Jessica Sara
LeBrón
In weaving her love of running with her passion for teaching, and floral design, Jessica Sara LeBrón creates spaces that allow for self-growth, healing and joy.
Interviewed by
Photographed by
Jessica Sara LeBrón’s guiding force is to live a joyful life. She is a special education teacher, certified running coach, floral artist and founder of Golden Sol Florista.This is a conversation about family, grace and love. About perseverance and forgiveness to allow for healing, growth and self-compassion.
Growth, Freedom and Love.
Growth speaks to all the ebbs and flows of my life. A friend recently said I was in my third act, and I laughed and said, "More like my sixth." My growth isn't just personal — it's collective. I think of my siblings, my mom, and my daughter. Statistically, we weren't supposed to make it based on everything we have gone through, but here we are together, and thriving. It shows how we persevered through all of the difficult experiences we faced, both as a family and individually, and came out on the other side. It took us a long time to get here. It's beautiful to reflect on my growth, but it's also inspiring and empowering to see their growth as well.
Freedom shows up in every part of my life. The freedom to say yes to what feels right, and to say no without guilt. To choose work that aligns with my values and to prioritize my needs. I'm letting go of the pressure to do it all, giving myself grace and space to make mistakes and grow. I'm learning to trust my instincts, to stand in my own decisions, and to know that I don't have to rely so heavily on others. I'm also becoming more comfortable with solitude. It's not that I don't want a partner, I do. Right now though, I'm more focused on loving myself, learning what I need, and feeling at home in my body. There's freedom in knowing myself deeply.
And Love…I love being in my forties, feeling healthy, and doing things my younger self never imagined. I'm truly enjoying where I am in life. It's taken a lot of hard work to get here, coming back home to myself, learning that home lives in my heart. Every day I have a choice: dwell on the past or offer myself grace, accept where I am, and keep moving forward. As cliché as it may sound, it really is about choosing not to give up. It's about leaning into hope and love, starting with loving myself, being at peace in a way I never knew was possible. That love extends to others: my family, the kids I teach, even the ones who drive me a little crazy (laughs). Learning to give and receive love in all its forms has helped me become more open, more grounded. That reciprocity means everything to me.
I come from a big family, I'm the oldest of six. We were each born in different places: Pennsylvania, New York, Massachusetts, San Francisco, Puerto Rico, and eventually we settled down in the Lower East Side of New York City. Growing up was a mix of great times and really difficult ones. Since this is Chasing Sunshine, I'll do my best to keep it sunny
My mother endured so much in her life. She survived abuse and addiction and unfortunately, we saw a lot growing up we probably shouldn't have seen. Her life was full of painful and difficult moments and yet she instilled a lot in us — how to keep going, how to figure things out, how to endure, how to not give up. We learned that today could be the worst day of your life, but you keep going. You persevere. I don't know how she managed to take care of six kids with the salary she had back then, but she did it. Seeing her now, joyful, alive, and clean for over 25 years is really beautiful.
Our childhood was tough. My siblings and I were learning fundamental life skills all while trying to figure out how to survive in ways a child shouldn't have to. I had my daughter when I was 16, so I was caring for my siblings, my daughter, and my mom during the most pivotal years of my life. As siblings, we had to lean on others because the people who are meant to protect us didn't. That was hard. We didn't get to be children — we were navigating situations we weren't equipped for. We endured so much. And being that I was a teenage mom, everything we went through, my daughter experienced as well. In many ways, she's an extension of all of us; she grew up right alongside us.
All of these phases and experiences are all parts of who I am. I'm not ashamed of the things that happened in my past. I can be in any space and feel good about myself. They’ve allowed me to connect with people in a different way, especially kids. As a teacher, I work with students who have gone through real hardships, including different types of abuse. My role isn't just to teach, it's to create a safe, supportive environment where all of my students feel seen and protected. Being an educator means being of service — showing up, being present, and being mindful.
Sometimes I’m direct with some kids. I tell them, "People are going to be there to help you along the way, and you have to be willing to receive it, but ultimately no one is coming to save you but you. You have to want these things for yourself." It might sound harsh, but there's so much truth in it.
