My name is Melissa Taylor, and for twenty-seven I have had cerebral palsy. Up until age, say, fourteen, I had physical therapy. Sometimes it was fun, but it was always hard work. When I was in college and working part time as a cashier, exercise didn’t fit into my schedule. Still, cerebral palsy dictated how many hours I could work, what I could lift, how far I could walk. Cerebral palsy meant needing a bagger at work at all times and other cashiers growing resentful because of it. I became acquainted with large exercise balls long before they were as popular as they are now. I guess I was ahead of my time! I hiked around campus with my backpack, using a fine mix of elevator and stairs.. I walked independently working at internships. Sometimes I required help with fine motor tasks. I walked around the store where I worked and I stood as a cashier. Walking was a major part of my identity. Cerebral palsy wasn’t so bad because I could walk, It was frustrating, yes, but I could get around by myself. I had this whole CP thing in the bag, I thought. As frustrating as it was, dealing with cerebral palsy came reflexively.
Honestly, I cannot recall the exact feeling in my legs. It was a kind of a tingling feeling and they became hard to move. I also lost my balance frequently. Sometimes I fell at work, in public. The biggest thing I lost was my confidence in walking independently.
I kept at it. The more I worked at it, the more I wanted new abilities. I asked myself Why not? But this is when I learned what no doctor ever told me: Keeping up abilities is a fulltime job, as I realized when I returned to graduate school and traded in exercise for internships, classes, and papers. I’d wake up early to stretch, and fall asleep on the floor. I’d come home from internship and nap. My bedtime was never later than ten o ‘clock.
Managing feelings also was a fulltime job. I had to keep positive about having my walker, that it was a helper, instead of an obstacle. Since I had to use it everyday, I had to feel good about it. This took an internal dialogue. This took strength to fight back my reflexive “I don’t exercise, I can’t walk well anymore and I’m not working hard enough.” There was never a good place to put it. It blocked the door, or the water fountain, or the phone.
Mostly though, I have a reasonable body image, thanks to my intelligence and personality. I built this early on in life because I don’t walk like a model, I can’t sit up without using my hands, so forget any crunches, and I worked hard to be where I am today. I don’t need to ruin that by complaining about my abs. I’m not that good at make-up because of my fine motor skills, because of this I didn’t start wearing make up until age 23. The first time I had to buy it for regular use I wanted to cry from immense over-stimulation. Hairstyle is another obstacle. My mother purchased me a hair appliance for Christmas because she thought it would make doing my hair easier. It turns out, the only thing that made my hair easier was having less of a length. That thing came with a DVD and could not be used with only one hand, as I thought. When first going to a dermatologist for the first time, I was terrified and I put it off, causing an intervention by my family. I didn’t want to be seen as ugly. It was embarrassing. And I didn’t want to seem as if I was a person in constant need of repair. My crooked teeth didn’t bother me as much as my mother’s did either. I guess I just would rather have, what I want, is to know that I am beautiful always. When one is born different, it takes humor, insight, and effort to maintain a good sense of self. This is a full time job.
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