‘Who I Am’

Kessia Cericola’s first child died in her arms on April 22, 2016, three days after she was born. In a single moment, the legal career Cericola had worked so hard to rebuild after immigrating from Brazil didn’t matter.

“I died with her, everything about me just died. The strong lawyer persona, the way I dressed, the way I looked, my hair, everything about me felt like it was old and it didn’t work anymore,” Cericola says. “I struggled with PTSD and had suicidal thoughts.”

She entered counseling and took up yoga. A few months later, her yoga instructor introduced Cericola to Elizabeth Yassenoff, an attorney whose son had also died shortly after he was born. Cericola and Yassenoff both wanted to do something to support other women like themselves.

“It’s a taboo people don’t talk about,” Cericola says.

So a few months later, she and Yassenoff teamed up with another bereaved mother, trauma nurse Kerry Janidlo, and the three women launched Alive in My Heart. The central Ohio nonprofit connects grieving parents, offers community resources, and provides financial assistance for low-income families. It also hosts events and educates hospital and mental health professionals on how it feels to carry, and then lose, a baby. 

“Although it doesn’t take away from the fact that this tragedy happened, it’s very healing,” Cericola says. “And it’s a privilege to be able to support other families.”

Becoming a passionate advocate was nothing new for Cericola. Transplanted in 2009 from Brazil to the U.S. just as she was launching her legal career, she pretty much had to start over. The experience made her sensitive to the problems even well-educated immigrants face when they enter a new country.

Today she runs Columbus-based Cericola Legal Solutions, helping international business and professional clients navigate the U.S. legal system. It’s different from the future she imagined for herself at the beginning of her career.

The daughter of Christian missionaries, Cericola learned about community service while very young. Her father founded a rehab facility for homeless men and men facing alcohol and drug addiction in a poor section of their hometown of Mauá, São Paulo, and the family also lived in the compound. When it rained, the river next to the compound sometimes flooded. Cericola remembers looking out the window with her sisters and watching their father help other men protect their homes.

From her mother, she learned about the resilience of immigrants. Cericola’s maternal grandparents had migrated from Chile to Brazil when her mother was a teenager. Cericola says her mother’s college professors were less than understanding as she struggled to reframe her thoughts into an unfamiliar language. To help, Cericola sometimes proofread her mother’s essays as a child.

Though Cericola’s father never had a formal education, he loved to read. Seeing that his daughter was self-disciplined, ambitious and did well in school, he suggested she study law.

“My goal was one day to be the head of a legal department at a Fortune 500 company,” she says.

Cericola attended school at night and interned full-time in the legal department of Ford Motor Co. in São Paulo. She passed Brazil’s Bar exam and hoped to move into a staff position. Then a financial crisis hit, and car manufacturing came to a standstill.

International companies weren’t hiring, and Cericola moved to Columbus, where her U.S.-born husband had a job. It was tough on Cericola. 

“I didn’t have a work permit because my green card was still being processed,” she says. “I just cried every day.”

Determined to relaunch her career, Cericola went back to school and became the first Brazilian accepted into the LLM program at the Ohio State University’s Moritz College of Law. When she discovered that her Brazilian education didn’t align with Ohio’s standards for the Bar exam, she took the necessary extra postsecondary classes.

Even after receiving her license, Cericola faced more barriers. She wasn’t connected to the kinds of organizations that built careers, and when she interviewed for jobs at law firms, she was told her English wasn’t good enough.

But opportunities arose. Central Ohio business owners turned out to be very collaborative, and, over coffee, they offered Cericola tips. Columbus attorney Jim Lewis offered mentoring and guidance. He introduced her to a lawyer named Samir Dahman, who brought her into his solo law firm, where he practiced commercial litigation, business law and estate planning.

After 18 months, Cericola had learned a lot about managing a practice. Her volunteer work and referrals from friends had begun bringing her new clients, and she launched her own firm.

They’re mostly women- and immigrant-owned businesses, seeking permanent U.S. residency based on an employment connection or some sort of extraordinary background.

When they tell her she doesn’t sound or look like a lawyer, Cericola, who now has a 6-year-old daughter, Aliana, knows she’s won their trust.

“Most of my clients have something in common with me,” Cericola says. “It’s just how it worked for me.”