There are moments when I share parts of my own story so they know I've been there and I’ve done that and I’ve come out on the other side. I've had days so dark I couldn't see past them. Days where I thought, "I may not survive this day." When you're in that dark place, hearing someone talk about "tomorrow" feels irrelevant, it’s not guaranteed. I’m there to remind them that there is a tomorrow. Today might be the worst day of your life, but tomorrow is a new chance. You wake up, you try something new. You give yourself the space to feel, because when you don't, it sets you back further and doesn't allow you to move forward.
I'm proud of where I've come from and my culture as an Afro Latina. I’m realizing my life has made a difference to someone and I’m impacting my students' lives. Which reminds me of a funny story. One of my students once found a photo of me online in the projects, throwing up two peace signs with graffiti in the background and asked, "Ms. LeBrón, is this you?" I laughed and said, "Yeah, that's me. I was probably your age — 13 or 14. We can talk about it another time. Now go finish your research instead of researching me." (laughs)
It's hard to articulate but if there's one word, it's hope. When something bad happens in your life, you think it’s the worst thing that could ever happen to you. That it’s the most difficult part of your life. But then something worse happens — again and again. Standing where I am now, I know I can get through it.
One of the darkest moments of my life was watching my mom have a mental breakdown in front of me, and then not be mentally functional for years. My siblings and I were young, and we all had to figure out how we were going to survive. As the eldest, I took on a lot, making adult decisions not just for myself, but for my whole family — for my siblings, my mom, and my daughter.
To survive, I had to drop out of school, and so did two of my siblings. We didn't have a choice. We had to work. We had to figure out how to provide for ourselves, and how to make it to the next day, and the next day after that. That period was incredibly difficult because we didn't know what we were doing. But once we were able to find our footing, I went back to school and got my GED, and so did my other siblings.
Today, my siblings' careers span from social worker/entrepreneur, a project manager/entrepreneur, nurse, chef/entrepreneur and law enforcement.I don't know exactly how we made it through, but we did. We just had to keep going.
February is very difficult for me. It’s the month I was admitted to a psychiatric ward after experiencing deep depression and suicidal thoughts. It happened in 2021, but it still feels like it was yesterday. I didn’t want February to be defined by this, so I created the “28 Days of Joy” challenge on social media. It’s really helped to rewrite that story and to remind me that I’m not defined by that dark period in my life.
That was an incredibly difficult time for my family, especially for my daughter, and the pandemic only made it more complicated. I was placed in the wrong facility, under the highest level of security, and it wasn't safe. I was scared. You can't relax in a psych ward, there's no such thing. Luckily as a special education teacher, I work closely with psychiatrists and social workers everyday so that experience gave me the knowledge to advocate for myself. I knew, without question, that I had been placed in the wrong setting and that my family didn't support the decision. I would tell the staff there “I am 1,000% sure you have me in the wrong setting”. The hard part was that everyone in a psych ward thinks they've been placed in the wrong setting, so it was like, "Good luck, sis!" (laughs). I had to find humor to survive.
I had to. I think I cried for the first 24 hours I was in the mental ward. Jessenia, my roommate, kept coming in and out of the room turning the lights on and off — she was so sick of me crying. At one point, she walked in, and said in Spanish, "What you need to do is get up and stop crying. You need to get up and go take a shower, nothing is going to change." I just burst out laughing. I was like you know what, she's probably right.
That moment brought me back to myself. Jessenia was the best part of that place. I'm grateful for her. She was the comic relief I didn't know I needed — a grounding force in a space that felt anything but safe.
Finding the humor in things and being able to laugh is healing. I wish to God that experience never happened, but here we are laughing about it, finding the humor in all of it, and I feel like that helps a lot. I have to find some lightness in it, because if I don't, I'll fall into shame or embarrassment about what I went through and that's not going to help me move forward.
The word resilience drives me crazy.
I feel very disconnected to the word resilience. There's this expectation, that women, and especially Black women, that we're supposed to just deal with things, figure it out and champion through it, adapt and recover. Get the fuck out of here, like no. (laughs) To me, it feels like false positivity. Perseverance, though, that's different — it's a word I connect with. You get to choose how to move through these difficult moments. You let yourself feel the full spectrum of emotions, and then, step by step, you push forward.
"All of these phases and experiences are all parts of who I am. I'm not ashamed of the things that happened in my past. I can be in any space and feel good about myself. They’ve allowed me to connect with people in a different way…"
By allowing myself to feel. By being intentional in finding moments of joy. Even though it's hard to accept all the things that my daughter and I went through, I have learned that I have to give myself a lot of grace because if I don't I’ll spiral into a negative headspace. Grace is what grounds me.
