ABOUT INDIGESTORIES
ABOUT INDIGESTORIES
Think of Indigestories like: Substack-meets-Patreon-meets-Only Fans- but if you were reading your bestie’s diary at the slumber party. Honestly, it would’ve been WAY easier to use these platforms. But- they support Trump + Israel, so I trashed those ideas. Here you’ll find photos that *might* get me flagged on IG for being too hot, intimate things that are too nuanced for a caption, and just genuine information you used to be able to find back when the internet was good and kids had attention spans longer than 10 seconds.
I’m passionate about leaving platforms that support pedos, and I’m also passionate about long form content as a salve to overstimulation. Read this slow. Take it in. Instead of scrolling mindlessly, tap into these stories to enjoy refreshing non-AI artistry. I’ll share more about my writing later in the blog, but for now, expect spanglish and irreverence for the king’s English. This would be a perfect place to paste in my bio, but nah. If you don’t know me, I want you to unearth who I am with time and effort, as we would IRL.
HOW TO USE THIS PLATFORM
HOW TO USE THIS PLATFORM
You get new posts on Wednesdays. They appear at the very top of the page. Oldest posts are farther down. IF YOU WANT TO START FROM BEGINNING TO END, in chronological order, then scroll all the way down and start with the first (paid) post. Aren’t blogs supposed to be free? Call me a rule breaker, bb. This is more than a blog, and depending on readership, will evolve in ways i have not yet imagined. Subscriptions are as low as one cup of coffee a month on purpose. So that subscribing feels like you’re indulging in a lil yummy something that gets you through the day easier. I love that for you.
Anyone, BIPOC or not can subscribe. All genders and GNC folks are welcome. There are NO REFUNDS for any reason, but you can easily unsubscribe at any time. Yes, I share relevant offerings, but NO this is not a space for promotion. This cozy space is intended to be a microphone for my voice, hence uplifting voices like mine simultaneously. If you love ancestral healing, indigenous matriarchy, native literature, música, poesía, arte and decolonization, then welcome to our lil corner of the internet. It’s cute here, get cozy. If you have questions you can email hi@indigemama.com. All images and content are original and copyrighted to Pānquetzani and Indigemama. I prohibit the use of my content for any AI purposes.
After a wild series of events, friends kept asking:
Is someone doing brujeria on you?
It’s a long story, beginning here, with a seemingly harmless visit to help a friend. The series of events that followed became progressively intense, escalating to near death. Get ready for a real-life cautionary tale…
Being in a group of bad-ass femmes who write is a blessing. I wonder what I’ll learn? I wonder what will move me? I wonder what skills my kin will help me develop? The writing never happened.
I never thought that I’d end up here. But no one is immune to the bite of institutionalized racism, patriarchy, and generational trauma.
I wrote this poem during that sliver of peace that every parent knows. It’s when your babies fall asleep and you tend to the last of the quehaceres. You’re alone, it’s quiet, and you can finally focus.
I don’t believe in small talk. If any of these questions apply to you, I dare you to answer them in 4 points
After a near-death experience, Pānquetzani opens the doors to INDIGESTORIES with a reflection on recovery, community care, and what it means to be held while healing. This first post is an intimate welcome into the stories, poetry, photos, and real-time reflections she’ll be sharing beyond las redes sociales.
After losing 75% of my blood volume, I dedicate everything I put in my mouth to deep nourishment.
Mujer, sit down. Are you sitting?
Yeah.
Okay hug yourself. That’s me. I’m hugging you right now, okay? I love you and--
BITCH YOU ALMOST FUCKING DIED.
My first three days home are a blur.
My injection site swells, tight and pulsing with pain.
Every joint from my fingertips up to the base of my skull feels like they’re about to explode.
You never want VIP treatment in the ER. That means you're bad. Real bad.
As the doctor re-tests my blood in disbelief, she remarks how she’s NEVER, in all of her years in the ER seen anyone walking and talking with a Hemoglobin of 3.
It’s my second year of getting diagnosed with fibroids.
Every few periods are randomly heavy. Although it feels “under control”, it takes me longer to recover.
I’m tired all the time now, and skip the gym while I’m bleeding.
It’s 2024. I’m bleeding and anemic.
I drive myself to the ER, texting my girls with updates.
Not only was I surviving. Besh…
I was lecturing, traveling, seeing clients, teaching, learning, meeting- all with a Hemoglobin OF THREE! A Hg of 5 is where many folks start to pass out and seize. Yes, I felt like shit everyday- but I love my kids, so I kept pushing. I love my work, so I kept pushing. I love moving my body, so I kept pushing.
I love my job. Teaching ancestral healing to a group of chingonx leaders sets my soul on fire.
I feel stronger after working on clients. Inspired by my team. I was born for this. ask anyone who’s known me as a child.
They’ll tell you I’ve always known: this life is for me. Being confined to my bed, I’ve asked myself.
I wrote this poem as soon as I got home from the hospital to help me integrate my near-death experience. Poetry has helped me through life since I was 12. It never lets me down. Grounding myself in my transience helps me feel grateful for life, no matter how hard it is- I’m alive. And that’s a blessing.
