Balancing Act Essay
The following essay first appeared on the CreateChange website.
I first wrote this essay a few years ago. Rereading it today, I realize that my words still ring true for me at 27, as much as they did at 22. I’m posting Balancing Act as a reminder that my story matters. And it is Still just beginning.
Balancing Act
by Carson Stanton
1 in 323 children in the United States has some form of Cerebral Palsy, CP for short. CP is a motor disability; it is the most common motor disability found in childhood. Over 70% of individuals diagnosed with CP have the spastic form, myself included. I have always been a little bit of a spaz, what can I say? Numbers and I have never been friends so enough about them. I’m more of an English nerd, so how about we just talk?
Words have always been important to who I am as a person. One of my earliest memories involves words. I was three and it was warm like it always is in Florida. The black asphalt was as bumpy as the tire treads on the borrowed wheelchair my tiny hand was learning how to control. As I drove around the empty parking lot trying my best to control the chair, I’d have to stop every few feet to read words that had been sprawled on the pavement in colorful chalk.
The words we say have power, and how we say them shapes us. I normally say I can’t walk, but that’s not entirely true. I can’t walk for long, and I certainly can’t walk unsupported, but I can walk. Growing up in my house, uttering the phrase, “I can’t” was way worse than any swear word I could have said. “Burden” is another bad word in my vocabulary and it’s been a harder one for me to shake as I move into adulthood. I’ve always felt trapped in the middle; my mind can either be my most powerful weapon or my worst enemy, waiting to strike me down with a fatal blow.
It’s uncommon for people who have my level of CP to have the mental capacity or intellect that I have. All throughout school I was praised for being special and I was told I was sure to accomplish great things. No pressure, right? Especially for someone who already struggles with anxiety. High school academics were especially challenging because I was expected to handle the same rigorous course load as my peers when it takes me about four times the amount of energy to do the most basic of tasks. Some of my schoolmates would treat me with fake kindness or talk down to me like I was a helpless toddler who needed to be coddled constantly. Luckily, I’ve always had a core group of friends who see me for exactly who I am. I’m not allowed to say the cursed swear words, “I can’t” around them either. However, as some of my friends had the luxury of moving away to explore new lives in college I’ve stayed here in my little bubble of Tampa Florida.
My bubble has been the same since October 1, 1998, the day I was born. I was supposed to be born in January, but I decided to come early. Maybe I knew I would always love the Autumn time of year? I’ve lived in the same area for the entirety of my 22 years. My elementary, middle, and high school are maybe 15 minutes apart, while the university I now attend is a 30 minute commute from my house, on a good day without much traffic. I love my bubble. I love my people. I don’t know who I would be without them, but at the same time my bubble has never felt so small and constricting. I would love to study abroad. I love to travel coupled with a bit of an obsession with the U.K. I blame that one on my first love, but that’s another story for another day. The problem at the moment, besides the whole world shutting down due to COVID, is that I would need a caregiver to travel with me to assist with daily living. My mom has firm roots planted here in Florida and she won’t budge; believe me, I’ve tried. Plus, it would be nice to branch away from her a little. She argues that I don’t need to put an entire ocean between us, but that’s for me to figure out. As for my friends? Well, they're all set on their own career paths. The curse of hanging out with ambitious people, I guess.
Now as I sit here at 22, writing this I’m more aware of the fact that my story is just beginning. I’m a self-published author. I’m a coffee addict and a concert junkie. I am 1 in 323. I have CP. I move around with a powered wheelchair, but there is so much more to my story. I’m a fangirl. I’m someone who loves endlessly. I’m a creator. I just might have to wait a little while longer for my bubble to expand. Until then I’ll continue rolling my way towards my B.A in English, one class at a time, and I’ll keep stringing words together. I hope my words will be able to help people. I’m just me and this is just the start of my story.
-Carson