Raising Them While They Lift Me

May 1

Parenting is often described as exhausting, beautiful, chaotic, and unpredictable.

Now add cerebral palsy to the mix… and congratulations—you’ve unlocked a version with bonus challenges, extended timelines, and a few unexpected plot twists.

I parent differently. Not worse. Not better. Just… with a little more creativity (and patience… from everyone involved).

Because some days look like this:

Taking a little longer to tie their shoes—and giving a gentle “stay still” speech that somehow turns into a full motivational talk
Cutting up strawberries like I’m in a high-stakes cooking competition… just at half the speed
Sitting while doing things other parents stand for—because my body and I are in what I like to call an ongoing “negotiation phase”

And honestly? My kids are thriving in it.

Not because I asked them to be patient—but because they don’t really have a choice.
Kidding… kind of.

Like when I’m doing their hair and it’s taking longer than expected, and they just sit there like,
“Yeah… this tracks.”

Or when we go to a buffet, and instead of me carrying their plate… they grab mine too like tiny, very underpaid assistants.

They button my shirts.
My oldest does my mascara (honestly, better than I ever could).

Not out of obligation—but out of love… and maybe a little “let’s speed this process up, Mom.”

And then there are the moments that really matter.

When another child makes a comment or tries to make fun of me, I don’t teach my daughters to clap back.

I teach them something better.

Because they’re just kids.

And my daughters get a choice in that moment:
They can judge… or they can teach.
They can react… or they can lead.

And watching them choose kindness? That’s the real win.

Parenting with CP doesn’t just shape how I raise my kids—it shapes who they’re becoming.

They’re learning:
That care goes both ways
That strength doesn’t always look strong—it sometimes looks soft, patient, and steady
That helping isn’t something you have to do—it’s something you get to do

They hug me when I wince in pain.
No questions, no hesitation—just love.

And sure, they may not fully understand it… but they understand me. And honestly, that’s enough.

And somewhere in all of this, I realized something:

I may be the one raising them…
But they are absolutely raising the bar.

So no—this doesn’t look like the parenting manual.

It’s a little slower.
A little messier.
A lot more creative.

But it’s also filled with empathy, resilience, teamwork… and really great mascara application.

And if you ask me?

That sounds like something better.

Marina Forgue

Raising Them While They Lift Me

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.

Raising Them While They Lift Me

When Your Heart, Life, and Body All Shift at Once

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” 〰️