Discovering a disability later in life – especially one that shaped your childhood in ways you didn’t understand at the time – inevitably invites trauma. Looking back, I see so many challenges that were never named, never explained. I use writing as a tool for healing and growth. It isn’t easy, but it’s something I continue to rely on. This is where The CP Diary began.
Realising late that I had lived with a disability I was never told about – never supported in – still hurts and haunts me. The trauma didn’t just come from the disability itself, but from the neglect that surrounded it. No one stepped in. No one acknowledged it. That absence – from family, from society – is its own kind of wound. My life feels like a fraud at times, built on a version of myself that was never allowed to be fully understood. That’s the anger I live with. That’s the grief.
Coming to terms with any disability is a journey of self-discovery. For me, it has meant slowly piecing together the truth of my own life. It means reinterpreting my childhood and understanding how deeply those experiences shaped who I am. It’s not just about diagnosis – it’s about identity, loss, and the attempt to reclaim something that was never given.
Childhood trauma, especially when tied to unacknowledged needs or invisible disabilities, can have deep and lasting effects. When it goes unresolved, the fear, confusion, and helplessness of childhood follow us into adulthood. It makes us more vulnerable, more fragile – but also, for some of us, more determined.
I knew I was carrying trauma. That’s why, when I was finally diagnosed with cerebral palsy, I started The CP Diary. An acknowledgment, or an apology – any small act of recognition – would have changed so much. But even without it, I write. I write because trauma doesn’t vanish. And I don’t believe any of us are free of it. We all carry something. This is what I carry. And this is where my writing helps.
