Reflective, intimate, emotional, detailed

Fear has always been a quiet companion in my life. Some people meet fear like an opponent they can outrun. Others meet it like a wall that keeps them from taking another step. I’ve been both of those people. Living with cerebral palsy meant learning early that my life would come with challenges—and that each challenge would come with its own brand of fear.

I used to believe fear was something that happened to me. But looking back, I see that fear was also something I held tightly. It was familiar. Predictable. It felt safer to fear the unknown than to walk toward it.

The biggest fear I carried was one no one talked about. I was afraid of people who looked like me—people with cerebral palsy. I convinced myself that being around others with CP would somehow make mine worse. I didn’t realize that what I feared was seeing myself clearly.

That fear cost me years of connection, friendship, and belonging.

And then there were the school years—where my fear of not fitting in pushed me forward. I wanted so badly to be one of them, the “normal kids.” I tried to outrun my own body, my limitations, and the feeling that I was somehow on the outside looking in. But the truth is, the only person who feared me… was me.

It took time—years, really—to stop fearing my own reflection. To stop fearing the community that was always waiting for me with open arms. When I finally let myself be curious instead of afraid, I discovered something beautiful: I wasn’t alone. I had never been alone.

Now, I can look at fear with clearer eyes. It still shows up—it probably always will—but I no longer hand it the steering wheel. I know now that the fears we run from are often the ones we need to turn toward. Because on the other side of that fear is a part of ourselves waiting to be reclaimed.