Letter #2: Y la gata?
Today's letter covers: How feline behaviors served me as a coping mechanism.
When I turned 11, my mom introduced me to the art of responsibility by gifting me a cat that we named BU, short for Malibu. As an only child, the cat became more than just a pet or a lesson on commitment; she was an integral part of my teenage years, and we went through a lot together - we even shared the grief of losing my mother a decade later (a topic I'll address in a different letter). But it wasn't until I was 27 and recently divorced that cats became part of my story.
I was then living in Miami, and for the first time, I was actually experiencing the life you see in movies: a young woman at an ad agency, making decent money and feeling care-free.
Big failed marriage aside, life seemed fun, and I felt like a winner.
Still, I was terrified of this newfound freedom - I had too much power in my hands and I didn’t want to fuck it up - ‘freedom is power, and power is responsibility’ (maybe I didn’t need a cat to understand how responsibility works). I was raised believing you must pay some sort of tax when you have fun because life isn’t just about seeking gratification; life is about sacrifice and staying humble and grounded. So to stay on track, I established a punishment/reward system:
The punishment/reward system was my way to feel safe, and make sure I was accountable - no parents to ask you how was your day or a sibling to check in? no problem, follow the cheat sheet and you’ll be fine! you won’t end up broke, ugly and fat or found dead in a ditch somewhere! - Because the overall feeling was that I became an independent, lonely adult overnight.
I went from being married with an extensive in-law family and community that came with it (turns out this community was mostly conditional), to living a very lonely life, far from the few family members I have left.
Yet, somehow, this solitude didn’t feel uncomfortable. I liked being alone and met my social needs with work-friends during the week and friend-friends on weekends.
Spending a lot of time alone gave me space to reconnect to parts of me (the good and bad) that had been burried during my marriage, supressed beneath layers of people pleasing and efforts to fit it. These buried parts started to rise to the surface and some of them were intense to confront.
My punctuality was impeccable, and my disciplined, planning-oriented personality truly thrived, but I became harsher with myself and my relationship with food and control grew more complex; I would party and binge eat on weekends, only to spend the following days consuming canned tuna and isolating myself at home as a form of 'damage control' — hello, eating disorder!
I was never touchy-feely and became even more resistant to love or affection back then. Despite engaging in the occasional one-night stand while traveling, I generally found anything related to love tacky. And I even needed some time apart from friends. I've always maintained a close-knit circle of friends, but after prolonged group hangouts, I needed a breather - If the party extended into the after-hours, I would call my Uber home, eager for my bed, skin routine, and space.
One night out, I chose to be more flexible and stayed longer to avoid the inevitable 'party pooper' label from my friends. In response, one of them, just to fuck with me, started singing this ANNOYING reggaeton song, praising me for sticking around.
I was SO offended. How could they suggest I was a Cat Woman (what does that even mean?!) trapped in a body that needed to loosen up?! My friend asked me to take it as a compliment. He said everyone thought I sometimes acted like a cat: distant yet warm, independent, charming, and flirtatious (?)(cringe). This was by no means an insult but more of an identity that I needed to embrace, and after this godforsaken episode, they started to refer to me as “La Gata.” The nickname stuck, and I couldn’t escape it.
It took me a minute, but I warmed to the idea. Perhaps I am like a cat, having grown up with one? I do love to drink milk and eat seafood. I had peculiar attachment styles and although I hate it, I craved attention. I began to accept this newly appointed identity.
Over time during this cat-evolution, I polished and refined the traits that served me and discarded the ones that didn’t. I found love again, and I don’t think I could be more loving and caring. My attachment styles shifted towards the healthier side of the balance, and I continue to chug down oysters no matter the price (Great for the skin, terrible for whoever’s splitting the bill with me). More importantly, I kissed my punishment/reward system goodbye. I might act like a cat sometimes, but I’m no pet that needs to be grounded or treated.
There was no need to be a cynic to protect my feelings, and I didn’t need to feel guilty about having fun or be fearful that I was about to ruin everything. Because I wasn’t. I was working really hard to carve my own path, and did the best I could - even if I didn't always recognize it. But I was lucky enough to have people I cared about during those moments of rediscovery who noticed things that I, being too close, overlooked.
Thanks for tagging along.
Until next time. Besos - Ana
💌 These words are dedicated to all my friends who stood by me during those years. You know who you are. 💌
🍒🍒 OK, it’s snack time: My browsing history + stuff I liked last week:
I was down with the flu and spent probably 10 days stuck in our house in my PJs, but here’s what I did from my couch:
🎧 Music: Two of my all-time favorite bands: Justice 🤝🏼 Tame Impala
🛒 In my cart: Soft Services hand cream
🛒 Restocking: Cymbiotika’s Magnesium oil
📺 The only binging I do these days —> TV: Mr. and Mrs. Smith: If you’re like me and love Daniel Glover, don’t even think about it. I totally judged the show by its cover but was pleasantly surprised. Plus, Sarah Paulson makes an appearance, and there’s nothing that woman does wrong.
Maravilla!
haha literally laughed out loud on this one... this is great workday entertainment, gracias gatix por el contenido.