My Hidden Super Power: Sharing My CMN Journey So Far

I was born in Los Angeles to a very young couple. Both of my parents were 19 and were first-generation immigrants who arrived in America as toddlers. As soon as I was born, the doctors and nurses hurried me off to be tested. My parents were deeply worried. They did not know what questions to ask and blamed external forces that, in reality, had no bearing on my being born with CMN.

I have gone through seven cosmetic surgeries. Looking back, they weren't necessary. The doctors at Cedar Sinai in Los Angeles prioritized “aesthetic looking” skin, regardless of what surgery options were available to someone with a cape nevus. My mother, being so young with little guidance or experience on the matter, followed the doctors’ recommendations. I didn’t mind skipping school for the surgeries or getting special attention, but I hated not being able to sleep on my back. Seeing the stitches freaked me out. Despite explaining the reason for the surgeries, my sisters worried that I was sick or even going to die, and I felt horrible that they worried so much.

My oldest sister, Joa; my little sister, Viviana; and me around 2004.

My mother passed away six years ago from breast cancer and never got the chance to connect with other parents who had to navigate the uncertainty of a CMN diagnosis. I wish she had, as I know she felt alone in her motherhood. But my sisters have helped me immensely. I am the middle child of three girls, and we are incredibly close; sometimes it feels as if we are of one mind. If not for my sisters, I don't think I’d be the open, loving, strong person I am today. They have always made me feel seen and heard.

Today, I have a job I love. I am a photographer and videographer for a non-profit that works to educate youth about the importance of protecting our watersheds. I am a huge nature lover. I love living in the Pacific Northwest, where there is no shortage of flowers, insects, herbs, and fruits to learn about. I specialize in documentary film work and am considering pursuing a master's degree in sociology using filmmaking as my medium.

I’m still coming to terms with how alone I’ve been in my journey so far. I got used to it. As seen and heard, as my family makes me feel, I know they can’t relate to a CMN diagnosis. I imagine other people with CMN understand that feeling of missing out on closeness with others. But telling my CMN story makes me feel as though I’ve just come up to the surface for air after a long time underwater. I’m still taking the time I need to catch my breath. Finding Nevus Outreach has been amazing; reading Vol. 4 of The Dotted Line Magazine made me cry. 

There are days when I hide my CMN, when staring eyes can tire out my psyche easily. Some days, I don’t care. When I’m with my close friends and family, I’m braver. I’m lucky to have amazing friends who see the full me, CMN, and all. My CMN makes me unique; in some ways, it’s like a superpower, giving me everything from my positive mindset to my courage. My CMN has taught me never to judge a book by its cover, to have patience, and to remember that discomfort is temporary. A quote I’ve been loving recently is, “We don't face our fears, we ride’em. Yeehaw!” My CMN has given me so much, and I’m only 26.

Valentina on a mycological research trip in Mexico in 2025; Valentina, her mom, and her little sister; Valentina at the top of a mountain in Colombia in 2019; the sisters in 2021.

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