiders.

Sometimes what looks unusual at first glance turns out to be something much deeper.

Photo by Sebastián Valencia Pineda

Each year during Lent, many Christians fast or give up certain foods. For people outside the tradition, the question often arises: why?

In modern wellness culture, fasting is often framed as a health strategy. It is promoted for metabolism, weight loss, or “detoxification.” But the biology is more complex than many headlines suggest.

When people go without food, blood sugar levels change and the body shifts how it produces energy. For some individuals, structured fasting can be tolerated well. For others, especially when done incorrectly or without regard for personal health, it can lead to fatigue, hormonal disruption, or unstable blood sugar. The effects vary widely between individuals and can differ significantly between men and women.

Which raises a curious point: if fasting is not universally beneficial from a health perspective, why has it appeared in so many religious traditions?

Across cultures, fasting has rarely been about nutrition alone.

In Christianity during Lent, in Islam during Ramadan, and in Judaism during Yom Kippur, fasting functions as a form of spiritual discipline. It interrupts routine and invites reflection.

Historically, these practices emerged long before the modern wellness industry. They were not designed to optimize metabolism or extend longevity. Instead, they asked something more difficult: to voluntarily step away from comfort.

In a world where food and convenience are increasingly constant, that idea can feel counterintuitive.

Fasting introduces discomfort. Hunger becomes noticeable. Habits are interrupted. And in that interruption, people are often reminded of something larger than themselves.

For many traditions, that experience serves several purposes. It encourages self-discipline. It creates space for prayer or reflection. And it can sharpen awareness of those who experience hunger not as a choice, but as a daily reality.

In that sense, fasting is less about purification and more about perspective.

It asks people to momentarily set aside convenience and self-interest in order to reflect on gratitude, empathy, and spiritual priorities.

The practice may look like a dietary restriction from the outside.

But in many religious traditions, its purpose has always been much deeper than food.