Honoring the past, stepping into the future

Every time I take the Mulholland Pass, it’s a familiar and beautiful view. The green mountain pass, filled with traffic, somehow has a comforting, familiar feeling. Three months Post-Operation, and a lifetime of surgeries-- I find myself reflecting on this journey. In these final months of change, I was forced to face my ongoing fear of needles, rooted in recent health developments—a fear I had inevitably been avoiding due to my own medical traumas. Over a decade since my last craniofacial surgery, but this time, it felt different (Goldenhar Syndrome). With willingness, excitement, and without fear or expectation, I welcomed this experience. This time, there was empowerment. I felt calm, centered, and truly aligned in both my physical and mental health.The Westside of Los Angeles has always felt like home—familiar, safe, and healing. 

Growing up, the clinic felt sterile, and I often felt muted, shy, timid, and consumed with anxiety. I recall times when my parents had to take time off work, and we’d reschedule procedures because my anxiety consumed my ability to follow through. Memories of specialty dental work, hearing assessments, and therapy paved my journey. Despite my fears, I always had the love and support of my family, and that was what helped me navigate those challenging times. Summer and winter breaks were often allocated for surgeries to allow time for healing without missing class, and it became a routine—a symbol of my resilience.

Growth isn’t linear—one day, one decade at a time, we grow into the person we’re meant to be. These months have reminded me to embrace growth, face fear, and confront challenges head-on. It hasn’t always been easy. There were times when I was the sassy, scared little girl—unsure, anxious, and overwhelmed—but over the years, I’ve learned to lean into discomfort rather than run from it.

There were times when I had to endure challenges like having my jaw wired shut. The liquid diet felt confining, and the silence that came with it felt both isolating and oddly introspective. I couldn’t speak the way I once had, yet this experience taught me patience and resilience in ways I never expected. The discomfort of not being able to communicate freely made me more aware of my inner strength and deepened my appreciation for my body’s ability to adapt and heal. I’ve had skin tags removed, something I chose to let go of, much like the fears I once held onto. And then, there was the rib bone graft to my right mandible—one that broke and, miraculously, healed in a way even my doctor couldn’t fully explain. He called it a miracle, and in many ways, it was.

My partial hearing loss, too, brought its own lessons. The world felt quieter, and I had to learn to tune in differently, using my other senses to navigate the world. It was a shift in perspective—a reminder that sometimes we have to rely on more than what we can see or hear to connect with the world around us. It taught me to embrace the silence, to be patient with myself, and to adapt to changes I couldn't control.

And then, there was the heart murmur, which eventually closed on its own. This experience reminded me that some challenges resolve in their own time, often in ways we don’t expect. It was a reminder of the power of patience, and that healing is not always immediate but happens at its own pace.

Each of these experiences helped me lean into discomfort rather than shy away from it.

From the brunette days to the purple-haired rebellious punk rocker, to the sun-kissed California blonde, each of these phases has shaped my journey. They represent the evolution of who I am—a reflection of my transformation, both inside and out. These changes weren’t just about hair color; they were milestones in embracing my identity, navigating my challenges, and redefining myself at each stage of my life.I’ve learned to be resilient and adaptable. Learning to adjust and work hard are transitions I’ve mastered well. It’s shaped who I am and how I show up today. The self-care and foundational work I’ve invested in has given me the emotional bandwidth to embrace the process of growth. It hasn’t always been easy, but I’ve learned that growth and healing take time.

The support I received from friends during my formative years was nothing short of fundamental. Their unwavering belief in me helped shape the person I’ve become. It taught me the immense value of community—how simply showing up for someone, no matter where they are in their journey, can make all the difference. Their support continues to be a beacon, guiding me as I give back to others, especially those in need of support, within and beyond the craniofacial community.

I've also had the privilege of receiving supportive professional mentorship that has guided me throughout my career. This support created a foundation where I’ve been able to grow, take up space, and expand my work with confidence. The encouragement I’ve received — both personal and professional — has allowed me to step fully into my potential, and it’s a gift I carry with me every day.

Connecting personally with the craniofacial community has been a pivotal piece of the puzzle I never realized was missing. I've made genuine friendships rooted in shared experiences, vulnerability, and deep understanding. The relatability, the story-sharing, and the sense of belonging have been profoundly moving. There's something powerful about being in community with others who just get it — who speak the unspoken and offer support that feels like home.

Today, I stand tall and proud because I worked hard to become the person I am. I feel accepted because I’ve learned to accept myself. 

Now is the journey, and every step I have taken led me to where  I am today—each moment unfolding as part of my ongoing path toward growth and understanding.

With Love,

Vanessa Acero