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Disability is a gift, and a curse

Disability is a gift, and a curse

Everyone has something they can’t hide. It might be an unsightly scar or an oddly placed freckle — or maybe it’s something you’ve kept to yourself for too long that the world needs to know.

It doesn’t have to be a secret. It doesn’t even have to be something you’re embarrassed by or ashamed of. It can simply be a piece of yourself that you don’t want others to mistake for something other than what you intended.

My cerebral palsy has been all of these things at some point in my life. It has served as my gift as well as my curse — the part of myself that’s never been a secret but the most difficult thing to hide. The one thing that has remained the same all my life, however, is the fact that having a disability is something I can’t change.

I can’t pretend like I don’t have it. Nor can I wave a magic wand to make it disappear, although I wish I could make it less apparent sometimes.

I’ve learned to accept it as a big part of my story and keep my complaints to a minimum. That’s not because it’s easy or gives me an excuse not to do something. It’s rather because I know I was dealt this set of cards for a reason.

That reason was to share my life with others in my own unique way. I always hoped to do something worthwhile with my life when I was younger, but now, I see the difference I can make by utilizing my circumstances in a manner that somehow benefits other people. As the years have gone by, I’ve been afforded that opportunity time and time again. Each time, however, I do everything I can to show the person on the other end that I’m ready, willing and worthy of accepting whatever olive branch that’s extended.

In that process, I hope people look past my wheelchair. I also hope that people see something other than the obvious — and know I’m trying my best to be the best version of myself that I can be. It’s a matter of not focusing on my cerebral palsy every moment of every day. As difficult as that is for me, it has taught me so many valuable lessons which I don’t think I could learn if I weren’t dealt this hand of cards.

I often wonder if people around me know what it’s like to sit in a wheelchair — or if they could contend with the lifestyle that comes with it. I ask myself that because I honestly don’t know any other lifestyle. It’s very hard to for me to imagine anyone getting used to this when they haven’t had to think or worry about it on a daily basis.

It’s admittedly a force of habit — something that I quietly catch myself doing more than I want to.

It’s something I wish I didn’t do because I have a life that I wouldn’t trade for all the riches in the world.

It does, however, help me realize there are people out there who don’t “see” my disability and don’t let it get in the way of their perception of me as a writer, friend or whatever else they view me as. That’s something I can never put a price on. I always treasure it because it’s so rare.

Most importantly, I’ll always make a point to thank those who genuinely accept me as I am — bold, passionate and sometimes a little crazy.

I don’t know how many minds I’ve changed or how many people I’ve reached over the years. I don’t know how many people I will reach 10 or 15 years from now.

I’m simply grateful for those who are willing to see beyond my shadow. If that’s you, thank you for continuing to help me reach for the stars!

Erin Kelly, 34, was born with cerebral palsy in Korea, and lives in Altoona. In addition to this column, she also writes for online publications The Huffington Post, The Good Men Project, Upworthy, and Real Talk Magazine. Email her at WriterWheels28@gmail.com.

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