I’m Disabled And I’ve (Almost) Learned To Let Go Of Adulthood Milestones
Photo by Kelly Dawson
I was three when I took my first steps, an act reached with belated defiance. My mom likes to recall this event as if she observed the origin story of my steely stubbornness, in which my one-year-old brother’s wobbly will to stand sparked my own interest in doing the same. “As soon as you saw your younger brother take his first steps, there was a spark in your eye,” she told me. “It’s as if you were thinking, ‘Oh yeah? I can do that.’”
My parents were already figuring out why their second daughter had been missing the conventional milestones their firstborn had met as I began this surprising competition with our younger brother. I was diagnosed with cerebral palsy around this time — a brain injury that likely happened at birth, as it usually does, but became more apparent the more I fell behind. It wasn’t exactly clear what lay ahead. I might be able to walk, the doctors said, but I would probably need surgeries. They also recommended physical therapy and securing aids to help me move. The goal was to be “normal,” and I grew up feeling a responsibility to get as close to that as possible.
