Curious Incidents of a Flailing Mermaid

Why I write: Maybe it's an impairment thing!

Two things have happened in recent days that have made me realise why I write. Well, actually one thing. But the second perpetuated my thoughts, in a way.

Many people, who know me or have read my blog, will already know that I am disabled. Ordinarily, my impairment doesn’t bother me. I quite like it really, it makes me interesting – it gives me stories to tell and gives others something to talk about. However, I think it often bothers other people, or perhaps confuses them. Oh well!

You see, I have Cerebral Palsy (CP) and, I think, if I’m completely honest, my impairment is quite severe. Or, at least, it should be. I feel very fortunate because, as a child, my parents were extremely encouraging and I am far more independent as the prognosis probably would have suggested.

So, obviously, my attitude to impairment and life is a positive one. I have no problem living life and doing whatever I want or need to achieve my goals. I’m not one to blow my own trumpet too much, but I’ve achieved a lot of my goals.

The trouble is, society. I feel people’s eyes on me all the time, sometimes watching in surprise as I do things they’d never expect someone like me to do. I am patronised nearly every day, and I am forever fighting the urge to shout, “I have two high class degrees for god sake, and technically my title is ‘Dr’!” But, of course I never do.

My day job is a public speaker. As someone with a speech impairment, I am fully aware of the irony of this. Its nerve racking at times, but once I get the audience on side, they will be able to understand every word. However, when I first arrive at the majority of jobs, I see the organisers looking confused as if to say, “who the hell did we book? How will this work?” Obviously, I’m good at my job, so their opinions always change by the time I leave.

So, what has this got to do with writing? Well, to start, I’ve always loved writing. I’m not bad at it, I don’t think. I was always happy writing essays and reports. Now, I love creative writing even more. I used to write loads of stories and poems, but stopped because I was told it was daft. I started again a few years ago, on and off, and more recently, I just can’t stop: I write something nearly every day, at least.

I spend a lot of time on WDC where I have made loads of friends from all over the word. They know and like me (I hope) simply through words on a screen. Many of them know about my impairment, but no one cares. They can’t see/hear it. I can make a new friend without needing to break down any barriers. If they like my work, they like the words. I do not need to prove that my impairment doesn’t affect my ability, because as longs as I can type and think the words go down.

Anyway, the other day I was writing Christmas cards to people on here, my lovely writing friends. Now, I may be able to write but my hand-writing is truly shocking. It’s not my fault, its an impairment thing. But as I was going through them, a thought occurred to me. I found myself thinking, “they’ll see a piece of the real me.” Don’t get me wrong; I’m not embarrassed about being disabled; far from it, as I said earlier. I just realised that it’s quite nice to hide behind words, sometimes. However, if I was that bothered the cards wouldn’t have gone out. This is merely an example that illustrates my point.

With words, I can fly freely without explanation or needing to convince anyone I can do the job. I just get on and do it. If people don’t like those words, that’s fine. But it’s going to be a personal preference, rather than because they’ve judged me before I’ve started.

The second thing didn’t so much make me realise anything I didn’t know, it just compounded the ‘Christmas card’ realisation. I was in Starbucks, where I queued for about a day, and when I ordered my coffee, I heard a woman behind me say, “wow! That’s brave!” She was talking about me ordering with a speech impairment, it was obvious – I wasn’t being paranoid, I swear. There was definitely an “if only you knew,” scream in my head.