It turned out that my Spanish-speaking self was more seemingly diffident. In Spanish, I did not have the ability to pluck the perfect word out of the great web of semantics, and, therefore, I seemed less assertive when I spoke. In English, on the other hand, I was a feminist, a woman who knew exactly what she wanted, and knew how to communicate that with precision. It was depressing that men who knew this side of me didn't seem to like it.
I was with my late husband for 32 years. After he died, I planned to melt into my sofa in a haze of dark chocolate gelato and Nicholas Sparks movies. I'd be the woman in the bourbon-stained bathrobe buying the giant, economy Bombay Sapphire gin and twelve Butterfingers at Bevmo. But I "got out there." Too much.