Today we’d like to introduce you to Lili Ramirez.
Hi Lili, thanks for sharing your story with us. To start, maybe you can tell our readers some of your backstory.
I was born in Los Angeles to a Mexican father and a Colombian mother. My parents divorced when I was a baby and my mom moved us to Colombia, to raise us with the support of a big extended family. I grew up in a deeply spiritual and matriarchal home: women led the household, supported themselves, raised kids, laughed, prayed, and most importantly, had each other’s backs. That spirit of sisterhood left a lasting imprint on me.
At age seven, I returned to the U.S. and was thrust into a latchkey kid life with a single mom. The overnight shift was brutal for me. I felt uprooted, alone in my own head, like I was always on the outside looking in. And I felt ashamed of my story, even of my sadness. But through therapy, I came to see my childhood experience as a gift. It shaped me into someone adaptable, resourceful, and resilient. Someone who knows how to find her footing in the unfamiliar.
Those skills served me well over two decades working as a producer in the ad industry. Managing castings, shoots, VO recordings, etc all required the strong communication and connection skills I learned early on. I love the teamwork and collaboration at the heart of my job. These are values I saw modeled as a child and are ingrained in my being.
Today, I’m an Executive Producer in post-production at SuperBloom House, a company I’m proud to be part of. It’s full of genuinely brilliant, funny, and compassionate people—including several women at the helm. Watching women lead with creativity, humor, and heart feels like coming full circle—echoing the matriarchy I grew up in.
Another gift of my childhood was being raised in a land so steeped in magic and myth it felt like living inside a Gabriel García Márquez novel. That landscape—both physical and emotional—planted the seeds of my imagination. I wrote about it in Losing My Religion, a personal essay on my childhood and spiritual evolution – the story of losing myself in the wounding and then finding myself again in the healing process.
We all face challenges, but looking back would you describe it as a relatively smooth road?
My sister and I often reflect on how deeply grateful we are for the loving family we were born into. And yet, in my twenties and early thirties, I struggled with depression and anxiety. I felt broken.
When I began seeing a therapist, I realized I hadn’t faced the emotional wounds of my childhood. I carried deep anger and resentment, particularly around how my parents handled their divorce, the move to Colombia, and then our return home. My dad never visited us and his absence left a mark. Doing the work of forgiving my parents was a turning point. I came to see them as human and fallible and understood they did the best they could at the time with the tools they had. That understanding freed me to offer the same compassion and grace to myself.
I also went through a painful divorce about ten years ago. I realized we weren’t growing together despite all the therapy and confronting the issues; in fact, I started to feel like I was drowning in all the effort to save a partnership that wasn’t aligned. So I made the painful decision to leave. I lost a community I’d been part of for over ten years and disappointed people I loved. I felt like the “bad” one—but I knew I was listening to my intuition. That choice took courage, and it created space for a more soul-aligned love to enter. One where I feel safe to rest in my feminine, where I feel seen, desired, and am free to express myself fully.
Our struggles are often our greatest teachers. I’ve learned how vital it is to take up space, to honor your feelings and speak them aloud. And yes, sometimes people will leave as a result. But the right ones stay.
When we speak the truth aloud, an alchemical process begins. Things shift. Light enters the places where darkness once prevailed. Sometimes, those feelings that haunted us lose their power entirely.
Healing begins when we stop running and start integrating. When we bring our shadow feelings into consciousness, we become more whole-hearted, more rooted, more fully ourselves.
Alright, so let’s switch gears a bit and talk business. What should we know about your work?
I’m lucky and grateful to call myself both a producer and a writer.
During COVID, I stepped away from the grind and wrote a novel about a clairvoyant boy living in a fractured, brutal world of the not-so-distant future. He wishes to be invisible—but instead, a series of events bring powerful forces to his door. Some are allies. Others, far from it.
The story explores questions that feel deeply personal to me: What happens when we bury our shadow? How do we transform pain into growth? How do we learn to listen to our bodies, to trust our intuition? And what if the very things we’re ashamed of are actually gifts in disguise?
Writing has always been a lifeline for me. It’s how I make sense of the world, how I ground myself and give shape to what I feel. I’m a naturally reserved person—an Enneagram 9, the peacemaker. There have been many times in my life when I’ve wished I could be invisible. This novel feels like a small gift I’m offering to the world. And I mean that in the most humble sense—because I truly believe each of us carries something unique inside, something only we can give.
To discover that gift feels like the ultimate blessing.
To offer it feels like a sacred act.
My debut novel is called The Prophecy and the Thread. Set in a fractured Los Angeles in the year 2050, it follows two outcast teens who discover a sentient black hole, a buried prophecy, and a hidden force that could rewrite fate—or end the world.
I’ve edited the manuscript myself, and the next step is to hire a professional editor to bring it to its highest potential. Then, I’ll begin querying agents and submitting it for publication. Whatever happens, I am incredibly proud of this work.
