Not Disabled Enough

By Grace

I often find myself stuck in the middle, not really fitting into one group or another, and my disability is no expectation to this rule. For most of my life I’ve never really know how I fit in to the disability community, or even if there is a place for me at all. My disability is fairly mild which means that, as far as disabilities go, I am not actually all that disabled. Sure, my body doesn't work perfectly. But it works well enough. Well enough that I am not particularly limited in my day-to-day life. I can walk, talk, jump, run and do all of the things people need to do on an average day. I could fit into both the able-bodied communities, and as a result feel disconnected from both. 

The first time time I remember this conflict cropping up in a tangible manner was the sports I did as a kid. Being disabled, at least for me, was more difficult as a kid then it is now as a teenager on an emotional level. So much of what we do as kids is based in physical activity, which left me acutely aware of how I did not fit in with the other kids. Even if I was never overtly bullied or anything of that nature, I was still unintentionally excluded or at least never felt included. When I was a kid I played two sports: soccer and ballet. Soccer was a “normal” team with my able-bodied friends, on which I made a bit of a fool of myself. I was trying to play a sport that depended entirely upon my lower body with two messed up legs and two even more screwed up feet, so unsurprisingly it went poorly. I was constantly comparing myself to the other kids, and thinking about how I would never be able to do what they could. I felt like dead weight, and blamed myself for much of the team’s failure. But destructive thought processes aside, soccer served as reminder that I did not and could never fully be considered the same as every other able-bodied kid. 

Ballet, on the other hand, was a special dance class for disabled kids. It was basically just a way to trick kids into doing additional physical therapy, only this time we exercised to music and wore tutus. I realized after a few years that what we were doing was nothing like ballet, and we were actually just doing the same strength and balance exercises that I was doing weekly with my physical therapist. I was by far one of the most able kids in the class, which meant that I was stuck doing the same old activities that were too easy for me, although they were challenging for the others. I knew that I was different from the other kids in the class, and I felt uncomfortable. Ballet was a constant reminder of my disability, which at the time was something I was extremely self-conscious about.  The class reminded me that I was different and that I was not as capable as other kids. I eventually felt so out of place that I quit both teams. 

My way of fitting in in elementary school was to act in every way I could as if there was nothing wrong with me, and I was just like everyone else. All I wanted was to fit in, and to feel normal instead of feeling  ostracized and that I was different. Because in my case, being different means that  I am not able to do what most people can. This is objectively true in the sense that I can’t run as fast or jump as far, but I am still able to run and jump. I am coordinated enough to ski black diamonds and hike 4,000 feet down into the Grand Canyon and climb back up alive. I have known from a very young age that I am not like most disabled people, and I did not want to be lumped into a group that I am very different from, especially since that group has stigma and pity surrounding it. These days, while there is still some part self-conscious part of me that does not want to be seen as different, I mostly feel uncomfortable claiming a label when I do not face nearly as many difficulties in life as most others in the community. 

       
Recently, however, I have come to embrace the word “disabled” because cerebral palsy is a disability, and it does limit what I am capable of doing. As frustrating as it is to admit, I will never be a star athlete, or any type of athlete. However, I do have some control over how much my disability limits me. I can choose to push myself beyond what I believe my limits and see what happens. A year ago, I could never have imagined that I would hike 14 miles into the Grand Canyon with my gear on my back, and camp at the bottom. But I did it. And, better yet, I hiked down and up without plummeting to my death down a cliff.   

When I was younger I would hope and pray that someday doctors would develop a magical cure for my disability that would solve all of my problems. I thought that all I needed to live a happy and complete life was to be able to walk normally. Now, I realize that my disability is a part of me that I cannot deny, but it also does not define me. In addition to the numerous disadvantages of being disabled, I have found some pros too. I truly believe that being disabled has made me a more empathetic person, and has given me the ability to see people for more than their bodies and their appearances. By floating in the middle of things I have come to view the world in fewer dichotomies, and with more grey area. I try my hardest to view the world around me and the others in it in complex ways, and acknowledge the nuances present in people and our environment, just as I hope others do for me.