This is Louda.
I didn’t always go by Louda.
Most people know me as Laura.
That’s how I introduce myself.
That’s the name that shows up in rooms, on paper, in conversations.
But Louda…
Louda sits different.
Louda is what a few people have always called me.
It started in high school.
A close friend of mine began saying my name in Spanish—Louda—the way my grandmother did.
And something about that stuck.
Not because it sounded different…
but because it felt different.
It felt like home.
Like heritage.
Like something rooted deeper than introduction.
Over time, a small circle adopted it.
That circle has shifted, naturally.
The people in it now are the ones who have seen me clearly—
not just who I am in a moment,
but who I’ve been becoming over time.
But Louda isn’t just a name.
It’s a realization.
And to this day, only a small handful of people call me Louda—
not because it’s widely known,
but because it stayed where it started… personal.
And I’ve never felt the need to make it more than that.
I grew up in leadership.
From the age of 16, I was already stepping into roles within the Hispanic Baptist Convention circles—serving, leading, showing up in ways that most people don’t see until much later in life.
By the time I reached young adulthood, I had carried titles, responsibilities, and expectations that shaped how others saw me…
and if I’m being honest—how I saw myself.
Then my dad became a pastor.
And just like that, I stepped into what many call “the glass house.”
Where everything is visible.
Everything is interpreted.
Everything is discussed—whether you’re part of the conversation or not.
I wrote about that season before—what it meant to live as a PK.
The pressure.
The assumptions.
The weight of navigating faith, leadership, and identity under constant observation.
And for a long time, I tried to find the “right” way to exist in it.
But here’s the truth I didn’t have language for back then:
I was never meant to blend in.
I’ve always been… disruptive.
Not for the sake of disruption—
but because I’ve never been able to sit comfortably with “good enough.”
I question things.
I challenge things.
I see gaps that others would rather ignore.
And that creates tension.
It always has.
And I’ve come to accept that it likely always will.
You’re either appreciated for it…
or you’re resisted because of it.
There’s rarely an in-between.
And for a long time, I wrestled with that.
Because when you grow up in environments where harmony is valued—
being the one who disrupts it doesn’t always feel like strength.
It feels like misalignment.
Time—and experience—have a way of clarifying things.
There was a season where everything shifted for me.
When my brother-in-law received a terminal diagnosis,
my focus became very clear.
Family.
Not in theory.
Not in words.
In presence.
I stepped away from ministry circles, from expectations, from roles I had once carried—and chose to be where I knew I was needed most.
And I remember asking myself:
What business do I have serving others… if I’m not serving my own family in their time of need?
That decision wasn’t understood by everyone.
There were assumptions.
There were conversations—just not with me.
But I had peace.
And I’ve learned that peace will teach you more about alignment
than approval ever will.
That season didn’t pull me away from my faith.
It made it my own.
Because when everything external quiets down—
titles, roles, expectations—
you’re left with what actually sustains you.
And for me, it wasn’t performance.
It wasn’t perception.
It was a deeply rooted, personal faith
that had nothing to prove to anyone else.
And somewhere along the way…
I stopped trying to make myself easier to understand.
That’s when Louda fully emerged.
Not as a nickname.
But as clarity.
As natural to me
as daughter,
sister,
wife,
aunt.
Louda is the part of me that:
doesn’t shrink to keep things comfortable
doesn’t settle for surface-level answers
doesn’t perform for acceptance
and doesn’t apologize for seeing things differently
Louda is rooted in where I come from—
my culture, my faith, my family.
But she’s also shaped by where I’ve been—
the pressure, the tension, the growth, the choosing.
And the truth is—
I’m not widely known as Louda.
It’s stayed with a small circle,
and that’s never felt like something I needed to change.
And if I’m being honest—
some may say this looks late.
But I chose quiet.
I chose private.
I protected my peace.
And part of why I’m choosing to write now—
is because over the last few years,
I’ve had more conversations than I can count
with people navigating the same tensions.
Different details.
Same weight.
And that stayed with me.
Because if what I’ve walked through
can help someone move with more clarity,
more confidence,
or even just a little less hesitation—
then the experience wasn’t in vain.
“Experience is learning from wisdom—preferably not your own.”
So this space—this writing, this expression—
this is Louda.
Not louder in volume.
Clearer in truth.
Grounded in faith.
Unapologetic in identity.
Still learning.
Still becoming.
Still moving forward.
— Louda
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