How Swinging Is Beneficial For Me

 Swinging being helpful might sound simplistic, but to me, it’s not. I have loved to swing since before I can remember. There’s just something special about being up in the air and knowing that you’ll come back down to earth again.

Swinging has always calmed me down. When I was little, it felt exhilarating. I could feel the sweep in my stomach, the seemingly lost control, and then I would be right back in my parents’ hands. 

I started walking later than most toddlers. Even so, swinging was a type of movement. Although my legs weren’t moving the way they were supposed to at the time, I still was able to swing with my parents’ help. My mom or dad would just plop me in the swing and I would be happy.

Eventually, I learned to walk, but I never could do as much with my legs as others my age. My sister started playing soccer. My friends played tennis or did ballet or dance. I had extracurricular activities, too, but it wasn’t the same.

It took me a while to get the hang of swimming (kicking my feet was difficult), but swimming soon gave me the same feeling as swinging—freedom. Around third grade, I started horseback riding on a sweet pony named Chino, which was a beautiful experience for me. I rode Chino for about 4 years, which I loved. Chino and I had a very special bond, but sadly he passed away in 2021. After Chino’s passing, I took a break from horseback riding.

I have continued to swim every summer in my swimming program for kids who have physical disabilities, Geaux Strong, and I do hydrotherapy. My point is, swinging and swimming both give me an amazing feeling of freedom in a world where the things I can do with my legs is limited. 

I learned to swing independently over quarantine due to the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020. I had a lot of spare time, and my mom (and physical therapist, over telehealth sessions) taught me how to use my legs to swing by myself. I actually learned how to swing in AFOs, which was challenging, as you can probably imagine, but it was so worth it.

After I had finished my schoolwork for the day during quarantine, I would go outside in my backyard and swing. I also found it so amazing to watch my legs and feet in the air. It was even more freeing to swing by myself than it had been when my parents pushed me. 

Swinging helped (and continues to help) me a lot with the “blah” feeling I battle often. Feeling “blah” is when I don’t feel sad, but I don’t necessarily feel happy—a little numb, in a way. Being outside and feeling the wind in my hair makes me feel refreshed again. Swinging, especially, reminds me of all that I am able to do and makes me happy. 

Even though CP complicated my swinging sometimes—it took me a while to swing independently, and as my hip pain continued to get worse, my dad had to switch out the swing—we always found a way around it. 

Swinging independently was something that my cerebral palsy could never take away from me.

…Until I had femoral osteotomy surgery in the summer of 2023.

My surgery brought me a lot of good things, but there were some things it took away as well. After my surgery, I had to relearn how to sit, walk, and I’m in the process of learning how to run in a way that works for me.

A few weeks after surgery, I sat on our swing and let my dad push me. I couldn’t tolerate it because it hurt my hips too badly, but I told myself I’d try again soon.

Several weeks later, my mom brought me outside with our dogs, and I sat on the swing and rocked myself back and forth with my right foot.

It was bittersweet for me. I had missed being outside with my dogs, and the “blah” feeling was made better by sitting on the swing. But I missed propelling myself on the swing—something I had worked so hard to be able to do. It may not seem like a big deal, but every physical thing I do does not come easy for me, so I treasure what I am able to accomplish. To experience a setback in my abilities (even temporarily) is really tough.

I started trying to push off from the ground to get myself higher in the air. My feet scuffed the ground. It didn’t work, and it didn’t give me the same feeling I had before surgery. I was disappointed. 

The summer I recovered from my femoral osteotomy was one of the most emotionally and physically draining experiences I have ever had. I needed something to give me the freedom I so desperately wanted, and swinging would have been ideal. I couldn’t swim for several weeks after surgery. My pain medicine made me loopy, so when I would have turned to writing as an outlet, I couldn’t. 

Swinging is such a beautiful and beneficial thing for me. It reminds me of the good things about my legs when I struggle to see it. Swinging lets me have freedom when I want to go somewhere else, even if I’m just in the air for a few seconds. Swinging makes me happy, and the value of that really can’t be measured. 

So yesterday, when I was feeling “blah”, I went outside to my backyard and sat on my swing. Our puppy, Pickle, sat under the swing and pushed her head into my hand as I rocked myself back and forth with my right foot. Maybe Pickle sensed I was feeling sad, or that I wanted something from swinging that it couldn’t give me, at least not right now. I don’t know what it was, but she sat with me under my swing for at least 10 minutes.

 My dad came outside and gave me a push. As the swing released and I felt the familiar, exhilarating swoop of my stomach, I didn’t feel “blah” anymore. (And yes, Pickle’s “dog therapy” helped.)

Sure, I can’t swing by myself right now. But I trust that will come with time. For now, I like my dad pushing me, like he did when I was little. I’ve changed a lot since then, but I still love the security of my parents behind me, their hands on the swing.