All of the phases. To be loved by my daughter is the greatest gift. Motherhood has also allowed me to reflect on my own relationship with my mom. It's allowed me to give more grace to her and I pray that I'm granted the same grace from my daughter. I would love to erase a lot of experiences she went through during her childhood. But I can't. She was around people she shouldn't have been around and yet there's still so much love that radiates from her.
In this season of our relationship, I'm learning about parts of her childhood that were hard, things she never shared with me before, and how I wasn't the greatest mom. While it hurts to hear, I'm grateful that my daughter is communicating how she feels, that she's showing up for herself and not making herself small — it's important. My job now is to listen. To accept what she's saying. To give her space and say, "Thank you for sharing that with me. How can I be a better mother now? How can we move forward and create room for healing?"
My hope is that she could see me for who I am, that she could see I tried my best. That there is room for grace and forgiveness. I pray for our relationship, and I'm excited about how it continues to evolve.
Now that my daughter is 30, I look back at our life, and see that while there were a lot of things that went wrong, there were also meaningful experiences that contributed to who she is today.
She's seen me struggle, she's seen it all. I pray that I've taught her to be courageous, for her to find her own voice and I truly feel she has. She is one hell of a chef, she volunteers, and she gives her time and energy to others. She's deeply rooted in community in a way that exemplifies so much of who I am. I can see bits and pieces of myself in her.
She has grown into a woman who is loving, kind, and passionate — someone who can fully express who she is and be herself in any space. She's been through tremendous hardship, and yet she's remained soft and elegant. Watching her growth has been really amazing to see.
Running has been a lifeline, a conduit for change. It gave me my power back, rebuilt my self-esteem, and gave me the courage to leave abusive relationships. I started running when I turned 30—this was such a pivotal time in my life. I wanted to do something for me, and I thought "Alright this sounds crazy… but let me just start running" which eventually led to me running a marathon.
Through running, I found a whole community of people I love dearly—people who've become lifelong friends. We’re here having this conversation now, you and I, because of running. And then there are the people you only share one training cycle with and never speak to again and that's okay, too. You'll never forget me and I'll never forget you. We had that moment and life keeps going.
I'm 47 now so I've been running for almost 20 years. Each year of running has given me something and taught me so much about myself. I could talk for days about the life lessons running has given me. (laughs). I've seen my growth and I would say that running empowers me in a way that nothing else can. It teaches you to train your body, your mind, your will. If you can run 26.2 miles or an ultramarathon, you can do anything. Running has shown me I can try, even when it's hard. And if something's not working, it's also okay to let it go.
For as long as I can remember, I've always loved flowers. I've always felt a connection to them. When I was getting my GED at a program near the YMCA in the Upper East Side, I'd walk by the flower shops and wonder how I could get a job in one. At the time, I didn't even know the profession florist existed or that there were actual steps you could take to become one. I also never saw anyone that looked like me working in those shops so I just assumed it wasn't available to me. But I was always drawn to it.
As I got older, that love continued to grow. Whenever someone would ask me 'Jess, what would you like to be if you could do something else?' I'd always say 'Be a florist.' People were always surprised with my answer. Eventually, I decided to give it a shot. I started helping a friend who is a florist make bouquets. The first time I saw someone buy a bouquet that I made I thought, ‘maybe I really can be a florist’. So I started looking into floral programs. There were definitely times when I doubted myself — it felt crazy or too expensive, but I kept thinking, ‘Let me try’. Finally, I was able to do a summer intensive Floral Design program at the New York Botanical Garden.
I got my Floral Design certification and I was finally able to fulfill this dream. The program was expensive so I had to raise money to pay for it. I am so grateful to those who believed in me and helped make it happen. I got my Floral Design certification and I was finally able to fulfill this dream in 2021 when I founded Golden Sol Florista.
It feels really good when I get to create something. Usually after a project, I always have some extra flowers left over because you never know what might happen. I've already paid for them, and I'm not looking to make more money, so I love using what's left to make something for someone else and just give it away. That brings me so much joy.
Once, after an event, I was riding the subway with a bunch of flowers and I noticed a woman looking at me. Just before I got off at the next stop, I handed her a bouquet, just as the doors were closing and said, "Here you go." The look of surprise and joy on her face — these are the spontaneous moments I love.
