Video by Felipe Munoz
Creative direction Felipe Munoz and Jorge Vidal
Script Editing Support Laura Montenegro
A Love letter to my cholita, my mom by Jorge Vidal
Through these words, I want to pay tribute to you for the ancestral wisdom you have acquired over generations and, which sometimes emerges from all the trials life has thrown at you. Your wisdom has been my refuge in the coldest winters. I believe you don’t realize the impact your teachings have had on many of my projects, which is why this tribute is so important to me.
Your lessons have been expressed with few words but through actions. When I observed you from afar, I felt your weariness, sorrows, and pains, but you always pressed on, showing strength in the face of adversity, sometimes with slow steps, but always steady.
Those small but firm steps have been fundamental in my path as the founder of Intercambios, especially when things seemed unattainable or I doubted my abilities. Step by step, just like you, I trusted the process and saw that each step indicated I was on the right path. You were right, mi cholita!
Your resilience has taught me to persevere, and every step I take bears the indelible mark of your strength and love.
Te cuento que ahora, through Intercambios, my approach of “acompañamiento” is deeply inspired by you: in your way of caring, in creating spaces of peace simply with your presence, a plate of food, and that energy that invites my siblings and me to deep rest.
Now, once again, you inspire me to create a space dedicated to mothers because I know that, like you, many traditional and diverse wise moms around the world are not recognized, valued, seen, and heard. I reflect on how we can honor and protect this wisdom, giving it the necessary space to flourish, integrating their knowledge and experience into “professional” work models where they have traditionally not been valued. It is essential that we begin to center these voices and perspectives in our work and social practices, ensuring that mothers receive the recognition and respect they deserve for their invaluable contributions.
To be SEEN means to be recognized and valued on a deeper level, where not only your physical existence is acknowledged, but also your humanity, experiences, voice, and contribution to the world. Being seen means that your stories, struggles, and achievements are recognized and validated in an authentic and meaningful way. This recognition penetrates the core of your identity and provides a sense of belonging, validation, and empowerment. I believe that when we are seen in this way, we are given the space and opportunity to be heard, understood, and valued as whole individuals, which can have a transformative impact on our self-esteem, confidence, and ability to contribute meaningfully to the world around us.
I am convinced that if we change the perspective of the role of a mother in society, we could center her wisdom with equitable financial support. This is my commitment: to fight for fair compensation for my mom and for all the diverse mothers in the world who give everything with the hope of being seen, valued, and respected. May their wisdom not only be recognized but also given the place and support it deserves in all aspects of life.
TO BE SEEN.
A Love letter to my Abuelitas, by Melisa Vargas
Rosalba made “menjurjes” that healed, and Graciela had the grace of knowing how to grow food from the earth. They were my two grandmothers, quienes ya son polvo y estrella, and whom I can see in dreams and the photo prints my mother luckily kept since digital photos and smartphones didn’t exist back then.
Rosalba died when I was a teenager, and the day she passed away, I was going to my first encounter with la abuela ayahuasca. Before I left home, my grandmother asked my mother to give me a bath with sweet herbs and flowers. My grandmother never took ayahuasca, but she knew I was going to meet a great spirit, a great grandmother like her, so she prepared me with herbs and flowers, because meeting a grandmother requires endulzarse, abrirse, colorearse.
When my grandmother Graciela died, I was far from home, living in Mexico. I only knew that her mind wandered between memories of my late grandfather and not being able to be on her land cultivating her food, as she always did. My grandmother, la agricultora, died standing by a window, longing for a faded past and an impossible embrace. A bit sad, and without the long white braid I saw her make so many times in the yard of her house.
In this remembering, a question often arises: What difference would it make in my life, work, and community if my grandmother’s labor and wisdom were truly acknowledged and celebrated? Would their contributions have an active, tangible presence in my life today?
In trying to answer, I imagine a world that doesn’t exist and sometimes feels distant.
What I can imagine at first is that if my grandmothers’ work had received social recognition, I probably wouldn’t be fighting for that recognition today and struggling with an impostor syndrome that I encounter at every creative corner I frequent.
I would be firm in my conviction and clarity that cultivating the land is fundamental wisdom for the community, for the health of our bodies, and even for the mental health of my people. I would have no doubt, for example, in incorporating botanical and herbal knowledge into my consultations and support for women, and, without going so far, I would include it without hesitation in my home’s medicine cabinet for the care of my daughter and my beloved.
I would always understand that an embrace can lift a family or a community out of the abyss, out of separation and individualism. I would have a much more vivid communal spirit and put it at the service of my relationships.
However, it wasn’t like that. Many of my memories are of women who were exhausted, weighed down by endless tasks and the emotional burdens of others. This prevented them from letting their service, work, and talents truly shine. I recall women caring for many people, both adults and children. Their efforts were often taken for granted, not acknowledged, as if their lives were not their own but dedicated to others
My grandmothers loved deeply, loved many people. And all those people did not give them the space to love themselves more, to love their dreams, their gifts. However, we are links, small parts of a great tapestry, and perhaps today it is my turn to have that time for my dreams, my gifts, and for myself.
They did not receive the recognition they deserved, but today, in every woman who comes seeking pleasure and self-discovery in my consultation, I can recognize my grandmothers, wanting to seek and enjoy, laugh and love themselves. I am that small part of the chain that can choose. So I choose to braid my hair, take my herbs, have my little garden at home, bathe with sweet and bitter herbs, with flowers and colors. Today, I choose to follow my heart, in their name and in the name of all those who have birthed me and have been part of the great chain that is my lineage, of which I am a small but significant part.
Long live the grandmothers and their wisdom.
Long live those who today recognize their paths and honor them.
May the wisdom of the grandmothers, who with so much love and strength have left their mark on this earth, live forever.
