Maria moved through the bustling market of Santa Fe, the familiar sights and sounds swirling around her, but she felt strangely distant. Vendors called out, children ran by, and her sister Valencia stayed close, trying to help with her newborn. But Maria, though surrounded by life and energy, felt herself slipping into a darker place. She had just given birth to her third child, and what should have been a time of joy felt impossibly heavy. Her husband, Manuel, worked tirelessly to provide for the family, but even his love seemed far away, out of reach.

At first, it was just a shadow—a fleeting figure that appeared at the edge of her vision, a woman in white. But as the days passed, this figure grew more vivid, lingering in Maria’s mind. Soon, people in the village began to notice Maria’s changes—the way she withdrew from them, her gaze always distant. They whispered, trying to make sense of what they saw. Santa Fe was a small town, and when someone began to struggle, rumors quickly followed. The story of La Llorona began to form in their minds—a woman who had lost her way, haunted by some invisible force.

As the weeks passed, Maria’s exhaustion deepened. She felt disconnected from her children, her family, her very self. Even Valencia’s comforting presence wasn’t enough to shake the creeping sense of failure and despair. Though Manuel was by her side, trying to support her, Maria’s sadness morphed into suspicion. It wasn’t just Manuel’s love that felt distant; in her delusions, she became convinced that he was having an affair—with Valencia. Her once trusted sister now appeared to be a rival in Maria’s tormented mind. Maria began lashing out at both of them, her anger fueled by the belief that they were conspiring against her, deepening her sense of betrayal and isolation. Manuel, who loved Maria deeply, was heartbroken. He saw the pain in her eyes but didn’t know how to reach her. Valencia, confused and hurt by Maria’s sudden shift in behavior, tried her best to remain by her side, but the accusations were sharp, and she too felt the sting of Maria’s distrust. Manuel and Valencia, once Maria’s strongest supports, were now caught in the crossfire of her spiraling thoughts.

While Manuel was consumed with trying to understand Maria’s sudden shift, her mother-in-law, Doña Celina, saw things differently. A proud matriarch, Doña Celina had raised her children with strength and discipline. To her, Maria’s struggles were a weakness, something that needed to be fixed with more willpower. She saw Maria’s exhaustion and sadness as signs of a failing spirit, one that wasn’t strong enough to bear the weight of motherhood. Her well-meaning but stern words only deepened Maria’s isolation. “You must be stronger, Maria,” she would say, “A mother cannot afford to fall apart.”

Meanwhile, Maria’s daughters, Jacinta and Malena, were confused and frightened by the darkness that had overtaken their mother. They didn’t understand why their once vibrant mother had changed so drastically. In their childlike innocence, they turned to the stories they’d heard—the tales of La Bruja who cast spells to bring misfortune. To them, their mother’s strange behavior could only be the work of some dark force, and they whispered to each other that La Bruja must have taken hold of her.

One evening, in a moment of sheer panic, Maria believed the unthinkable. She thought she had drowned her children in the bath, lost in a fog of grief and delusion. Her heart shattered under the weight of her guilt, convinced she had become the very woman the villagers were beginning to speak of in hushed tones—La Llorona, the weeping woman who wanders the earth, forever searching for her lost children. In her sorrow, Maria believed that her pain was real, that she was the embodiment of this tragic figure.

But this was not the end of Maria’s story.

In the midst of her breakdown, Valencia and Manuel refused to let her be swallowed by the darkness. Manuel, despite being hurt by Maria’s accusations, never abandoned her. Alongside Valencia and Doña Celina—who finally began to understand that Maria was not weak, but struggling under a burden far heavier than anyone could see—they reached out to her. Slowly, the veil of depression began to lift. Manuel’s steady love, even in the face of Maria’s sadness and misplaced accusations, became her anchor, pulling her back from the edge.

The villagers, however, were unaware of Maria’s internal battle. As her condition worsened, their whispered stories grew louder, more defined. They didn’t understand the depths of depression, didn’t have the words to describe what was happening to her. So they did what people often do in the face of fear and confusion—they turned to legend. The tale of La Llorona was born, shaped by their misunderstanding of Maria’s suffering. In their minds, Maria had been consumed by some supernatural force, wandering the riverbanks in sorrow, crying for children she hadn’t lost.

The truth was far more human, more painful. Maria’s suffering was real, not a myth. It was the silent weight of postpartum depression, a condition that so many women experience but so few talk about. Through the support of her family—Valencia’s care, Manuel’s unwavering love, and even Doña Celina’s eventual understanding—Maria found her way back to her children. The reconciliation that followed was filled with relief and healing. Maria realized that the horrors she believed had occurred were only in her mind, and her children, Jacinta and Malena, embraced her once again.

The final moments of Maria’s journey are filled with reconciliation. Doña Celina’s judgment softened as she recognized the depth of Maria’s struggle, and Jacinta and Malena, relieved that their mother had returned to them, no longer feared the influence of La Bruja. The family came together, healing and rebuilding after the storm.

In Ballet 5:8’s retelling of La Llorona, we explore not the myth, but the truth behind it—the story of survival, of mental health, of the power of family in the face of darkness. La Llorona is a reminder that no one should face their pain alone, and that sometimes, the greatest battles are the ones we fight within ourselves.