The grass isn’t always greener on the other side. You’ve probably heard this saying about jealousy, where there are two neighbors and they both think that the other has the greener grass. It probably sounds strange for me to say, though.
I’m more aware now of what I look like and who I am, especially in comparison to my sister. A twin. An aspiring writer. A swimmer and an animal lover and a thinker. But I see the physical side of it, too. Bigger-than-average feet. Skinny, long legs. A left foot that turns in, a left knee that bends toward my right leg, a left leg that drags behind. A right leg that overcompensates. Eyes, the same color as my sister’s, that drift apart, unlike hers. A visually similar face to my sister’s, but a limp that makes some people wonder, What went wrong?
And I finally have the answer. Nothing. Nothing went wrong. I am the way I am for a reason, and my sister is the way she is for a reason. Despite what others may think, despite the thought process that made my teacher ask, “Did your sister sit on you when you were in the womb? Is that why you are the way you are?” in a tone that implied I was wrong for being the way that I am, I’m content. I wouldn’t wish for my sister’s legs. Mine are frustrating sometimes, but they are a part of me.
Having cerebral palsy and anxiety and growing up with a twin sister who has neither isn’t always easy, though. I am glad that she doesn’t have to face the challenges that I do. If she did, it might help her understand me a bit more—but I wouldn’t want her to go through the mental, emotional, and physical pain. Because we are twins, people tend to compare us. Whether it’s intentional or not, it happens. It’s kind of natural at this point, but that doesn’t mean that it’s easy to get used to. I have anxiety (also known as generalized anxiety disorder) and I get in my own head too much. So when I do get compared with my sister, I always think that I compare unfavorably. A lot of that pattern of thinking has to do with my insecurities about having cerebral palsy.
Cerebral palsy means a lot of things for me, and it is also an example of a huge difference between me and my sister. I have CP, and she does not. As a result of CP, I am probably one of the most unathletic people you will ever meet. My balance is pretty bad, and I move slowly and carefully. I am hurting a lot, if not all, of the time. That has not stopped me from going to school, going horseback riding whenever I can, and swimming as much as possible (in the summer, because I don’t have a pool). That being said, I have never been able to do a team sport. My balance is unreliable, I move too slowly, and things like running aggravate my hips.
My sister started playing recreational soccer in the third grade, and has progressed to the point where she made the high school soccer team. It has been a very positive experience for her, and my family and I are so happy that she made the team and is doing well with soccer. Her teammates are so encouraging and nice, and my sister works well with them. They act like, well…a team.
It is no secret that I sometimes struggle with making friends and sharing common interests with others. After-school activities, aside from academic clubs like Beta Club and Battle of the Books, were never really a thing for me. Physical therapy and, when I was much younger, occupational and speech therapy, were the after-school activities I participated in. My sister has soccer practice two to three times a week now, and her games are every weekend. I go to support her, but I can’t help watching how her team interacts. It makes me wish I could be on a team like that, as happy as I am for my sister that she has something she loves.
It was and is still hard for me that my sister is an athlete, and I struggle with physical activity. Even when we were little, she started walking early on, and I began to walk at 2 ½. In school, she would run along with the other kids at recess and I would either watch or try to run, too, when I would fall down, unable to keep up.
I hate this side of myself, but at times I’m envious at how well my sister can run and do physical activities. When we were in elementary school PE, she would run past me with ease, earning an A in the class, while I received an F because I couldn’t run a mile in my AFOs (or leg braces). I would be grateful to be able to run for a long time. Running looks so freeing.
PE continues to be easier for my sister than it is for me, and that’s fine. I expect that. I have a physical disability. It’s just that comparisons between us are inevitable, and I feel like I fall short.
However, having CP has aided me in so many ways, and my sister doesn’t have that. She has performance anxiety. I hate that for her, because I know how frustrating anxiety is. One thing that my anxiety has not tampered with, though, is my love of performing. I have been poked with needles, endured countless doctor and therapy appointments, gone through a little over ten surgeries, placed in itchy casts, lost loved ones, and heard people’s opinions of my disability—when I have by no means asked for them. I have been called “crippled” and told that I am wrong for being the way I am. Accusations have been hurled at me for not looking the way that society thinks an individual with a disability should look. So no, performing in a theatre production or singing at a choir concert doesn’t scare me.
Although I don’t share my sister’s performing anxiety, I can definitely empathize with her. Anxiety stinks. If there can be a benefit to her having anxiety, it’s that I feel like she understands me better. She now knows what it’s like to have anxiety, although experiences with anxiety are not always the same, and gets that it’s no picnic or walk in the park.
Another advantage having CP has given me is that I know what it’s like to struggle. That may not sound like an advantage, and sometimes, it doesn’t feel like one. But every day, I have to get up knowing that there will be difficulties and pain. I struggled to walk and to write and to hold my fork. As a teenager, I’m still working on tying my shoes, a task that no one understands why it takes me half an hour to execute. It’s still hard to walk sometimes, and PE is difficult. I’ve been through occupational therapy, where I learned to write, and speech therapy, after which my stutter calmed down a lot and I can pronounce my “s” sounds. I still do physical therapy, where I know that every time, my therapist will have a new challenge for me. I also have sensory processing disorder, and I have to try to deal with the sounds I’m sensitive to. And having anxiety, I am constantly in a losing battle with my own mind.
My sister doesn’t have a disability. School, especially math, comes naturally to her, whereas I have to work pretty hard at math. We’ve both lost people we love, but my sister doesn’t struggle very often. So when something that is challenging to her comes along, she doesn’t know what to do. Things that don’t come easily to her frustrate her quickly. When she was having to condition in preparation for her soccer tryouts, she complained about how hard it was. I tried to assure her that she was doing great, but after a while of hearing about it, I told her that I probably wasn’t the right person to talk to about running and asked her to please consider who she was talking to. I felt like a bad person afterwards, because no matter what, I always try to be supportive. Jealousy or envy is not an emotion I like. But I just couldn’t take it anymore.
My sister doesn’t often encounter things that are difficult for her. She’s not used to struggling. If there’s one thing I can say, it’s that I have a lot of practice with perseverance.
As close as my sister and I are, we will never understand each other completely. That’s okay. We were meant to do different things in life. My sister is one of my advocates. She speaks up for me when I face people that are mean-spirited. She supports me when I’m having a hard time. And really, that’s all I can ask.
So, yes, my sister and I are twins. That doesn’t mean we will ever be the same. We weren’t supposed to be. My having cerebral palsy doesn’t necessarily mean that she’s better, just that we’re different. And no, in case you’re wondering—my sister did not sit on me when I was in the womb. That’s not how cerebral palsy works. And as much as my twin has influenced my life, she has nothing to do with why I have CP. Even though we’re different, and even though I’m sometimes frustrated with the things she’s able to do and I’m not—or the different experiences we have—we are sticking together. Because that’s what sisters do.
You might think that the fact that I have a disability and my sister does not would mean that I would trade with her, but I wouldn’t. I like the way I am, regardless of society’s opinion.
As you can see, the grass might have a greener tint from a different angle, but that doesn’t mean the grass is always greener on the other side.