Defining Who I Am

There’s a lot about my life I wish I could change. I wish I didn’t sweat the small stuff so much. I wish I didn’t waste so much time worrying about what others thought of me and vying for the acceptance of my peers. I wish I had spent more time focusing on the positive and not the negative. I wish I had spent more time saying I love you and less time wallowing in self-pity and hatred.

The list goes on and on. But the fact is I can’t change the past and, unless you have a Flux Capacitor-equipped DeLorean like Michael J. Fox’s character in Back to the Future, neither can you.

I don’t mean to sound like a pessimist. I don’t hate my past or my life. In fact, there are a majority of details that I would never change. For one, I would not change the fact that I was born with cerebral palsy.

In many ways, my disability has made me rich. No, I don’t mean by way of money. I am a better person. I’ve learned to appreciate the simple things in life. I am surrounded by friends and family who love me. I have a wonderful husband and two beautiful girls. Love is what makes you rich, not money. (We will talk more about the concept of being rich in Chapter 25.)

The truth is, however, I didn’t come to terms with my disability and my past overnight. Growing up, I hated myself. Despite my relentless efforts to gain the acceptance of others, I was often ridiculed and picked on. There were many people who did not accept me and probably still don’t today. The difference is back then I thought I had to make everyone like me. But today, I know that it is impossible to satisfy everyone. And I’m O.K. with that because the only person I need to satisfy is me.

At 37, I am finally at peace with myself. But, again, this didn’t happen overnight. I went over a number of bumps along the way. But each bump helped to pave the way for the person that I am today.

Let me take you back to a time when I was 12 years old. It is the summer of 1977, a hot, muggy Saturday afternoon in Elizabeth, New Jersey. Lisa, my best friend, and I are walking to Petrillo’s, a popular neighborhood grocery store. We are eager to buy some ice cream in the hopes of cooling our hot, sweaty bodies.

The store is just three blocks away yet we feel like we will never reach our destination. The heat is so intense. We are both breathing heavily when we finally reach Petrillo’s on South Fifth Street. The air-conditioned store is comforting so we take our time picking out our ice cream and decide to treat ourselves to some candy as well.

As we walk outside, we immediately peel the paper off of our chocolate ice cream cones and stuff the Pop Rock candy in our pockets. We decide to take a different route home to buy ourselves more time to enjoy our ice cream. We reach the corner and turn right onto Third Avenue. Suddenly, I trip. I try to maintain my balance, but it’s too late. My unfinished ice cream is now on the ground and my left hand is scraped from the abrasive sidewalk.

Lisa takes this all in stride; she has seen me fall countless times before. “Are you O.K.?” she asked. “Do you want me to run back and buy you another ice cream cone?”

She is very good-hearted. She feels like it is her responsibility to take care of me.

“I’m fine, Lisa,” I quickly answered. “I was almost done with my ice cream anyway.”

Lisa knows I’m lying. But she doesn’t say a word. We were so involved with what was taken place that we didn’t notice a group of four girls sitting on the front steps two houses away. As I brush the remaining dirt from my jeans, I hear them laughing.

“Oh, poor baby, you dropped your ice cream,” said one of the older girls. “You fell down — ha, ha, ha.” I could smell trouble immediately. I turn to look at Lisa and suggest that we turn around and walk home in another direction. I’m pulling her right arm, but Lisa just stands there frozen glaring at all four girls at once.

“Well, no wonder you fell down,” another girl chanted. “You walk funny. What’s the matter with you? Are you stupid or something?”

I want to cry. I want to get out of there. But Lisa still won’t move. Her face is flushed with anger.

“Leave her alone,” Lisa yelled back tossing her ice cream onto the grass. “Just shut up!”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I truly appreciate what she’s doing for me. But Lisa is an underweight, scrawny 13-year old. She never seems to put on weight no matter how hard she tries

The girls make their way towards us. A girl, who looks to be about 15, stares at me briefly before focusing her attention on Lisa. “Are you going to make me shut up,” she asked in an authoritative voice as her friends looked on.”

I start to shake. I swallow air so hard my stomach hurts. I am sure Lisa must have lost her senses.

“Yeah, I’ll make you shut up,” Lisa screamed back. “Why don’t you dare me?” I should be defending Lisa but I remain speechless with my feet glued to the ground. I feel like a war will break out if I dare to move an inch. I look at Lisa in admiration as she stands her ground with clenched fists.

Only a few seconds pass but it feels like an eternity. The girl takes a quick look at her friends and then stares back at Lisa. “Forget it!” she retorted. “A little punk like you isn’t worth my time.” She then turns around and walks away while her friends follow.

Lisa and I can’t even come up with a response. We only look at each other in disbelief. We can’t believe that these girls backed down.

We walk home feeling like two prizefighters. I thank Lisa profusely all the way home. But she only shrugs it off. “Don’t mention it, Jo,” she said. “It’s no big deal.”

But it was a big deal. “Lisa, do I really walk funny?” I asked. She stops walking briefly and looks away from me wanting to choose her words carefully.

“No, they’re just stupid,” she finally answered.

I love her for trying to ease my pain, but I know the truth. I do walk funny. I don’t know much about my handicap, but I know it is called cerebral palsy.

There are several moments that I will never forget in my life and that day is one of them. Back then, I struggled with the fact that I was different. I wanted so much to be accepted by my peers that I could not accept who I was. Instead, I let others define me.

Today, I finally realize that it doesn’t matter what others think of me. Only I can define who I am.

In short, it’s all up to you. You can’t blame every little misfortune in your life on someone or something. If you can believe in your heart, you can make your dreams and aspirations a reality. You will lose the battle as soon as you start believing what either society or the circumstances in your life are telling you.

I may have been born with cerebral palsy and I may be hearing impaired, but it doesn’t matter. Because the circumstances of my birth do not define me, only I define me. And I choose to concentrate on my strengths rather than my weaknesses.

If you keep telling yourself that you are not good enough or that you will never make it, your mind starts to believe what you are saying. Your mind takes giant steps to reaffirm what you are thinking. Then you start to take action initiating your own downfall. In other words, you have a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Now, on the flip side, say you keep telling yourself that you are good enough. You truly believe in yourself. Guess what? Positive thoughts bring positive results. If you truly believe, you will envision. If you can envision, you can succeed.

You and only you control your destiny. Think about it; you are where you are today because of the choices you’ve made in the past. And they may not have been all the right choices, but that’s O.K. Every choice, good or bad, is made for a reason. I’ll be the first to admit that I have made a lot of mistakes in my life — many, many mistakes. But I’ve also learned many valuable lessons.

Life is constantly teaching us in one way or another. But what we learn depends on how we respond to a given situation. It’s not what happens to you in life that matters, but how you choose to respond.