Reclaiming hope and healing body and soul - by C. V. Vergara When families fracture in silence

C. V. Vergara
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I create these podcasts from the place that cost me the most to conquer: the pres And I say it just like that, without detours, because it took me nearly a lifetime to arrive here. I lived as the daughter forced to be the family’s support, the exemplary wife at the expense of myself, the judged and questioned mother. I became many things I never chose to be. And yet, each of those roles taught me what I did not want to repeat. I don’t say this with shame—I say it with my head held high. I am Vanina Vergara, born in Asunción, Paraguay. I have three children whom I love deeply...

  1. May 7

    When Families Fracture in Silence - The review of My Book in Voice

    A POWERFUL NOVEL OF SILENT BATTLES. One mother delves into the insidious fracture of family bonds, exploring the profound resilience of the human spirit in the face of silence. Only on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GY8741Q3 The silent epidemic of parental alienation against mothers —and the path to healing.

    19 min
  2. Not Having a Tribe Does Not Make You a Failure - C. V. Vergara #17

    Feb 15

    Not Having a Tribe Does Not Make You a Failure - C. V. Vergara #17

    Hello. Not Having a Tribe Does Not Make You a Failure. Hope, Too, Belongs to the Black Sheep. This is a space for those who do not quite fit. For those without a tribe, without a close-knit family, without a clear place where they feel chosen. This is not a podcast for people surrounded by love. It is for those who remain standing without a safety net. And if you are here, you have probably wondered, at some point, what you did wrong not to have a place to belong. Today, I want to tell you something that matters: not having a tribe does not make you a failure. Naming What Few Dare to Say There is a deeply rooted belief that if you are alone, something in you must be wrong. That if you do not fit, if you are not called, if you are not chosen, it is because you have failed as a person. And that belief hurts. It hurts profoundly. Because you are not only alone — you are made to feel defective. Yet there is a truth few are willing to voice: some people have no tribe not because they are broken, but because they refused to betray themselves in order to belong. Sometimes, the price of fitting in is to cease being who you truly are. And not everyone can — or wishes to — pay that price. The Black Sheep Is Not the Mistake To be the black sheep does not mean to be the problem. Often, it means having said “no” when the system expected obedience. It means refusing to repeat old stories. Refusing to stay silent. Refusing to look away. And that unsettles people. Black sheep are often left outside because they do not uphold illusions. Because they do not fit into moulds. Because they refuse to pretend that all is well. And of course… this is rarely rewarded. More often, it is punished with silence, distance, or rejection. But being outside does not make you any less worthy. From My Own Experience Today, I want to say this with honesty: I do not have a tribe. I do not have a table full of people. I do not have a group that holds me. I do not have a family that embraces me like in the films. And for a long time, I believed that this said something terrible about me. That if no one stayed, it was because I did not deserve to be stayed with. But with time, I began to see something else. I began to see that even without a tribe, I was still alive. Still feeling. Still seeking to heal. And that is not nothing. Hope Does Not Always Arrive With Company Hope does not always come with company. Sometimes it arrives alone. Very softly. Almost unseen. It is not the hope that promises “everything will be fine”. It is another kind of hope. The hope of not abandoning yourself. Of not ceasing to be who you are simply so that someone might stay. Because belonging by losing yourself is not belonging at all. It is disappearing in company. And true hope, even when it aches, never asks you to stop being who you are. Not having a tribe hurts. I do not romanticise it. There are days when it weighs heavily. Days when you wonder whether it will always be this way. But hear this clearly: your worth is not measured by how many people surround you, but by whether you continue to inhabit yourself. Sometimes life gives you no witnesses. But it still gives you a path. If today you feel alone, if you feel there is no place for you, if you have been told — directly or not — that you were too much, or uncomfortable, or simply too different… I want you to know this: Not having a tribe does not make you a failure. You are alive. And that is no small thing. And even if it does not look like it, staying alive, staying true to yourself, is already a form of hope. Thank you for being here. We will listen to each other again in the next episode. I read letters sent to mailto:vergaravanina@yahoo.com