We hear a lot about the Patriarchy, and rightly so: its oppressive effects are visible everywhere, from the overturning of Roe v. Wade to the current climate around women’s autonomy. But in my own life and art, I’m committed to something else: the health and power of the Matriarchy.
I create spaces with my friends that are supportive, resourceful, and real. I build characters who act from intuition and love—who don’t wait for permission from society. The women I write (and the ones I admire) are irreverent, joyful, loyal, resilient, wise, and kind. We’re not here to compete—we’re here to lift each other up.
A theme I return to often—both in my life and my writing—is what I call “the sacred triad”. To me this means our connection to ourselves, to the earth, and to the cosmos. Historically and currently, we exploit the earth and feel disconnected from it. Many of us have abandoned religion because it felt oppressive or hypocritical—but we’ve also abandoned the possibility of deep, personal connection with something greater. We’ve thrown out the whole system without exploring our own sacred channel to the divine.
But there’s another way. One-on-one connection with the Universe through meditation, prayer, stillness, even dreams. When that triad is awakened, something profound shifts. Synchronicities start to appear. You feel supported, grounded. You can handle what life throws at you. You begin to see others with more compassion—not as threats, but as reflections. Interconnectedness stops being a concept and becomes something you feel.
When the triad is broken, the result is often loneliness, depression, and disconnection. You start to believe the Universe is against you. “Why is this happening to me? Why me?” becomes the refrain.
I’ve been in both places—and I have deep compassion for anyone who feels stuck in the dark.
I write about identity, vulnerability, personal truth, and transformation. I’m drawn to magical realism, sci-fi and fantasy because they allow the imagination to run wild—no rules, no limits. But no matter the genre, I believe stories are portals. They open us to empathy. They help us remember that we’re not alone. My mission is to create art that inspires, connects, and opens our hearts to greater compassion and love.
Are there any important lessons you’ve learned that you can share with us?
Here is the most important lesson I’ve learned: pain that we don’t transmute, we transmit. Usually unconsciously, onto others or onto ourselves in ways that only deepen the wounds.
We all want to skip the grieving process because it’s uncomfortable. But confronting the grief is necessary. Many of us are grieving childhoods that ended too soon – we might feel sorrow that we didn’t get our emotional needs met as kids. We grieve jobs or relationships that didn’t turn out the way we’d hoped. Dreams that didn’t unfold as planned.
When those setbacks happen, we tend to run, self medicate and push down, groping for the next thing to make us feel better, to make us feel whole. But here’s the truth: don’t skip the grieving part. Grief allows us to heal. It reveals the meaning, the lessons, and helps us reintegrate those learning back into ourselves and level up in our evolution. The irony? Once we actually mourn—say it out loud, and ideally, have someone witness us and our grief—we can finally begin to let go. We stop identifying with the pain. We move on.
Invest in your your health, your friendships, your community. Surround yourself with people who build you up, who know your worth. People who show love in both words and actions.
I started this hiking group a while back called “Hikes with Friends.” We’d meet once a month on a trail somewhere around LA. Walk, talk, laugh, vent, and share good news. The whole spectrum. I’ve been meaning to revive that group. Because we need community now more than ever. We need hugs. We need someone to shout, “Good f*cking job! You rock.” We need humor. And above all, we need love.
Be that person for yourself. If it doesn’t come naturally, start small. A daily affirmation. A gentle journaling practice. A walk in nature. Even something as simple as a good night’s sleep is an act of self-love. And if talking to yourself kindly feels foreign—know that it’s a lifelong practice. And that’s okay.
Healing is a journey. We are constantly evolving. I believe in that saying, “We are spiritual beings having a human experience.” We’re all just human works in progress. Perfection is an illusion. It’s okay to feel confused, lost, or a little messed up. That’s part of being here.
Stay connected to your inner child and your future wise self. I keep a photo of myself at age nine in my office. I talk to her sometimes. Give her pep talks. She was so kind, so innocent, so loving. I can still feel her inside me—and I know she still needs attention. She wants to be heard. She needs to be seen.
The little actions you take each day are building the person you’re becoming. I work with a wonderful coach – shout out to Susan E. Morrison – and we do this visualization where I invite my future, wisest older self into the room – she’s sitting across from me. I share a current issue and ask her two questions: “What’s really important here?” And “What’s not?” You’d be amazed at the clarity and peace this simple practice can bring.
You are the writer of your story. You are the editor. You want to rewrite certain parts of your story? That’s not just okay—it’s healthy. It’s never too late. And most importantly, remember you are the hero. Let your imagination run wild. Dream up a story as brilliant and beautiful as you are.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.liliramirez.net/
- Instagram: @tigerliliram
- Facebook: lili.ramirez1
- LinkedIn: Lili Ramirez
