I didn't know there were answers as a child. I lived with the unspoken. I spent time with my thoughts, quietly turning things over, trying to make sense of what I could physically see: little muscle tone on the left side, a leg shortening on the same side, and what I later learned was a foot drop, again on the left side.
I knew something was different. Not knowing shaped my childhood and that's how I continued to grow.
When no explanation exists, but a child physically sees their challenges, they don't stop asking questions. I spent years observing, comparing myself to others, trying to understand what I was seeing. I didn't know what that was – there were no conversations to help me make sense of what I could see, only my own observations.
It was isolating, heartbreaking, and, for the most part, quiet.
I was frustrated. I carried anger that had nowhere to go. Angry, because I could see I was different, but I didn't understand why I was presenting differently, and angry because no one was talking about what I had.
I relied on what I could see. I learned about my limitations because I was given no choice. I discovered my inner strength because I had to.
For decades, I had questions that remained unanswered. Now I see those questions were shaping the way I observed myself and my life.
Through research the answers eventually came, but they arrived long after my childhood had passed. When I look back, I don't just see a child in crisis waiting for answers. I see a child waiting – one who had silently given in because the emotional support wasn't there, and she knew it.