    15 min
  3. The weight of unspoken sorrow - C. V. Vergara #16

    11/16/2025

    The weight of unspoken sorrow - C. V. Vergara #16

    https://youtu.be/rN-JFYAij2s “When the Heart No Longer Mends the Same Way”I am Vanina Vergara - C.V. Vergara to the english-speaking world born in Asunción- Paraguay. I have three children whom I love deeply, and this is my life. There are sorrows that never scream, yet they weigh —upon one’s shoulders, one’s breath, one’s weary soul.Today, I want to speak about that quiet ache:when everything around you seems unchanged,but you — inside — are no longer the same.Sometimes life stalls, suspended in a kind of stillness.A son who never calls.A father who grows old, clinging to what destroys him.And you — somewhere between love and sorrow —trying simply to breathe.Trying to understand why some things cannot be mended,no matter how wholly you offer your heart.I recently returned from Uruguay.I was there with Pablo and my in-laws —aged eighty-nine and eighty-seven.There is something profoundly tender — and deeply painful —about watching two fragile souls still caring for one another,their eyes soft with time,as though the clock had finally stopped mattering.They looked at me often,and in their gaze I felt something I had forgotten: rest.As if someone whispered without words,“You can let go now. You needn’t be strong all the time.”But then I returned.And with me came that quiet lonelinessthat has nothing to do with being alone.That hollow feeling no routine can fill.Because sometimes, you can be surrounded by peopleand still feel the air slicing through you.I still miss my mother.I miss her without idealising her —with all her shadows, with her full humanity.And in that contradictory love, I’ve learnt this:to remember is also to heal.Love doesn’t need to be perfect to be real.It only needs to remain.If you’re listening and feel that your heart no longer mends the same,that some days simply breathing is an act of courage —let me tell you this, from one silence to another:you are not alone.You are not weak for feeling deeply.There are many of us still piecing ourselves together,still breathing gently through the absences.A few days ago, I read something by Lucas Casanova,from his view of secular Buddhism, that struck me:we were taught that self-sufficiency was the goal —that needing meant you were broken,that missing someone meant you lacked self-love.But he asks: since when was humanity measured by isolation?And then I understood —to need is not a weakness.It is profoundly human.Lucas speaks of a silent epidemic: loneliness.He says that when the nervous system has been wounded by relationships,it learns to protect itself —to mistake silence for peace,distance for safety,and isolation for strength.And so we begin to hide:behind screens,behind words that don’t meet the eyes,behind digital ties that never quite embrace.Yet the soul hungers for real presence.For eye contact.For tenderness.From that Buddhist gaze, the path is not to harden —but to return to the world without surrendering to cynicism.It’s difficult, yes — but freeing.Because only when we dare to trust again, even just a little,do we begin to heal that ancient wound:the one that made us stop feeling we belonged.And if you don’t yet know how to reconnect — that’s all right.Many of us are learning too.Learning to say hello again.To talk without a screen.To belong without losing ourselves.Because we were made to connect.And even if the heart no longer mends the same way —it still beats.And while it beats, there is hope.Because life, with all its cracks,is still — somehow — beautiful.Thank you for listening. I hope my story helps you find words for your own. I read letters sent to mailto:vergaravanina@yahoo.com

