These are my stories. My experiences. We each have our own stories, our own experiences. Experiences that explain our lives, communication problems. Problems that continue to follow us through our lives.
The CP Diary is where I continue to talk about my experiences. A place to talk about how I feel.
I grew up not knowing I was autistic, and not knowing that some of my struggles were connected to cerebral palsy. Living with undiagnosed autism shaped every part of my childhood and I return to this again and again.
For any child, living with autism or cerebral palsy without a diagnosis is incredibly difficult. Without answers, I was always out of step in school. I couldn’t keep up with coursework, I failed tests, and I struggled with end-of-year exams. Each failure reinforced the idea that I wasn’t good enough, when in reality, I was facing undiagnosed autism and cerebral palsy.
My end of year school reports confirmed what everyone already knew: I was a sweet child, I tried, but I was never good enough.
Daily life was full of miscommunications. Instructions didn’t land the way they were supposed to. I either answered the wrong question, or didn't get the question. I didn't understand humour or jokes, and would constantly look away when I was being spoken to when I was expected to make eye contact. In school, teachers were willing to pick up the slack with my school-work, but the trail from my parents went dead.
People became frustrated with me, because I looked normal, but my responses weren't. Their frustrations became part of my identity. Instead of knowing about autism, I absorbed the blame that I wasn't good enough. I grew up believing I was the problem.
When mum passed, my life changed. Her passing finally opened a door. But there was still silence. There were still no discussions, no acknowledgment of my disability, no support – only the expectation that I was to move forward, live my life, and fit in as though nothing was different. But what happened instead was trauma layered over trauma, until my childhood trauma began to surface; grief, isolation, and years of being unseen began to catch up. If trauma is there it doesn't leave. This is 'solely' about support.
Adulthood doesn't erase the misunderstandings or the the patterns. Misunderstandings continue to follow if you already have those. Without the language of autism, I carried others labels of me: difficult, awkward, and lazy. The scars of not being recognised run deep, as those continued, they continued to shape how I saw myself.
It has taken me a long time to re-frame my experiences. To look back and see that what felt like failure, wasn't my failure. The problem wasn't me, but others' expectations of me. Autism shapes how we experience the world – there is struggle and strength in that.
I don’t know how I made it through. For years, I carried the weight of silence, and only now – by telling the truth about childhood trauma and neglect – do I begin to heal. Writing has become my way of processing trauma and neglect, of turning pain into survival, and survival into courage.
As a child, I knew I hadn’t made it off the starting line in school. That much was obvious. But I didn’t know why. I put the blame on myself. I thought my struggle was just me. And all the while, the people who should have fought for me – my parents – stood by and did nothing.
That is what still makes me angry. Angry that my struggles in education were ignored. Angry that no one stepped in to say, This child deserves help. This child matters. Because that’s the one job adults have: to protect children, to fight for them when they cannot fight for themselves.
Too many children today are still being left behind in school, written off, erased before they even begin. The issue has evolved, but the gaps, the exclusions, the invisibility are still there. This is not just educational failure – it is neglect. And it cannot continue. (Source: exploreeducation)
No child should grow up thinking they are stupid, failures, broken when it is family, the world that failed them. No child should carry that silence into adulthood.
For me, healing through writing is survival. It is how I reclaim my story, how I reframe the past, and how I use my voice to call for change. But naming what happened is not enough.
We must demand action. We must build schools, systems, that accommodate all children – and families that value children, see them, understand them, hear them, believe them, don't silence them and help them to thrive.
But it's worth remembering the truth will always prevail. And when survivors like me speak up about overcoming childhood neglect, the world must listen. This is a call to action: no child should be erased. We must do better, and we must begin now.
I don't know how I made it through. Telling the truth about it now helps me to heal. Writing gives me a way to process, to reframe the past, and to pass on a different story: one of survival, and courage, to understand that I needed to be seen to be valued, not erased.
