WHAT TREMORS DON’T SAY ABOUT ME - PART II

Jan 23

This post builds on my previous piece about living with tremors. While Part One focused on what tremors look like from the outside, this chapter explores what’s actually happening inside the body—and why shaking doesn’t mean distraction, lack of control, or limitation.

Marina Forgue

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WHAT TREMORS DON’T SAY ABOUT ME - PART II

What I Feared Most About Being a Mom Became My Greatest Strength

The Art of Parenting Differently (and Beautifully) with CP”

〰️

The Art of Parenting Differently (and Beautifully) with CP” 〰️

But what I didn’t realize then is that the very thing I feared would hold me back would become one of my greatest strengths as a mother.

My daughters don’t see my differences the way I once feared they would. They don’t care that my hands tremor, that I walk differently, or that my body doesn’t always respond the way I want it to. To them, I’m just Mom.

When they ask me for help with tasks that require patience and precision—buttoning a shirt, tying their shoes, styling their hair—they wait. They don’t rush me or get frustrated. They’ve learned that love isn’t measured in speed, but in showing up and staying present.

They help me without hesitation and without being asked. You’ll see my 7-year-old daughter cutting my steak at a restaurant, or my 5-year-old carefully opening creamer cups, pouring them into my coffee, and stirring until it’s just right. Not because they have to—but because they want to.

They speak about my Cerebral Palsy with confidence and pride. “My mom has Cerebral Palsy. Her hands have tremors, but she can do anything she wants.” I know this because their teachers have shared how they educate their friends about “mommy’s different body.”

They ask questions when they see someone who looks different—not out of judgment, but out of curiosity and care. They want to understand how to treat others with respect and offer help when it’s needed. No assumptions. No fear. Just compassion.

What once felt like fear has transformed into purpose. My Cerebral Palsy hasn’t limited my ability to be a mother—it’s shaped the kind of mother I am. It has allowed me to raise daughters who lead with empathy, who understand patience, who respect differences, and who love without conditions.

And in teaching them how to navigate a world that doesn’t always understand differences, they’ve unknowingly taught me something too—that I was never lacking as a mother. I was always building something deeper.

Not in spite of my Cerebral Palsy… but because of it.

WHAT TREMORS DON’T SAY ABOUT ME - PART II

WHAT MY TREMORS DON’T SAY ABOUT ME - PART III

WHAT MY CEREBRAL PALSY TREMORS DON’T SAY ABOUT ME - PART I

What I Feared Most About Being a Mom Became My Greatest Strength

The Art of Parenting Differently (and Beautifully) with CP”

〰️

The Art of Parenting Differently (and Beautifully) with CP” 〰️ The Art of Parenting Differently (and Beautifully) with CP” 〰️

But what I didn’t realize then is that the very thing I feared would hold me back would become one of my greatest strengths as a mother.

My daughters don’t see my differences the way I once feared they would. They don’t care that my hands tremor, that I walk differently, or that my body doesn’t always respond the way I want it to. To them, I’m just Mom.

When they ask me for help with tasks that require patience and precision—buttoning a shirt, tying their shoes, styling their hair—they wait. They don’t rush me or get frustrated. They’ve learned that love isn’t measured in speed, but in showing up and staying present.

They help me without hesitation and without being asked. You’ll see my 7-year-old daughter cutting my steak at a restaurant, or my 5-year-old carefully opening creamer cups, pouring them into my coffee, and stirring until it’s just right. Not because they have to—but because they want to.

They speak about my Cerebral Palsy with confidence and pride. “My mom has Cerebral Palsy. Her hands have tremors, but she can do anything she wants.” I know this because their teachers have shared how they educate their friends about “mommy’s different body.”

They ask questions when they see someone who looks different—not out of judgment, but out of curiosity and care. They want to understand how to treat others with respect and offer help when it’s needed. No assumptions. No fear. Just compassion.

What once felt like fear has transformed into purpose. My Cerebral Palsy hasn’t limited my ability to be a mother—it’s shaped the kind of mother I am. It has allowed me to raise daughters who lead with empathy, who understand patience, who respect differences, and who love without conditions.

And in teaching them how to navigate a world that doesn’t always understand differences, they’ve unknowingly taught me something too—that I was never lacking as a mother. I was always building something deeper.

Not in spite of my Cerebral Palsy… but because of it.

The Art of Parenting Differently (and Beautifully) with CP” 〰️