Who I Am

There’s a difference between the things I am and the things I have.

I have a walker that I use to get around, I have knee-high braces that give me the support I need to walk, and I have cerebral palsy, a disability which impairs movement and makes completing every day tasks a challenge. I have all of these things, but I am none of these things.

I am a Gator. From the time I was little, I have bled orange and blue. Back home, I was known for wearing orange and blue every day, despite living in the heart of Bulldog country. I didn’t care that I received daily commentary on it, with people asking if it was laundry day and informing me that I should be wearing something else- anything else. I love UF, and that love has created memories I’ll hold onto forever and relationships I will always cherish. That’s who I am. I am not my disability.

I am a fighter. From the time I was born, I’ve had to fight for what I have. I fought to stay alive for thirty days in a Pensacola hospital as a newborn. I fought to prove doctors wrong when they told my parents I wouldn’t walk, I wouldn’t talk, I wouldn’t be the young woman I am today. I fought to get here, overcoming obstacles, breaking walls, and turning a deaf ear to the people who told me I couldn’t handle the University of Florida, and that it would be better for me to take classes online. I am the girl who has jumped hurdles and proved people wrong her entire life, and that will never change. That’s who I am. I am not my disability.

I am a storyteller. From the time I was little, I have poured my thoughts onto paper, creating new worlds and bringing to life ideas that once only existed in my mind. But a few years ago, I began telling a different story: my own. I began sharing about my CP and the struggles I face, and I began to see the power that comes with being honest. Sharing my story has opened doors and created relationships that will make my dreams a reality. But beyond that, it has allowed me to do something else: make a difference. I share my story to show others that nothing is impossible and even the greatest odds can be overcome. That is who I am. I am not my disability, and it does not define me.

The Power of My Hands

Physically, my hands aren’t strong. I struggle to pick up a penny with my left hand, and a therapist told me once my right hand is only half as strong as as the average eighteen year old.

When she initially told me, all I could think was that my parents were right: I had a lot of work to do. Once again, I felt as though my weaknesses had been brought to the forefront. But looking at it now, I can’t help but think that therapist was wrong.

My hands are the strongest part of my body. From them comes beauty in the form of prose and poetry; out of them pour my thoughts, my emotions, my fears, my dreams. They carry the key that fits the lock of my life. When I have a pen, anything is possible.

With a pen, I can create new worlds and bring ideas to life. I can bring people to tears and move their hearts in such a way that they feel compelled to put good into the world. I can create smiles, I can change someone’s day, I can form a connection between two people that otherwise never would have existed. Because of my writing, people have come into my life who mean the world to me and I’ve made memories I’ll cherish forever. Without the dynamic duo of my hands and my heart, my life experiences and the very person I am would be vastly different.

My hands might have physical weakness, but they are strong. They’re just strong in an unconventional way.

Sometimes I Wonder

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to walk independently. I wonder how it would feel to stand up straight without being overcome with fear, and what it would be like to take a step without being confined by the mold of plastic braces. I wonder, are tennis shoes comfortable?

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to take off running, whenever I want. How would it feel to have wind fly through my hair? Would it be exhilarating? Would I hate it? Would I feel like I was flying? Would I feel… free?

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be able to play sports. I live and breathe them- I wonder what it would feel like to be able to play. What would it be like, to run out of a tunnel surrounded by my teammates? What would it feel like to score the winning points in the final seconds of a game? What would it be like to be a part of something that means… everything to me?

Sometimes I wonder who I would be if I didn’t have cerebral palsy. Would I like the same things? Who would I be friends with? What experiences would I have? As much as I wonder and as much as I want to know the answer to those questions, the bottom line is this: without my disability, I wouldn’t be the same person. I wouldn’t have met the same people and I wouldn’t have done the same things. My disability has opened doors and given me experiences I otherwise never would have had, and it’s led me to people I love dearly and am beyond grateful for. Without my disability, I wouldn’t be… me.

Some People Come Into Our Lives: A Poem

I’m reposting this tonight out of gratitude for the amazing people in my life. I hope you enjoy.

Some people come into our lives,

And leave a mark

That can never be erased.

They touch our hearts

In a more profound way

Than we ever expected

Or imagined.

They come into our lives,

Unexpectedly,

Without warning,

And fill our days and minds,

With a light

That is pure

And golden

And beautiful.

Those people are rare,

Those people are special,

Those people are gifts

To be cherished

And held dear.

They come into our lives

And leave a mark

That can never be erased.

They touch our hearts

In such a profound way

That we

Are never the same.

Underestimated

Well. A week in and I’ve already missed two posting dates. That’s an auspicious start, isn’t it?

For tonight’s post, I thought I would share something I wrote about overcoming people’s perceptions of my cerebral palsy and consequently, the ability I have to do things. As you’ll be able to see, I don’t like being told I can’t do something. This is entitled “Underestimated.” Please let me know what you think in the comments!

I’m done with being underestimated.