Flowers have become part of my healing. It's a gift to be able to create something beautiful and share it with others. It’s brought me so much joy.
Staying connected to my body through movement whether it's running, yoga, or simply listening to what my body needs each day. I've also been learning to love myself and find peace within in a way I've never experienced before. Over the past few years, I've discovered that home isn't a place — it's in my heart. The more at home I feel in my own body, the better I feel overall.
Staying connected to young people is also essential to me because if you don't, you just become an old lady! (laughs) Kids are hilarious. I do feel like I’m doing God’s work as a teacher, in a way that I feel good about. As a teacher, one of my most important jobs is helping them become critical thinkers. I've been in situations where teaching felt incredibly difficult, moments when I questioned whether I was making any difference at all. But then, years later, a former student will reach out to tell me about the impact I had on their life.
By embracing all parts of who I am and surrounding myself with people who genuinely want to be part of my journey — people who truly see me. Being in nurturing relationships that support growth is both meaningful and impactful. There's something deeply nourishing when others recognize you, not always through words, but through the energy and connection between you. It's incredibly powerful.
Sharing what I know feels like a gift, and there's a beautiful reciprocity in creating, giving, receiving, and learning. As a florist, I get to create beauty and share joy with others. As a run coach, I help people work toward their goals — we become part of each other's journey to the finish line. As a teacher, I create safe, supportive environments where students can learn and grow into critical thinkers. Watching them move on to the next grade, then years later seeing them in their caps and gowns at graduation — you realize they made it, and you played a small part in that journey. I find that incredibly joyful.
These different roles help me bring more of myself into each day. They hold the parts of me that bring joy and carry me through whatever challenges come. All of it shapes who I am and allows me to keep discovering new aspects of myself. It fills me with hope and deep gratitude.
What I love about where I am right now is that all of the parts of me that I love — teaching, coaching, yoga, mindfulness, floral artistry — are finally coming together in harmony and are aligned.
My background as a special education teacher, combined with being a certified running coach, has allowed me to connect with kids outside of the classroom. I'm able to show them how individual sports like running can teach perseverance, how to push through things, and how to simply be with themselves. With running, I tell them, all you need is you. It doesn't matter if you're out there in jeans and Air Jordans, what matters is that you take what you learned and try it on your own, like, 'oh let me go try to do those drills Ms. LeBrón taught us'.
I've also brought floral programming into some of my schools, and the kids really love it. Some of them have said, "I've never received flowers before." It's beautiful to witness. Kids need more social experiences that they aren't used to. I love the current initiatives that get children into gardening. Our kids need their hands in the dirt—they need to learn how food grows. Honestly, so do adults. There's real value in teaching the art of growing and creating.
I'm in the process of getting my second master's of education, focused on social-emotional learning, mindfulness, and yoga. It ties directly into my life as a yoga practitioner and adds a holistic layer to everything I do. My dream is to one day be able to do something that brings this all together full-time. I don't know exactly what that looks like yet, but it feels like everything I've done and continue to do is leading me to the right place and that feels good. It feels surreal at times, but it feels like something is happening.
To continue healing, deepening my self-awareness, and finding joy in unexpected places. I want to keep discovering new layers of myself — there's always more to uncover. To stay connected to young people because they keep me grounded.
By being courageous — having the courage to believe in myself and trust that I can achieve what I set out to do. Having the courage to go against what people think about me, to push back against societal norms and defy the statistics that say I shouldn't succeed. Having the courage to believe I belong in spaces of greatness, to hold a vision and see it through — finishing my degrees and carrying out my dreams.
At the same time, I give myself grace when I fail. I'm not perfect, I don't try to be. I come with all my flaws, and that's okay. Giving myself grace throughout this journey has brought me to where I am in my life right now.
Picture yourself at your "finish line" whatever that looks like for you. Then start small. Those small steps build on each other, and before you know it, you'll start to see your own growth, your grace, and your patience showing up. You'll surprise yourself with how far you've come.
Look for hope and joy along the way. That bit of sunshine in the process, the breakthroughs, the connections, the small wins can carry you into the next phase of your life and help you get where you want to go. Don't give up. Hold on to that glimmer of hope and keep fighting for it. Believe in it, and most importantly, believe in yourself. You belong in your own story of greatness.