Cerebral palsy doesn’t just affect how I move—it affects how I feel.
Not in a way that’s always easy to explain, but in a way that is very real. Emotions don’t always come gently or at the “right” time. Sometimes they arrive all at once, spilling over before I have the chance to hold them back.
March has been a good month.
And also… a hard one.
I had the opportunity to step into a classroom I absolutely adored, filling in while they were between teachers. At first, it was day by day, then week by week. I didn’t know how long I would be there, so I just showed up and gave it everything I had.
And I loved it.
The students, the routines, the connection—it reminded me why I chose teaching in the first place. There’s something special about walking into a room where you feel like you belong, where what you do matters.
Now I know the original teacher will return in early April.
And while that’s how it should be, it doesn’t make it easier.
It’s hard to step away from something you love—especially when you didn’t realize how much it meant to you until it was almost over.
At the same time, my daughter came home for spring break.
That week was everything I needed—laughter, long conversations, just being together without rushing through life. Those moments feel ordinary when they’re happening, but the second they’re gone, you realize how much they meant.
When she left, I cried.
It hadn’t even been that long, but somehow it felt like an entire month had passed in just a few days.
That’s the thing about love—it stretches time when it’s here and speeds it up when it’s leaving.
In between all of that, I’ve been quietly dealing with a few illnesses. Nothing major, just enough to wear me down and remind me that even small things can feel big when your body is already working harder than most.
And then there’s the possibility of change I’m not ready for.
My sister and nephew may be moving far away in a few months. My nephew is like a son to me, and like a brother to Jason. The thought of that distance is hard to sit with. It’s another reminder that life keeps moving, whether we’re ready or not.
Cerebral palsy has a way of letting emotions slip out when you least expect it.
Tears come faster. Feelings sit closer to the surface. And sometimes, no matter how much you try to hold it together, your heart speaks first.
But maybe that’s not entirely a bad thing.
Maybe it just means I feel things deeply.
Maybe it means I don’t miss the moments that matter.
So right now, I’m taking it one breath at a time.
One day at a time.
Holding on to the good memories while I’m living them—and even after they pass.
Because if there’s one thing I’m learning, it’s this:
Even the hard emotions come from something beautiful. 💕
