Created by Rachel Maria Kisellus 🦋

When I was nineteen, I moved in with my aunt Sara in Corrales, New Mexico. She was cool and glamorous in her own way, and she was already carrying the weight of a life she had fought to build. She gave me a job in her salon ~ not just sweeping floors or folding towels, but a real place in her world, like a stem invited into bloom.

At first, I didn’t see the grind underneath her shine. I didn’t know how many storms she had weathered to open those doors, or how much she had sacrificed to keep them open. I only knew she trusted me enough to hand me scissors and clients, and eventually even more: She made me her partner.

With her, money came easily. The chairs stayed full, the cash was steady, and I felt, maybe for the first time, the stability and abundance that come from standing in soil someone else had already tilled. I thought, maybe this is just how work is supposed to feel ~ profitable, supportive, alive.

When we parted ways, I carried the skills, but not the same protection. I went into other jobs, other partnerships, but nothing ever felt fair again. The pay was smaller, the recognition thinner. I started to realize: The abundance I had with Sara wasn’t just about haircuts or business. It was about being rooted in the ground she had broken before me.

Looking back now, I see her differently. At nineteen, I thought she was simply successful. Now I know she was resilient ~ a woman who fought her way to a shop of her own, who bore what I didn’t yet understand, and who let me rise with her. I didn’t realize then how much she had carried just to hand me that chance.

Now she’s retired and happy. We both live in Florida, and while she no longer runs the salon, her presence in my life hasn’t faded. She is still that steady root in the field of my life ~ my mentor, my reminder that hard ground can open into wildflower bloom. 🌼

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