As a teenager, I remember overhearing a conversation between my parents, talking about my condition after my father had spoken with a family friend, who was a medical doctor with a severely disabled daughter who also had cerebral palsy and with whom my father would confide in from time to time. His friend was aware that my parents hadn’t told me about my disability.
I overheard my father talking to my mum, his friend having advised him when asked, that because my disability was mild, I didn’t need to be told about it. I now know that my fate was sealed for decades on the back of that conversation.
I have previously mentioned he told me that he didn’t want to know, when I asked why I wasn’t told about my disability. My father struggled mentally to come to terms with my disability. Him not telling me about my disability meant he didn’t have to think about, or deal with it.
At the time this conversation took place, I never made the connections, or really understood what was being said, because I didn’t know what I had and in my head I didn’t think I had a disability. I’m not sure why I’m thinking about it now, but I still go back to that perhaps this way is better.
What I am struggling with, is others playing god and judgments being made on my behalf and me living with the consequences of those judgments.