I’m sick of people saying, “You can’t do this. You aren’t strong enough. You’re not ready.” For years, I have listened to this. For years I have been weak, and unable, and not what they want. Well, you know what?

I’m done.

I’m done with being told where to go, what to do, and how to do it. Let me make one thing clear:

I may have a disability, but I am not my disability.

Do you hear me?

I have cerebral palsy.

I have a walker.

I have braces.

But I am not those things.

I am strong.

I am the girl who endured three weeks in a hospital, who put up with needles, who was hit with a shock of pain every time she took a breath for days. I did that.

I am brave.

I am the girl who said, “I know it will hurt. Do it. It will be worth it.” I am the girl who stood in front of a crowd and poured out my heart. I am the girl who let go of my walker and stood, despite the fact that I was scared to death. I did that.

I am ambitious. I am the girl who let my walls down and showed him my heart. I am the girl who stood in front of a table and answered every single question they asked. I did that.

I did all of those things. I did them and I have accomplished the things I have because of who I am. Do you hear me? Those things happened because I am Robyn and because God is good, and for no other reason.

Oh. And one more thing. Don’t you dare tell me I don’t have what it takes to live my dreams. Don’t you dare say I’m better off stuck at home sitting behind a computer. Don’t you dare say I can’t do it. Because let me tell you one more thing I do: I prove people wrong.

She thought I couldn’t handle that day. I walked every step of that parade. I pushed through the pain and worked through the exhaustion. I did it.

She said I wouldn’t be walking for two months. I was back in my walker and getting around after three weeks. Despite the fact that it felt like knives were being pushed in my back and I could barely balance, I walked.

They thought I wouldn’t live. They told my parents I wasn’t going to make it and if I did, they said I wouldn’t talk, I wouldn’t walk, I wouldn’t think… they said I wouldn’t be what I am today, which is a strong, intelligent, beautiful young woman who has the potential to do whatever she wants to do.

If you only remember one thing I’ve said, remember this: I will live my dreams. Don’t you dare forget that.

Help Me to Keep My Eyes on You: A Poem

Lord,

As balls of stress form knots in my chest,

Help me to keep my eyes on You.

Help me to remember

That You are bigger than what I am feeling,

Help me to remember

That I am not a grade on a test,

And I am not the math problems I don’t understand.

 

No. No, I am Yours.

I am Your Child,

Created in Your image,

Created for Your purpose,

And You have me

Right in the palm of your Hands.

Even though the future is filled with unknowns,

And my journey

is full of unexpected twists and turns

May You be my Constant,

May I hold steadfast

To Your love and to the promises You have made.

Lord,

You have said that You go before me,

And everything works together for my good.

Lord,

Help me to trust You

And as the storm swirls around me and I wade into unknown waters,

Help me to keep my eyes on You.

What Blogging Means to Me as Someone with a Disability

I’ve never reblogged a post on here before, but I found so much truth in what Amelia wrote that I had to share this. She does an incredible job vocalizing what life is like for someone with cerebral palsy- a much better job than I do- and this post is no exception.

Like Amelia, I’ve always found writing to be an escape. Because when I write, the limitations I have don’t exist, if I don’t want them to. And for years, that’s exactly how I wrote stories. I would write a story using characters from my favorite books and then insert myself. The version of me I wrote about didn’t use a walker, didn’t have a disability, and could do whatever she wanted, without having to wonder how, exactly, she was going to do it. But then, in sixth grade, I came up with a storyline about a girl who has cerebral palsy, and how the love around her helps change the way she views herself. I didn’t start writing it until about a year later, and instantly, I was struck by how freeing it was to write about a girl who goes through exactly the same things I do. That story is still a work in progress, and writing it is still as cathartic now as it was then. My dream is to one day publish it, and share my character’s-and my- story with the world.

This blog is cathartic, too. It’s amazing to write a post about something I’m experiencing and get words of kindness, love, and support back. It’s comforting and encouraging, and I’m so grateful for each of you who read, like, and comment on my post. Thank you for embracing me with opening arms, and thank you for listening to my story.

Without further ado, here is Amelia’s post:

What Blogging Means to Me as Someone with a Disability

She Just Wants To Be Loved

She just wants to be loved.

She wants someone to come into her world and set it on fire with a flame that will make her glow, not burn. She wants to be with someone who understands her better than he understands himself; she wants someone who will hold her when she cries and be there for her whenever she needs him, whether it’s 3 PM or the middle of the night. She wants someone to share her secrets with and experience life with.

She longs to love. Her heart is overflowing with love; she longs to drown someone else in it. She’ll love him in a way he’s never been loved before; she’ll protect him, she’ll cherish him. He’ll never have to worry about being left alone or wonder if he’s enough, because when she loves, she grabs on and holds for dear life. She gives everything, regardless of whether the other person deserves it or not. She has to. It’s just the way she’s wired.

