The Girl Within Us: Resistance, Healing, and Dreams
- Fernanda Alayo
- Mar 26
- 5 min read
Hello, dear friends,
This week, I’m sending you all a big virtual hug—one that you can feel through the simple act of embracing yourself. Wrap your arms around your shoulders, hold yourself close, and take a deep breath. Feel the warmth of your own touch, the comfort of your presence.
With the arrival of spring, I reflect on growth—my own, ours, and the many versions of ourselves that have shaped us and remain a part of us. Our past selves don’t need to be forgotten; they deserve to be honored. Every stage of our journey is beautiful.
What parts of our girlhood still live within us? How does she guide our resistance, our healing, and our dreams?
Resistance, Healing, and Dreams Defined
To resist is to refuse compliance with injustice. It is the ability to stand firm in our core beliefs even when barriers rise and chaos threatens to break us. Resistance is refusing to let hopelessness win.
To heal is to repair the damage—not to return to what was, but to build something new within us. Healing is not a rewind button; it is regeneration. Healing acknowledges the past, learns from it, and grows again— because harm is inevitable, but so is our ability to rise again. We heal through love: by giving love, by asking for love, by offering and receiving forgiveness, compassion, and grace.
To dream is to lean into the impossible. Dreams are not bound by logic or reality. They are whispers from a world we long for, a world we create in our minds. And that alone makes them worth holding onto because they are the fuel that keeps us moving forward.
The Girl Who Climbed Trees
I was a little girl with crisscross rubber-band hairdos and a princess tiara I wore every day to preschool. My tiara would fall off while I climbed the jungle gym or hung upside down on the monkey bars. It would slip as I scaled the giant pine tree outside our apartment complex, my hands sticky with sap, my knees scraped from falls.
My mom would sigh, shake her head, and say, “I told you so.” But I climbed anyway. I climbed with my crown.
But I never climbed in the dress.
The dress was red with white polka dots—the colors of the Peruvian flag. My grandmother, my mom’s mom, had sent it to me before she passed away, just months after we arrived in the U.S. I never met her, but I had this dress. A memory made just for me.
When I wore that dress, people told me I looked beautiful. And I felt it. Words of affirmation have always been my love language. That dress, carefully stored in my mother’s closet, was later passed down to my niece when she, too, moved to the U.S. A piece of home, a piece of love, crossing generations.
And yet, as a child, I longed for more than memories. I longed for a reunion. My big brother—16 years older than me—remained in Peru when we left. To me, he became a dream, an almost impossible hope.
Riding in the backseat of the car, I would press my forehead to the window as my father sang a simple melody:
Little airplane, little airplane, soaring so high, When will you bring my big brother nearby? Little airplane, little airplane, up in the blue, When will you take me to my little Peru?
Fourteen years later, that dream finally came true.
And today, I still dream of reunions—for all the families separated by borders, by policies, by forces beyond their control.
How to Pull Power from Our Younger Selves
Earlier this month, another wound was carved into the fight for justice. Nearly 200 Venezuelan migrants were deported—not home, not to safety, but to holding cells in El Salvador. There was no due process, no chance to plead their case. The government invoked the Alien Enemies Act, a law from the 1700s meant for wartime. But the U.S. is not at war with Venezuela (Barbaro, Tavernese)
Even after a judge ordered the planes to turn around, the government refused to comply. However, the Trump administration claims that they did not disobey the law and did comply with the judge because it was confirmed that two of the planes were already in the air and off American soil when the written order was made, however it is argued that the law covers the American government, not just American soil. One of the planes was still grounded in Texas (Barbaro, Tavernese)
And so, the question lingers: What happens when a government defies its own courts?
Our institutions are being tested. Our communities are suffering. And yet—we resist.
Resist
Resistance is strength—physical, emotional, and communal. It’s discovering what makes you feel powerful and leaning into it. For me, it’s rock climbing and lifting weights, reconnecting with the girl who once scaled trees without fear. But resistance isn’t just personal—it’s collective. It’s about lifting others up, and making them feel strong because when we empower others, we create a movement.
As an oncology nurse, I resist by advocating for my patients, by teaching them how to challenge an early discharge that values hospital efficiency over their well-being. I resist by reclaiming my own story—by giving voice to the little girl I once was. Because stories are our most powerful tool.
Tell your story. Tell our story. Let it shake the ground beneath us. Storytelling lives in us, just as it did in our mothers, their mothers, and the generations before them. Like the stories we once listened to as children, the ones that shaped us. Now, it’s our turn to speak.
Heal
Healing is spreading love and allowing yourself to receive it. It is letting go of the need to return to what was and instead embracing what can be. It is a lifelong practice.
In many cultures, especially collectivist ones, we are taught to uphold strength and preserve family honor. But real healing happens when we acknowledge our pain, when we allow ourselves to be seen, held, and understood.
Life isn’t always easy, but we don’t have to navigate it alone. If you or someone you love needs support, help is available. Call or text 988 for the National Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. Reach out to Dane County’s NAMI Helpline at 1-800-950-6264 or text “Helpline” to 62640. For local resources in English and Spanish, dial 411.
You deserve care. You deserve healing. And most of all, you deserve to know—you’re not alone.
Dream
A dream doesn’t have to be practical. It doesn’t have to make sense. That’s the beauty of it. They are acts of resistance in themselves.
Dreams are not goals—they don’t follow timelines or logic. Some dreams take generations. Some require patience beyond what feels possible. But radical change only happens when people dare to dream radically.
Pull creativity from your younger self—the girl who played, who imagined, who made up stories just because she could. In our fast-paced world, the easiest way to nurture your dreams is to give yourself grace. Slow down. Take breaks. See things from a new light, a new angle.
A Call to Action: Stand with Us
Our resistance, healing, and dreams are not just personal—they are collective. They are community-driven.
Here’s how you can help:
Donate to VERA – a national organization advocating for immigrant rights and transforming immigration systems.
Stay in touch with Centro Hispano and explore their community resources. A few are linked below, but for a full list, visit their website.
Share these resources – Spread the word. Pass them along to your network. Let’s make sure those who need them most have access.
There is strength in community. There is power in love. There is transformation in our dreams.
And there is a little girl inside each of us, still waiting for her airplane.
May we honor her wonder. May we carry her hope forward.
References
"Trump's Showdown with the Courts." The New York Times The Daily, hosted by Michael Barbaro & Sabrina Tavernese, 19 March. 2025, https://www.nytimes.com/2025/03/19/podcasts/the-daily/trumps-judge-deportation-roberts.html
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