My Disability Is Permanent. Your Assumptions Don’t Have to Be.

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“That must be terrible.”
“May Jesus heal you.”
“Can you get surgery to fix it?”
“I feel so bad for you.”

These responses, when I tell people about my Cerebral Palsy, almost make me want to dramatically stare into their eyes, cue the violin music, collapse into tears, and thank them for recognizing my apparently tragic existence.

Said me: absolutely never.

Because here’s the thing people often misunderstand about disability:
we do not spend every waking second mourning our lives.

We live in our disabilities every single day. We wake up in these bodies every morning. We navigate the stares, the barriers, the assumptions, the awkward comments, the unsolicited medical advice from someone’s cousin’s chiropractor… all of it.

So when we show up to work, become parents, lead teams, build careers, travel, advocate, laugh until we cry, and somehow still answer emails on three hours of sleep — we are not asking the world for pity.

We are asking the world to stop acting shocked that we are capable.

My Cerebral Palsy is part of my life.
It impacts how I move, how I do certain tasks, how tired I get, and sometimes how long it takes me to do things.

But it is not a tragedy.

Honestly, the real tragedy is how low society’s expectations can still be for people with disabilities.

People see the shaking before they see the strength.
The wheelchair before the wisdom.
The accommodation before the accomplishment.

And yet, disabled people continue to show up anyway.

Not because it’s inspirational.
Not because we’re trying to earn gold stars for existing.
But because we can.

We show up because our lives are still full lives.
Messy lives. Funny lives. Exhausting lives. Meaningful lives.

Sometimes accessibility looks profound.
Sometimes it looks like needing help carrying a plate at a buffet because balance and mashed potatoes are a dangerous combination.

Sometimes it looks like my kids buttoning my shirt while I’m teaching them independence at the exact same time.

And sometimes it simply looks like existing without needing everyone to feel sad about it.

Disability does not automatically equal suffering.
And accessibility is not pity.

Accessibility is understanding that people can do incredible things — just differently.