My brother and I were born two months early. Although our due date was in early July, we were our mom's surprise birthday present on May 7th, 1998. The day my mom turned 28, a day she should've been celebrating with family and friends, she was panicking about whether or not her first children were born healthy babies. My brother was 2lbs, 14oz, and I was 3lbs, 2oz. I had a brain bleed at birth, which led to my development of cerebral palsy. There are many types of cerebral palsy, and it affects each individual differently, but for me, that meant learning to walk later than my brother (I was two), going to physical therapy on a weekly basis, and trying to live as a normal kid.
Growing up, I learned what I could and could not do pretty early on. Academically, I did well in school, but when it came time for gym class and recess, I tried to keep up with my peers, and the fact that I couldn't always do so became discouraging after a while. I tried to keep a good attitude and recognize what I was lucky to have in life (because I really am very lucky - cerebral palsy affects me in a very minor way compared to others), but it seemed that all that people would notice about me from the very beginning was my limp-like walk. One of the first things they asked me would be something along the lines of, "Oh, did you hurt your leg?" Don't get me wrong, they meant well. But knowing that I was trying to improve my flexibility and my gait and realizing that it wasn't visibly working made me so upset.
Cerebral palsy went from something that was simply a part of me to something I felt like I had to hide from people. From about fourth grade to end of middle school, it was something I struggled with. On top of the grossness that is middle school and the hormones that come with that, I was trying to deal with things that the adults in my life didn't have a straight answer for. How do you tell a fourteen-year-old to "deal with it" politely? I needed a quick fix, and the adults who I'd relied on to answer the unanswerable questions couldn't help me.
I was ashamed of it, but it was something I couldn't change. Looking back on it now, I regret all the time I wasted hiding it, instead of taking ownership of it. Now I realize I didn't need a quick fix, I needed to learn to be comfortable in my own skin. And I'm not completely there yet, and I can't tell you if I'll ever be, but I'm so much better than I used to be. I had to learn to focus on what I think of me, rather than what other people think of me. Cerebral palsy has allowed me to be a compassionate, sympathetic listener to other people. I pride myself on being the person my friends confide in. I am a person with cerebral palsy, and I am proud of that.
