“Who Would I Be If My Body Got the Memo?”

People sometimes ask me, “Do you think you would be different if you didn’t have cerebral palsy?”

It’s an interesting question because I have absolutely no idea who that version of me would be. I’ve never known life without cerebral palsy. There was never a “before.” There was never a version of me who walked differently, moved differently, or didn’t have to think about how my body was going to accomplish something.

So yes, I’m sure I would be different.

Maybe I wouldn’t have spent so much of my life figuring out another way to do things that come naturally to other people. Maybe I wouldn’t know the frustration of my brain knowing exactly what it wants my body to do while my body decides to improvise. Maybe I wouldn’t understand quite as deeply what it feels like to be underestimated before I’ve even had the opportunity to prove myself.

But would the core of who I am be different?

I don’t think so.

I’d still have empathy. I’d still care deeply about people. I’d still believe that everyone deserves the opportunity to be seen for what they can do instead of immediately being judged by what they might struggle to do.

I’d still advocate.

I’d still teach.

I’d still want to inspire people to find their place, recognize their strengths, and understand that different does not mean incapable.

And I’d definitely still have my sense of humor. That part isn’t going anywhere.

Cerebral palsy has certainly influenced the way I see the world. When you spend your life adapting, you learn pretty quickly that there is rarely only one way to accomplish something. You learn to problem-solve. You learn to keep going. And sometimes you learn to laugh when your body has completely different plans than your brain.

It has also taught me something I wish more people understood: difficulty and inability are not the same thing.

Something can be incredibly difficult for me and still be possible.

I may accomplish something differently. It may take longer. It may require an adaptation nobody else has ever considered. But none of those things automatically mean I can't do it.

Would I have learned those lessons without cerebral palsy? Maybe. Life has plenty of ways of teaching us.

But cerebral palsy gave me my particular classroom.

It gave me experiences that shaped my perspective. It gave me a reason to challenge assumptions. It gave me stories that allow me to connect with other people who have ever felt different, overlooked, underestimated, or told what they supposedly couldn't do.

So if you ask me who I would be without cerebral palsy, I can't give you an answer.

That woman has never existed.

The woman who does exist has cerebral palsy. She shakes. She adapts. She struggles sometimes. She laughs a lot. She raises her kids, works, advocates, speaks up, dreams big, and continues figuring things out as she goes.

Cerebral palsy is undeniably part of my story.

But it isn't the author.

I am.