    29 min

  4. 10/10/2025

    Caring: Voices for Healing - Breaking the Silence - C. V. Vergara #15

    https://youtu.be/rN-JFYAij2s Hello… I’m Vanina , and I welcome you to Caring: Voices for Healing —a space where we give voice to the things we so often keep unspoken.Today, in this episode, I want to talk about something that touches us all,even when we prefer to deny it: mental health.Every year, on the 10th of October, the world observes World Mental Health Day.But beyond the date, what truly matters is understanding that caring for the mindis not a luxury, nor a passing trend, nor a sign of weakness.It is a necessity — a quiet act of respect towards oneself.---🪞 “Speaking about mental health was once a taboo”For a very long time, mental health was something people did not speak about.In many homes — perhaps in yours, perhaps in mine —we often heard things like “don’t cry,” “don’t make a fuss,” or “don’t tell anyone.”And so, we learnt to sweep our pain under the rug,to smile while something inside of us quietly broke.I went through that too.For years I believed that enduring was the same as being strong.Until I finally realised that true strength lies in asking for help,in speaking up, in no longer hiding what hurts.Breaking the silence is never easy.But once you do, something within begins to heal —as if the soul, after so long in survival mode,could finally breathe again.---💔 “To care is also to listen”We often think that to help someone in pain,we must find the perfect words.But no — sometimes, it’s enough simply to listen,to not interrupt, to not judge,to ask “How are you, really?”and to stay long enough to hear the answer.Caring for mental health does not always require grand gestures.It requires presence.And that begins with ourselves.Listening to our bodies when they are tired.Listening to our emotions when they screamdisguised as anger, anxiety, or sadness.Listening to our needs without feeling guilty for tending to them.Because you know what?Self-care is not selfishness.It is emotional survival.---🌱 “Mental health is not only for when something goes wrong”We must stop thinking that mental health is only tended to in moments of crisis.Just as we care for our diet, our exercise, and our rest,we must also care for what cannot be seen.That might mean many things:– Setting boundaries where once we stayed silent.– Seeking professional help without fear.– Walking away from relationships that make us unwell.– And above all, learning to trust ourselves again.It’s not about being happy all the time.It’s about finding peace, even when life isn’t perfect.---✨ “Breaking the silence, healing the soul”Breaking the silence is an act of love —for yourself, for those around you,and for those who will come after.We may not be able to change the past,but we can change the way we remember it.We can turn pain into experience,fear into understanding,and silence… into voice.If you are going through a difficult time,please, reach out for help.You are not alone.And if you know someone who is struggling,don’t tell them “be strong.”Tell them, “I’m here, with you.”Sometimes, that is all it takes to begin to heal.---Thank you for joining me in this episode of Caring: Voices for Healing.I’m Vanina Vergara,and I invite you to stay with me in the coming chapters,where we’ll speak about connection, resilience,and the gentle art of emotional self-care.Because caring for the mindis also caring for life itself.We’ll meet again soon…hopefully, a little more conscious,a little more human,and a little more at peace.📩 I read letters sent to → vergaravanina@yahoo.com

    20 min

  5. 10/02/2025

    Self-love is one of those tender aches, the sort that hurts beautifully - C. V. Vergara - S02E07

    https://youtu.be/rN-JFYAij2s It is not an emotional spa, nor a hashtag, nor the stuff of cheap self-help.It is like learning a new language after years of being mute to myself.Sometimes it sounds clumsy, sometimes it falters… yet still, I try.I write this barefaced, with a trembling voice, yet one that is true.Learning, day by day, that self-love is built anew—even as guilt and shame still visit me,my back bent beneath the weight of burdens that were never mine.It does not always come easily.Not every day.Some mornings, I cannot bear to look into the mirror.And others, I embrace myself with my own gaze—if only for five fleeting seconds.I desire to feel alive.Not functional.Not merely useful.Alive.And yes, I desire to love without fear.To decide with my hand upon my heart, and not upon the agenda.And today, I see: desire has no age.No form.No permission.It simply is.It beats.It breathes with me—with that stubborn hope that refuses to surrender.Hope does not shout.Nor shake me.Nor rescue me in a blaze.It simply stays.Small, persistent.A faint light at the end of the tunnel.A quiet voice that says, “one more day.”There are days I cannot find it.And yet—I breathe.And that itself is a form of hope.I do not know if tomorrow will be brighter.I have no promises, no guarantees.But I go on doing the very things that only one who hopes would do:I keep writing.I keep tending to myself.I keep dreaming of a lighter life.I keep believing that, despite all, it is worth going on.I do not ask for great miracles.I am content with an honest embrace.With a silence shared.With not having to feign strength at all times.Hope, in me, is no grand epic.It is ordinary.It is obstinate.It is a way of resisting without violence.And so, though at times I feel broken…I do not surrender.For hope, quiet yet steadfast, rests in the pocket of my soul.I read letters sent to mailto:vergaravanina@yahoo.com

