Most of us wake up and move without thinking about it. We take an exorcism-like stretch, drag ourselves out of bed, walk to the bathroom, and get dressed for the day – all on autopilot. Our bodies cooperate, and we rarely stop to thank them for it.

However, for someone with Cerebral Palsy, a day doesn’t begin on autopilot. It begins with awareness.

Movements that feel automatic to many of us often require intention and effort. Sitting up, standing, buttoning a shirt, holding a spoon; none of these are impossible, but they may take more time, more concentration, and more energy. Muscles can feel stiff or tight, coordination may vary from day to day, and the body doesn’t always respond exactly as the brain instructs it to.

But this doesn’t mean the day starts with frustration. More often, it starts with adaptation – learning what works today, adjusting when it doesn’t, and moving forward anyway.

And that mindset doesn’t stay indoors. It follows them out the door.

Stepping outside is something most of us do without a second thought. Shoes on. Door open. Gone.

But for someone with Cerebral Palsy, that one simple action can unlock a whole new level of problem-solving. Roads suddenly feel less friendly. Buildings forget that ramps exist. Public transport quietly announces that it wasn’t designed with everyone in mind. A single step that’s just a bit too high, a doorway that’s a little too narrow, or a pavement that refuses to stay even can turn an ordinary outing into a careful calculation.

And then come the people.

Some stare, curious but unsure. Some look away as if eye contact might be awkward. Others slow their speech or raise their volume, assuming that difficulty with movement also means difficulty with understanding. It’s rarely unkind, but it is exhausting. Because on top of navigating the physical world, there’s also the task of navigating perceptions.

As the day unfolds, the effort continues. School, work, therapy, none of it happens on autopilot. Imagine concentrating on what you’re doing while also thinking about how you’re sitting, how steady you are, whether your muscles will cooperate, and how long your energy will last. Progress here doesn’t arrive with applause. It arrives quietly, through repetition, patience, and persistence.

And tiredness? It shows up early and settles in comfortably. Not the kind that disappears after a quick break, but the kind that builds from muscles working overtime all day long. Therapy sessions, medical appointments, and pain management don’t interrupt life. They are part of it, stitched seamlessly into what we’d usually call a “normal” day.

Once you start noticing all this, it becomes impossible to unsee how much effort goes into simply existing – and how rarely we acknowledge it.

What’s striking isn’t how hard the day is – it’s how normal it becomes for the person living it. There’s no constant complaining, no dramatic struggle. Just a steady rhythm of effort, adjustment, and resilience.

Understanding this doesn’t require sympathy. It requires perspective.

Because once you notice how much effort goes into a day like this, you start to notice how much the world assumes ease. And you realize that ability isn’t just about the body. It’s also about the environment, the support available, and how willing we are to make space for different ways of moving through life.

Sometimes, awareness begins with something as simple as paying attention.

Penned By:

Rtr. Savini Yasanayake

Editorial Committee Member 25.26