Every three years or so Miguel and I have taken a just-us/no-kids vacation. We cherish this time together where we get to be just us, as a couple, away from the exhaustion of regular life. Last week, in Mexico with Miguel I found a certain stillness, a peace and acceptance of this incredible life I’ve been gifted. Reentry into our typical life though has not been nearly as smooth or successful.
My body image issues felt like a dirty dark secret and while I assumed that most people felt negatively about their body shape, I was also simultaneously ashamed that anyone would find out how I felt about mine. Because I had normalized my negative body thoughts, I had never addressed them. There’s nothing quite like sharing your writing publicly to force you finally do something.
For decades now I have struggled with body image and an urge to obsessively control that image. I haven’t talked much about this because honestly, my story is a dime a dozen. But with New Years’ resolutions, Miguel and I’s upcoming trip to Mexico and booking my author headshot photoshoot - my body has been on my mind a little more than usual lately and it’s growing harder for me not to obsess. So, as always, here is me being honest with you all and where I’m at.
It’s been three weeks since my last blog, yet I was still struggling with what to write about this week. Before going on hiatus I assumed that my first blog of the new year would be inspired by some holiday effected grief moment. But our Christmas and New Year’s celebrations lacked the emotional ferocity of years past. In fact, the holidays felt – dare I say it – normal.
It’s time for another episode of existential crises with Kelly Cervantes! This week I continue to wonder what/who do I want to be in this life? As it is apt to do, the end of the year has me re-evaluating every decision I have ever made and questioning if I’m doing all that I can/should be doing – for my family, career, personal health – you know, just… all of it.
I want to be clarify something after receiving several messages following the release of our “Day in the Life” documentary. Epilepsy sucks a whole freaking lot regardless of specific details. You or your loved one doesn’t have to have seizures every day, week, or month - or to have died from them. Someone with epilepsy can lead an outwardly ‘typical’ life: physically, emotionally, behaviorally, communicatively and the impact is still all-consuming and over-whelming. But my guest blogger this week, Carrie Buck says it much better than me.
On Monday, CURE Epilepsy will release a short documentary about a day in the life with Adelaide. It focuses mostly on an average morning in our home circa February 2018 – six months before I even started this blog. It is admittedly a challenging watch and includes Adelaide having a seizure, however I think it is important to share this life. To break through the apathy and lead with empathy. This was our normal, our so very not-normal normal - and remains a version of normal for 65 million people living with epilepsy worldwide and that will never be ok.
And just like that, the holiday season is upon us. No, our tree isn’t up quite yet (this pic is from last year). But if you were taking cues from my social media feed (or my bank account) you would assume that it’s been Black Friday for three weeks already. Alas, it is only just beginning. Thanksgiving is like a battering ram into the holiday season, leaving the barred door to our emotional reserves in splinters. This year, I’m going to try an unobtrusive knock on that door followed by a calm and peaceful enter.
“At BEST, adoption is a tragedy and not something to be celebrated.”
This was my first experience with an anti-adoption advocate. My gut reaction was instantly defensive. This eventually led to a Reddit rabbit hole and TikTok time suck about the adoptee experience and the ethics of adoption. This was not my first foray into understanding the long-term effects of adoption. But this was the first time I’d heard of adoption being considered altogether unethical.
One year ago this week, we learned that a family was breaking apart and that a little girl was in need of a home. Since then, among many other things, I have been learning how to cohabitate in the world we were introduced to with Adelaide and the one we are living in now with Strawbaby. And, well, it’s complicated.
An errant elbow to my back jolted me awake. Before adrenaline could rush to every extremity, I remembered bringing Strawbaby into our bed hours earlier after she’d woken from a nightmare. I not so secretly love having her in bed with Miguel and I. Jackson has never been one to ask to sleep in our bed and while I often slept in Adelaide’s bed with her, she rarely slept with us.
Well, I survived another year of the most difficult Adelaide anniversaries. It was a cumulatively exhausting week and I’m still recovering. Leading up to this hell week I had tried to remain open to any and all emotions: including being ok – and sometimes I was. Except for Monday. Monday was a shit show. Still, I remain in awe how each year these anniversaries hit me differently.
