March is a month where my voice gets a little louder… but my reality stays the same.
My Cerebral Palsy doesn’t magically disappear or ease—although wouldn’t that be something? If advocacy alone could lessen it, I’d be shouting from the tallest rooftops every single day and night.
Because when April comes, my body doesn’t reset.
My tremors still knock things from my hands.
My muscles still snap, crackle, and pop without warning.
The neuropathy still shows up—uninvited, but consistent.
What does change in March is volume.
My voice gets louder.
Our voices get louder.
But here’s the truth I carry with me long after the month ends:
Advocacy isn’t seasonal—it’s constant. Accessibility isn’t something we visit once a year—it’s something we build, push for, and demand every single day.
March may amplify the conversation.
But what we do after—how we continue to advocate, listen, and create space—is what truly shapes a more accessible future.
Because in my world, these conversations don’t stop at awareness—they continue at home.
My 7-year-old daughter, Amelia, is always asking questions about people who are “different.” And recently, she asked me one that stopped me in my tracks:
“Mom, if I had Cerebral Palsy like you, would that just feel normal to me?”
I told her, “Yes… because it would only be one small part of what makes you strong.”
She looked at me and said, without hesitation—
“Then you must be super strong.”
And just like that, she reminded me—and maybe all of us—
that what the world often labels as limitation… can look a lot like strength through the right eyes.