    17 min

  6. 10/02/2025

    I grew upwith a father dependent ondrink, and it marked the whole of my story - C. V.Vergara -S02E06

    https://youtu.be/rN-JFYAij2s What happened today was not merely a quarrel;it was like opening a box of memories that had never been properly shut.Today, I did not simply argue with my seventy-four-year-old father,widowed and bound still to alcohol;I also confronted the man of my entire childhood and adolescence,the one who carved deep scars into my being.“I am not that little girl. I am a woman, free and strong.”“This is not my fault. It does not belong to me.”“I protect myself. I care for myself. I step back.”And another thing:this strange grief is easier to cross when it is named,as I have done now.For naming it is recognisingthat you are already saying goodbye, even while he breathes.This is my mantra —or my attempt at one—: “I, Vani, am a daughter, not a saviour.My life does not sink with my father’s.”“A Mourning Without End”Today I wish to share something very personal.Something that hurts,yet may help others living through the same.My father is dependent on alcohol.He has been so all his life.My mother lived with this for fifty years…she was a profoundly unhappy woman.She always told me so.And he never truly loved her,for one who loves does not destroy.We grew up in a home of shouting,quarrels, infidelities, violence;we drank in the poison of a place where love was absent.Today my mother is gone.She died a few months ago.And I find myself alone before my father,who drinks each day, ever earlier, ever stronger.It is like watching someone die little by little.And this is a strange mourning.Not the mourning of real death,which, though painful, closes.It is a grief in life:I watch him fade each day,yet he is still here, still calls me,still shouts at me when drunk.And I… I do not know how to help him.And the truth is, I have understood:I cannot save him.My mother spent her entire life in that fight, and lost.I do not want to repeat her fate.So today I have learned to set boundaries:– To speak only when he is sober.– Not to argue when he drinks,for there is no one at the wheel.– To guard my peace,even if he does not understand.And I know I am not alone.Many sons, daughters, partners or siblingslive trapped in the same prison:trying to save the alcoholic.Let me tell you from my experience:it is not your task,not your mission,not your sentence.I too find myself thinking dark things,wishing one day it might all end at once.But I have understood that this does not mean I hate my father.It means I am exhausted;I want the pain to stop,I want to cease living in this endless mourning.So today I close this chapter with my own mantra, my shield:> “I, Vani, am a daughter, not a saviour.My life does not sink with my father’s.”If someone listening is living something similar,please hold on to this:you have the right to care for yourself,to keep your distance,to refuse the sentence of those who stayed trapped.Thank you for listening.I hope my story helps you give words to your own.I read letters sent to mailto:vergaravanina@yahoo.com

    23 min

  7. 09/30/2025

    Crisis, Love and Prevention: What I Have Learnt from My Own Story - C.V. Vergara - S02E05

    https://youtu.be/rN-JFYAij2s The Invisible RucksackFor nearly twenty years, I deferred myself. I belittled therapy, believing the old stigma that only “the mad” went to a psychologist—a taboo in Paraguayan society, and in my circle. In my time, speaking of mental health was a jest, a source of shame. I consoled myself with “this will pass” or “these matters are not spoken of.” But they did not pass. They crystallised into a diagnosis in my forties, a condition rather than a passing storm. And that, though it seemed my private matter, touched every soul around me.Today, I speak with utter honesty. I do so because I miss my mother, gone these ten months. And I see my father, bowed beneath grief and depression, still reluctant to tend to himself. And I understand them—truly, I do. They did what they could with the tools they had. They, too, suffered. They, too, bore childhoods that weighed upon them. They shouldered rucksacks they never learned to lighten. My psychiatrist tells me they were likely never happy, and that thought fills me with profound sadness.An Apology Born of LoveHere lies the hardest truth: I too did what I could with the tools at my disposal, with my inner and outer judges. But sadness, depression, anxiety—any illness of the mind—does not belong to one alone. It spills over. It affects those we love. I know this in my very flesh. They, too, did not know how to cope with it all.So today, I wish to apologise. Not an apology born of guilt, but of love. I am sorry if my pain, my process, my choices—at times wise, at times not—have wounded. I am sorry if I was misunderstood. For when one is broken without knowing why, one makes decisions that, without intending harm, can leave scars. It is a heavy chain passed from generation to generation—unless one dares to break it.On Prevention and EmpathyThis is why it matters to speak, to seek help, to consult a professional—and not to postpone it. For mental health is no longer a private affair; it is a matter of public health, in Paraguay and across the world. There is more knowledge now than ever before. In England, there is even a Ministry of Loneliness. Social media has opened the floodgates of information, making a therapist’s appointment as ordinary as one with the dentist. There is no shame in it.So let us speak of prevention. Around the family table, in schools, in every corner. Let us grow in empathy. For we never truly know what rucksack another is carrying. I do not excuse cruelty or mistreatment, but I do believe we must learn to see that behind many harsh acts stands a soul that does not know what to do with its own weight.And so I give thanks—to the universe, to my God, however one names it—that it is possible. That though there are lows, one may rise again. Something, deep within, has kept me standing to this day. May no one ever have to reach the brink for want of a voice, a hand, a simple “you can” or “I will help you.”I read letters sent to mailto:vergaravanina@yahoo.com

