I recently made my first video to explain Cerebral Palsy to children during Cerebral Palsy Awareness Month.

I nearly didn’t press record. Not because I didn’t know what to say. Not because I didn’t believe in the message.

But because of my body. I have Cerebral Palsy. When I’m relaxed, chatting naturally to anyone and everyone, I barely think about it. My speech has its own rhythm. My movements are just. . .mine.

But put a camera in front of me? Everything tightens.

My muscles stiffen.
My speech slows.
My mouth goes into overdrive just to shape every single word.

And I’m incredibly aware of all of it. Cerebral Palsy doesn’t “get worse” but it absolutely becomes more noticeable when I’m anxious or concentrating. And filming meant concentrating on every syllable.

Pronounce clearly.
Slow down.
Make it easy to understand.

That’s a lot for a brain and body that’s already working overtime.

What Worked (and What Didn’t)

At first, I filmed it on my own. This seemed like a good idea – if I was alone, I might relax more. I soon realised that I was slightly nudging the camera between takes. When it came to editing, I appeared to jump around the screen like I was teleporting mid-sentence. Not quite the calm, professional energy I was aiming for!

So I changed tactics. Instead of trying to deliver whole paragraphs at a time, I recorded one sentence at a time. That helped as it meant I could focus on clarity without my muscles tightening further under the pressure of “getting through it.”

Certain words became unexpectedly tricky. If one word ended in an “s” and the next began with an “s” or “c” sound, my mouth just refused to co-operate. The more I tried, the worse it became.

So we adjusted the script slightly. Not because I didn’t know the words. Just because sometimes access isn’t about ability – it’s about adaptation.

At this point, my husband Dean stepped in to manage the camera. This meant one less thing for me to worry about and having someone else there made a huge difference. Less pressure, more patience. Dean told me when I should just stop and take a break.

It still took multiple takes.

It still took effort.

But suddenly it felt possible.

The Insecurity Nobody Sees

It was so difficult watching the footage back. I saw everything I’ve spent years learning not to fixate on.

The pause before a word.
The extra effort in my facial muscles.
The way I move when I emphasised a point.

There were many points I wanted to shelf the whole thing. What if people think I’m unprofessional? What if the kids really don’t get it?

The irony isn’t lost on me. I spend my life challenging assumptions about disability – and I still have to wrestle with them in my own head.

Why I Pressed Publish Anyway

If I want children to grow up comfortable around disabled people, they need to see disabled adults.

Not perfectly edited.
Not hidden behind slides.
Not polished into effortlessness.

They need to see the reality. What Cerebral Palsy looks like when someone is concentrating. What it sounds like when someone is trying to make sure they’re understood. What adaption looks like and to understand that adaption isn’t weakness. It’s skill.

So despite my insecurities, I pressed publish. Because inclusion isn’t about appearing effortless – it’s about being visible.

And maybe – this is what keeps me going – a child watching that video will grow up less uncomfortable around difference than I sometimes still feel around a camera.

If that happens, every single retake was worth it.