I had a fall recently. It shook me, because I came to realise I hadn’t explained my disability to my youngest daughter.

I really hurt my right elow,, trying to land on the side that was holding my tea, so that I did not burn my little girl as I fell. Right on the elbow, it is still tender to touch days later.

In this cold weather, my weak-side left knee is turning in a lot and I risk tripping, not over my feet, but my knee, if you can imagine the absurdity of that.

The degree to which disability can alter our bodies to the norm is absurd. And the world at large tells you your disabled body is wrong and that medicine can work to correct and better it.

I am not, nor am I about to become a disability positive person. I am not ashamed to admit that I do not want this body. This body, my condition are not what I chose for my one and only life. Nor should I be shamed for that opinion. I know many people living with disabilities disagree with me, but there’s the thing. They disagree with me based on their experiences of their specific disability, not me or mine. We all have to own our own difficulties and disadvantages.

I am very committed to not lying or glossing over any of my realities with my daughters, because I want them to understand how people’s lives, bodies and self-view can alter.

As I walked Immy Squidge to school the other day, clutching her hand because she knows I am still anxious of falling again, she said: “Mummy, when I am older, I’m going to be a doctor. Then I can give you an injection every day so that you won’t have to be in pain for 24 hours.”

Oh my heart. “That sounds lovely Immy Squidge. It is rubbish to be in pain so much. But you know, even though my body doesn’t work its best, I have so many things to be grateful for, don’t I? My legs still walk. I have my two beautiful girls.”

Something in my brain clicked in that moment. I have always been so glad that my disabilities are not severe enough to take away my ability to walk or to speak and express myself. But beyond that, I have despised my body for not working right, for not looking right.

But….

my legs do walk. Wonkily. And sometimes they struggle. But they do walk, when it could have been so easy for that capability never to develop in my damaged brain.

This body carried my two girls. Despite the pain and trials and tribulations, it nurtured them, my life’s two greatest prizes to absolute perfection.

And….

Battered and still bruised as it was, hesitant to keep moving as best it could for fear of being hurt again, my body was still going, still doing its absolute best, when all it really wanted to do was hide under a blanket and be cared for.

For one of the first times in my life, I was able to think about my body with such compassion. Challenged every day and yet, it still managed so much, even through fear and pain, which was still very real.

So, for the first time, thank you my body. Though you may not be the size, shape, or as capable as I might like, I can finally see how damn reseilent you are. You are quite wonderful. Thank you for carrying me on, even when I didn’t believe in you. We’re on the same side now. I promise to do better by you. Because you are strong. I think I can be too.