In the meantime, until I relearn how to swing, I’ll appreciate what my surgery gave me. I’ll appreciate Pickle’s face peeking up at me. I’ll appreciate my dad pushing me until I can swing independently again, because as I remind myself, it’s okay to need help sometimes.

 And I’ll appreciate the feeling of “flying” in the air, as my “blah” mood disappears. 

How I’m Aware of My Cerebral Palsy on National CP Awareness Day

 

I realized today, on National Cerebral Palsy Awareness Day, that this day is for both people who have CP and the people who don’t.

I am aware of cerebral palsy every day.

My CP is mild and nearly invisible, but that never makes it invisible to me.

I am aware of cerebral palsy in the way I move. Every step I take, it’s there, waiting for me to feel it. When I go from a sitting to standing position, my cerebral palsy moves right along with me. I can feel the spasticity in my muscles, reminding me that CP is my lifelong companion, like it or not.

And sometimes…I don’t like it.

I went to see my counselor today. Somehow, we were talking about cerebral palsy, and she said, “You know, I don’t think your disability is the most interesting thing about you.”

I said, “Thank you.”

She looked at me sadly. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me, “The only people who tell me ‘thank you’ for not thinking that something about them is interesting are people with disabilities.”

I sat quietly, letting that sink in for a second.

She continued, “If one of my clients is a lawyer and I tell her that I don’t think her job is the most interesting thing about her, she would be offended.” She looked me directly in the eyes and said: 

“You’re not offended, and that crushes my heart a little. Your disability is sometimes like a curse that hangs around you, and sometimes it’s all people see. I’m guessing you’re relieved that I don’t think your disability is the most interesting thing about you.”

I hadn’t ever thought of it like that before, but she was right. 

I admitted, “My CP is a blessing, but sometimes it feels more like a curse.”

There are times on my worst days when I wonder if I did something wrong in a past life to be given CP. I still have insecurities. Most days, though, I am able to tell myself that everything happens for a reason, and I was put on this Earth with cerebral palsy to help others.

Why am I saying this on Cerebral Palsy Awareness Day? I guess to make the point that I have lived with cerebral palsy my entire life, and while I am aware of it every day, I am not fully aware of its emotional impact on me. 

CP Awareness Day is just as much for those of us who live with CP as it is for the people who don’t. While it is important for us to remind people that cerebral palsy exists in different forms, it is just as important to be aware of our mental health surrounding CP. 

My counselor helped me see that while I celebrate Cerebral Palsy Awareness Day, maybe eventually I can embrace my cerebral palsy for all that it is. My CP helps me empathize with others and to understand who I want to spend my time with. Cerebral palsy can show me the beauty of humanity; sometimes I just have to be patient to see it.

I am slowly understanding awareness of my cerebral palsy, and it is my hope that I spread awareness through advocacy. I’m still working on being aware of CP within myself, and then I’ll try acceptance.

Wherever you are on your disability journey—whether someone you love has CP, you do, or you’re still trying to accept your cerebral palsy—happy National Cerebral Palsy Awareness Day. 💚

When I Was Called “Vegetable” and “Cripple” In The Hallway

 I will never be fast enough. I will never be “able-bodied” enough. I’ve accepted that. It’s time the rest of the world did, too.

I was walking in the hallway at my high school in a long line of people waiting to get in the door. I was trying to go as fast as I could, but that is not a very impressive speed. 

Two boys were behind me, and they were messing around while we were walking to the door. I didn’t want to be late to class, so I tried to increase my pace.

It wasn’t enough.

“Cripple,” I heard the boy behind me say.

“She’s like a vegetable,” the other boy laughed.

A vegetable is a person who is so severely impaired mentally or physically as to be largely incapable of conscious responses or activity. I do not have any intellectual disabilities. I am ranked third in my class of almost five hundred students. I am enrolled in honors and college classes. I do have cerebral palsy, but it does not define me, or make me a “cripple” or “vegetable”. I had tried to walk as fast as I possibly could. I’m just unable to pretend that I have no physical limitations.

And then I heard my friend’s voice. She inserted herself between me and the boys and told them off for what they had said. 

“That was him!” one of the boys blamed the other one. It didn’t matter to me who had said what; it was incredibly cruel either way. 

“You just keep walking, Ainsley,” my friend assured me. “I don’t see anyone ‘crippled’, do you?”

I shook my head, unsure what to say. My head was spinning, thinking of comebacks I would never utter, reasons why anyone would ever say these things to me.

The rest of the walk was a blur. My friend was beside me, which I was grateful for. “Thank you,” I told her. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” she said. “That was so incredibly rude.”

This experience taught me that for every hateful person in the world, there are so many kind people who do the right thing. My friends and family, and the people who love me, know my worth. They know that I am so much more than the way I walk. 

The rest of the world doesn’t matter.

As I walked to my next class, I was reeling. But in the end, I won’t remember who called me a “cripple” or “vegetable”.  I’ll remember how my friend was kind, instead of the people who were not. I’ll remember my friend, who stepped in and reminded me of what matters when I needed it most.