When I was in kindergarten, I remember being in a session with the school physical therapist and her asking if I wanted to tell my classmates about my mild cerebral palsy.
I said no. I didn’t want anyone to know my secret, one filled with so much misplaced shame that even when I was in therapy at age 24, whenever my therapist would bring it up, I would shut down, unable to move or speak for the rest of the session.
Thankfully, three years later, we’ve mostly worked through that. I grew up in the 1990s, long before social media existed. I was protected from having any sort of my childhood, especially my secret about my disability, put out into the world for everyone to see without my direct consent.
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