She just wants to be loved. She wants to be swept off her feet; she dreams of walking into a room and having him pull her into his arms. That’s what she wants: to be held, to be hugged, to be kissed, to be loved. That’s all. She just wants to be loved.

The Objects of My Past, Present, and Future

I’ve been blessed to have been accepted into a few schools, and yesterday, I applied for one of their honor’s programs. The prompt was:

“Imagine that you are traveling to a foreign country. Because you want to engage with the local population, you have packed three items to help you express who you are. One item should represent your past, one should represent your present, and one your future. Describe the three items you have chosen, and how they represent you. Which item would you present as a gift to those you meet and why?”

I thought I’d share my response with you…

If I were travelling to a foreign country and had to bring three items representing my past, present, and future, I would pack the bike I spent afternoons on as a child, the walker that grants me the gift of freedom, and the pink forearm crutches I’m learning to walk with. These items represent what I want to do in life: make a difference. These three items showcase the impact my cerebral palsy has had on my life, and they’re tangible reminders that it does not define me.

My bike represents awareness. The night I first sat on its leather seat and took a hold of its red handles was the night I became aware that my disability would force me to navigate life differently. Unlike the bike my sister rode, or the ones my friends cruised down the street on, this bike had three wheels. Its third wheel was a glaring reminder that I didn’t have the balance to use a regular one, but it also taught me that I could overcome the obstacles I was faced with. I spent hours on my bike, flying up and down the street. My bike represents awareness, and it reminds me that I can beat my disability.

My walker represents acceptance. For years, I hated it. I hated that it made me stand out and that it attracted stares from strangers whenever I went out in public. But in March of 2014, when I opened my school’s diversity program with a speech about how being different is beautiful, that changed. When my speech was received with resounding applause and a standing ovation, I saw my walker-and my disability- for what it was: a platform. Now, I accept that the battle I fight has given me a platform to inspire others and touch lives, and I want to use it. I want to use my challenges to uplift someone else; I want to tell my story to encourage others. My walker represents acceptance, and it reminds me that I should be proud of being unique, not ashamed.

My crutches represent perseverance. Right now, I can’t walk with them. I can stand with them on my own, but the instant I try to walk, I lose my balance and face plant. But come May, I’ll walk across the stage at graduation holding onto their handles, not my walker’s. I’m going to accomplish my goal; I’m going to fight through the difficulty and the pain that comes with using them and walk on my own. They represent the way I have and will continue to persevere through my disability, and they’re reminders that if you work hard and never give up, nothing is impossible.

If I had to pick one object to present as a gift to the people I met overseas, I would present my crutches. Not only do they symbolize perseverance, but for me, they represent the dreams I have yet to fulfill and the lives I have yet to touch. I’ve been able to do a lot of amazing things in my seventeen years, but this is just the beginning. I want to keep sharing my story and keep reaching out to others. My crutches are a reminder to keep dreaming impossible dreams, but more importantly, they’re a reminder that no mountain is so tall that it can’t be climbed.

Why I Write

In honor of today being National Writing Day, I thought I’d share why I write.

I write because I have to. For me, writing is as necessary as breathing. It’s how I process life; it’s how I handle the crazy, wild emotions that come with being a teenager. When I’m able to lay my thoughts and feelings on a page, the weight they once laid on my shoulders disintegrates. Writing allows me to breathe and gives me a way to heal.

I write because the characters within me deserve a voice. Since I was little, I’ve had characters and storylines dancing in my head, and when I was six years old I decided it was time to set them free. I wrote my first story about the friendship between two horses (I was little) and I haven’t looked back. For a time, I wrote stories using the characters from my favorite books, but now, my characters are all my own. Often, they- and the storylines I pen- are based off of my own life, and to me, there’s nothing better than turning a fragment of my life into fiction. Usually the inspiration comes from a situation I’ve been through or a person who has touched my heart, and on the occasions when it’s the former, I feel like I’ve put a message in a bottle: “You thought nothing of this, but I did. I appreciated it. I was touched. It meant more to me than you know, and I wanted to tell you that.”

I write to tell my story. In the past few years, I’ve realized just how powerful sharing my story can be, and if I’m ever asked to speak, I write out what I want to say. I feel like I make more sense when I write than when I talk, and I think I can leave a bigger impact on an audience if I’ve been able to write out what I’m saying beforehand. Sharing my story is a big part of why I’ve started blogging: because I want to show what life with cerebral palsy is really like, and also to show that while I may have a disability, I experience life the same way everyone else does.

I write to say things I otherwise wouldn’t be able to say otherwise. I can’t count how many times words have burned in the back of my throat, but fear has kept them in. To fight that fear, I pick up a pen and write every word I wish I could say in person. Then, I can say what I need to say without fear of what the other person will think, and more than once, doing that has given me the courage to actually say the words in person.

I write to overcome my limitations. When I write, I can walk, I can run, I can play sports, I can dance. When I write, anything my disability prevents me from doing is possible. I write to be free, and that freedom is unlike anything else.

 

Tell me: why do you write?