I want to take you a little closer into my everyday reality—starting with something I’ve faced in more conversations than I can count: my inability to sit still. Ever.
Now imagine this.
You drink ten cups of coffee before an exam, a job interview, or a big athletic event. Your body is buzzing. Your nerves are firing. You. Cannot. Stop. Moving.
Now imagine feeling that way all the time—with no off switch, no pause button, and no moment of stillness.
That’s me.
My shaking hands/tremors can be mistaken for nerves.
A constantly moving body can look like restlessness.
An unsteady posture can be read as a lack of focus or seriousness.
But tremors aren’t a reaction. They are symptoms of a brain injury I had at birth—something I had no control over then, and live with every moment now.
In my case, cerebral palsy affects how my brain communicates with my body. The left side of my brain doesn’t control the right side of my body the way it should. The signals still travel—but not smoothly.
I often describe it like a drawbridge with missing planks. The message knows where it needs to go, but it has to jump gaps to get there. Those jumps show up as awkward movements, constant shifting, tremors, and sometimes deep, sudden breaths that sound like I’ve just run a mile.
So yes—I can be fully engaged, deeply listening, and completely committed while my hands shake, my legs move, my body shifts, or my breathing suddenly changes. None of that means my mind has wandered. If anything, it means my brain is working overtime.
Cerebral palsy makes simple things take more effort—sitting still, holding posture, regulating movement, even breathing evenly. But difficulty does not equal distraction. Movement does not equal disinterest.
Sometimes the body tells a louder story than the mind ever could. And sometimes, the person who looks the most unsettled is actually the most locked in.