    23 min

  8. 09/28/2025

    The Red Thread of Gratitude - C. V. Vergara - S02E04

    https://youtu.be/rN-JFYAij2s There are moments in life when one believes all is lost.When the road once familiar vanishes, and the map becomes useless.I am Vanina Vergara - C.V. Vergara to the english-speaking world born in Asunción- Paraguay. I have three children whom I love deeply, and this is my life.When the world collapses around you, and the echo of your own footsteps is your only companion—where do you go?At that breaking point, I was not searching for answers, merely an escape.I sought refuge in the pavement, in the rhythm of my stride, fleeing from a solitude that suffocated me. Running was my only way to breathe, my sole means of not thinking. I sought nothing—and least of all, love. For who would dare, when the heart is so deeply wounded?And this is what this podcast is about: how sometimes, the darkest of hours are but the threshold to the brightest light. How, even when we believe ourselves alone, destiny is weaving a net of love and hope. For life is just that: a series of roads, often unexpected, that lead us home.Self-love as the KeyWe now reach the close of this first chapter of my story.In previous episodes, we spoke of the little girl who learnt to silence herself, of families fractured in silence, of the sorrows hidden behind a smile.We spoke of losses, of wounds, of mourning—of those very things we so often believe we shall not survive.And if you are listening to this, you too may have known that weight upon the chest, that sense that life itself grows too heavy.I will not romanticise pain: it hurts. It hurts profoundly.But let me tell you this: it is not the end of the story.Self-love is the key.And what does it mean to love oneself?It is not to look into the mirror and declare, “I am perfect,” for none of us are.It is to say: “With my scars, with my wrinkles, with my mistakes, with my stormy nights—I still deserve to be well.”It is rising when the body feels as heavy as stone.It is going to therapy even when one has no desire to speak.It is learning to ask for help, even when one has always been the one to hold everyone else.For here lies another truth: no one saves themselves alone.And though at times we think ourselves entirely solitary, there is always someone who can extend a hand.It might be a friend, a partner, a sibling, a therapist, a colleague.Sometimes it is someone wholly unexpected: a phrase, a hug, a message that reminds you that you still matter.In my case, that person was Pablo.He was the one who held me when I could no longer stand.And through that love, through that care, I learnt to care for myself.For when someone shows you that your life holds worth, you slowly begin to believe it too.And so, if you are listening, and you are passing through your own darkness, let me leave you with this message:You can come through.It is not swift, nor easy, nor linear.At times it is one step forward and two back.But every step counts.Every breath matters.Every day you choose to remain is a victory of its own.I read letters sent to mailto:vergaravanina@yahoo.com

    26 min
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I create these podcasts from the place that cost me the most to conquer: the pres And I say it just like that, without detours, because it took me nearly a lifetime to arrive here. I lived as the daughter forced to be the family’s support, the exemplary wife at the expense of myself, the judged and questioned mother. I became many things I never chose to be. And yet, each of those roles taught me what I did not want to repeat. I don’t say this with shame—I say it with my head held high. I am Vanina Vergara, born in Asunción, Paraguay. I have three children whom I love deeply...

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