Now that you’ve read about some of the situations Cerebral Palsy has put me in (some hilarious, some frustrating, and some so absurd you’d think I made them up), it’s time to actually talk about CP itself. Consider this a crash course—Cerebral Palsy 101, taught by someone who’s had 30 something years of hands-on experience.

The Dramatic Entrance

I wasn’t exactly in a rush to get here, with a due date of April 1st. Or maybe I was, and I was just proving a point. Either way, when I was born, I wasn’t breathing. No movement, no crying—just a very quiet, very still newborn. For seven whole minutes, doctors worked to bring me back. And when they did, they told my parents to prepare for the worst. Well actually they told my dad, my mom wasn't in much better condition than I was.

The prediction? If I survived, I’d be severely disabled. They imagined a future where I’d be dependent on others for everything—where I wouldn’t walk, wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t live independently. They painted a life for me that I refused to accept.

Spoiler alert: They were wrong.

So, What Exactly Is Cerebral Palsy?

Cerebral Palsy (CP) is a neurological disorder that affects movement, muscle tone, and coordination. It happens when the brain doesn’t develop properly or is damaged before, during, or shortly after birth. In my case, those seven minutes without oxygen did the trick.

It’s important to know that CP is:

• A spectrum. Some people with CP need wheelchairs, others don’t. Some have speech difficulties, others don’t. It impacts everyone differently, which means assumptions are usually wrong.

• Not progressive. CP doesn’t get worse over time, though the effects of it might change as the body ages.

• Not curable, but manageable. There’s no magic pill for CP, but therapies, medical treatments, and stubborn determination help people navigate life with it.

How CP Effects Me

I like to say my brain and my muscles have communication issues—like when your phone won’t connect to Bluetooth, even though you just had it working five minutes ago. My body gets the message eventually, but sometimes it’s delayed, messy, or takes more effort than it should.

For me, Cerebral Palsy means:

• Muscle tightness (spasticity). My muscles don’t always like to listen. Some days they cooperate, and some days they’re about as easy to work with as a toddler on a sugar crash.

• Coordination challenges. My balance can be questionable at times, and walking across uneven ground is always an adventure. If you see me stumble, no, I haven’t been drinking—well, usually.

• Fatigue. Since my muscles have to work harder to do things most people don’t think twice about, I get tired faster. My body burns energy like a gas-guzzling truck with a leak in the tank.

• Occasional unintentional movements. Ever seen someone’s leg randomly twitch? Now imagine that, but it happens when you’re trying to do something important, like pour coffee or apply mascara.

What CP Doesn’t Mean

I’ve been dealing with assumptions about CP my entire life, so let’s bust a few myths right now:

• No, I don’t need your pity. I promise, I’m doing just fine. Save your concern for people who still use Internet Explorer.

• Yes, I am independent. I run a successful department at a marine and recreation business, raise kids, take care of animals, and own a boat, or 3. If I need help, I’ll ask—but chances are, I’ll figure it out myself first.

• No, I’m not “so inspirational” just for existing. If I inspire you because I’ve accomplished something cool, great. But if it’s just because I got out of bed and made a sandwich, lower your standards.

• Yes, I have a sense of humour about it. I have to. If I didn’t, I’d miss out on a lot of good material—like watching people panic when they realize they’ve said something ableist in front of me.

The Reality of Growing Up With CP

Having cerebral palsy meant I had to fight for everything—sometimes literally. As a kid, I went through physical therapy, doctor visits, and plenty of well-meaning but frustrating questions from people who didn’t quite “get it.” I learned early on that people either underestimate you or turn you into a walking inspiration meme.

Doctors didn’t expect much from me. Strangers assumed I couldn’t do things. But my parents? They didn’t let me sit in that mindset. They pushed me to try, to figure things out, to be as independent as possible. It wasn’t always easy, and yeah, there were plenty of moments of frustration, but it built the person I am today—someone who doesn’t back down just because things are a little harder.

Why This Matters

Cerebral Palsy has shaped my life, but it doesn’t define it. It’s just one part of who I am—like my sarcasm, my independence, and my ability to make people deeply uncomfortable by moving “too fast” in my own body.

I’ve spent years proving people wrong—whether it was doctors who underestimated me, strangers who assumed I was helpless, or the occasional stranger who thought I shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a boat.

Disability isn’t a tragedy. It’s just a different way of moving through the world. If you came here expecting a feel-good “overcoming adversity” story, you might be disappointed. I’m not here to inspire—I’m here to live my life, just like everyone else.

Stick around if you want to hear more about that.

Oh, and if you’re one of those people who gets weird about disability? Relax. I promise I’m not fragile—unless we’re talking about my patience when people underestimate me.