That Mom With CP

Sometimes, I catch my reflection in a store window, the glass on the shower door, or the checkout cameras at the grocery store — and my stomach drops.

There it is: the limp, the sway, the way my toes catch or drag slightly. The way my body moves because of my cerebral palsy.

Even after all these years, there are moments I still think: I hate my walk. It looks so ugly.

It’s hard to admit, but it’s the truth. And navigating motherhood with CP doesn’t make it easier.

The world doesn’t always make space for difference — and somewhere along the way, I started to believe that my walk made me less. Less graceful. Less feminine. Less beautiful. Less worthy of being fully seen, or even acknowledged.

Less worthy of motherhood.

For so long, I’ve tried to shrink my movements, to “fix” the unfixable. I’ve scanned crowds to make sure no one’s watching. I’ve delayed moving as long as possible when meeting new people to avoid the look — you know the one. I’ve stayed quiet when people mimic or mock, even unintentionally. I’ve smiled politely through the awkward stares and questions.

But I’m tired of shrinking. And I’m tired of pretending CP devalues motherhood.

Because this walk — my walk — has carried me through more than most people will ever know.

It carried me through school hallways when I felt like I didn’t belong. When I felt invisible and the center of attention simultaneously.
It carried me down the aisle to the love of my life, who loves every part of me. Even when I question how he could look past the CP.
It carried me through every ache and joy of pregnancy.
It carried me through 2 a.m. feedings and long, sleepy days of contact naps.
It carries me now — as a mom of two — looking after little ones, singing lullabies, and picking up toys with a body that doesn’t always cooperate but never gives up.

Still, I’ll be honest with you: I don’t believe all of this every day.
I’m trying to.
I’m learning.
But right now, it still hurts.

And it’s okay if you’re still hurting, too.

My walk still feels ugly to me. It feels heavy. It feels like a constant reminder that I am different in a way that people don’t always understand or celebrate.

But here’s what I’m holding onto — even if I don’t fully believe it yet:

Just because I feel like my walk is ugly doesn’t mean it is.

My walk tells a story of survival. Of showing up. Of loving fiercely. Of raising two little girls who will grow up knowing that bodies come in many forms — and that all of them deserve love and kindness.

And while I may not see beauty in it yet, I know my daughters will. They will grow up seeing their mom’s walk as nothing short of heroic. That matters.

So I’m trying to shift the story in my head — from “you look weird” to “look what you’ve survived.” From “why can’t you just walk like everyone else?” to “your body carries you — and that’s enough.”

I don’t have to walk the way the world expects to walk with strength.

I don’t have to look effortless to be resilient.

And I certainly don’t have to feel shame over something that is, and always has been, a part of who I am.

To the mama out there who knows what it’s like to feel self-conscious about the way you move, I want you to hear this: there’s nothing wrong with your walk. Or your body. Or your pace.

What you may see as “too different” is exactly what makes you powerful.

You are that mom with CP. You are showing up — and that matters more than anything. And on the days when you can’t believe it for yourself — let me believe it for you.

Does this resonate with you? Are you tired of hating the way you walk? You’re not alone. Tell me more below.