The Woman I Thought I'd Become

If you had asked 19-year-old me what I thought my life would look like at 26, I’d have had a long list of things I was certain I’d have achieved by now.

Paralympian. A clear career path. Highly regarded in the AAC field. Keeping up with the impossible standards I’d spent years chasing.

I’d just made my international debut for boccia and had been invited to speak at a conference organised by the man who invented Minspeak, the communication system I use. Things felt like they were heading in the right direction.

Then, four days before my 20th birthday, the world shut down.

Somewhere in the middle of the pandemic, my cerebral palsy also decided it had other plans. The years that followed brought one health problem after another, and my twenties slowly drifted further and further away from the life I’d imagined.

Six years later, I’m nowhere near where I expected to be.

I’m not a Paralympian. Yet.

But the dream is far from dead.

Six years ago, I wanted the title. Now, I think I’ll appreciate everything it took to get there just as much.

Most of the career goals I had have fallen apart, and I still have no idea what the fuck I’m doing most of the time.

Meanwhile, I watch friends buy houses, get married and have children, and wonder why my life doesn’t look like theirs. It’s hard not to compare your life to everyone else’s when they’re ticking off the milestones you always assumed you’d reach too.

I don’t even know if I’d have any of those things if my twenties had gone to plan.

Maybe I’d still be single.

Maybe I’d never have had children.

Maybe I still wouldn’t have bought a house.

But somewhere along the way, those milestones became the way I measured whether I was becoming an adult.

At the same time, my twenties have been filled with experiences I never could have imagined—some I wouldn’t wish on anyone, and others I wouldn’t trade for the world.

Like I’ve said previously, I’m incredibly fortunate to have a house to call my own (for now, at least), even if I don’t own it. I’ve been single for all of my twenties, so I’m unfortunately nowhere near the marriage part, and who knows about my ability to have children.

As the pandemic came to an end, I thought I was finally ready to get my life moving again.

I’d completed a couple of qualifications. After years of relying on full-time support, I’d reached the point where I only needed workers to drop in throughout the day. I enrolled at university. I had plans again.

For the first time in years, life felt... normal.

I wasn’t trying to do anything extraordinary anymore.

I was just trying to have the ordinary twenties I’d imagined.

Go to university. Build a career. Become more independent. Meet someone. Work out what adulthood looked like.

For a little while, it felt like I’d survived the disruption and was finally catching up.

Then my cerebral palsy had other plans.

Instead of spending my twenties chasing a Paralympic team or an impressive job title, I spent a significant part of them trying to keep my body functioning.

One health problem became another. My weeks filled with specialists, therapy and doctor’s appointments. Recovery replaced progress.

Eventually, it all led to brain surgery.

While my friends were finishing degrees and starting jobs, I was learning how to live with a neurostimulator.

By the time I finally came out the other side, my life looked nothing like the one I’d imagined at nineteen.

Once life settled down enough for me to think about something other than my health, I adopted my wonderful little girl, Winter. I know not everyone considers a dog a child, but to me, she absolutely is.

After playing around with more than a couple of careers, I eventually started building a business that I hope will one day give me the freedom I’ve always wanted.

Between a global pandemic, brain surgery, bringing Winter home and rebuilding my career more times than I can count, my twenties became nothing like the ones I’d imagined.

My life hasn’t stood still.

It hasn’t followed the path I expected.

Maybe that’s why I spend so much time feeling like I’m behind.

Not because I haven’t been moving forward, but because I keep measuring my life against a version of adulthood that never got the chance to exist.

Becoming an adult comes with a long list of goals, dreams and expectations.

Mine was written for a woman who no longer exists.

The goals haven’t all changed.

But the path to them has.

I’m still learning how to let go of the map I thought I’d be following.

I know, logically, that my twenties haven’t been wasted.

I know most people haven’t had to recover from brain surgery or rebuild a career from scratch more than once.

I know adopting Winter changed my life in ways I never expected.

I know I’m building something I’m genuinely excited about.

But logic doesn’t stop me feeling like I’m behind.

Maybe one day I’ll stop comparing my life to the one I imagined at nineteen.

Today isn’t that day.