Seen, Safe, Supported — at The CP Social
By Tim Kellogg
Seen, Safe, Supported. Why does that matter in the spaces and places that we show up? For me, it matters because it’s a rarity to have all three happen at the same time. Growing up and now, I almost never feel safe. There’s a variety of reasons for why that was the case. Not only did I grow up with cerebral palsy, I also grew up amidst family dysfunction. The combination of these two things really left an indelible mark on what it’s like for me to feel seen, safe, and supported. It’s difficult for me to show up in places and feel all three of those things at once. What kind of places make me feel seen, safe, and supported?
Earlier this fall, I had the opportunity, for the first time in 30 years, to spend time with other people with cerebral palsy. The interesting thing about this experience is that I didn’t really know any of these people. Yet, our shared experience of living with cerebral palsy gave me that trifecta space that is so rare in my life.
I felt seen, safe and supported at the CP Social, put on by Cerebral Palsy Strong. It was a really gratifying moment. Too short, if you ask me. A moment where I didn’t have to explain what it’s like to live and breathe in my body. A moment where that wasn’t ignored, but at the forefront.
I have a lot of emotional ghosts from growing up the way that I did. The interesting thing is that I also have a lot of success. Life has never been easy. Yes, the physical challenges are real. Yes, the physical challenges make my life harder. And, societal expectations, norms, and ableism make it harder than anything else. I’m too disabled to be non-disabled. I’m not disabled enough to be disabled. That’s a weird place to sit for me. I know I’m not alone in that because I’ve met other people with that shared experience. But that kind of life creates a lot of defiance. At least it did for me. The thing about it is this, if the bar was set really low for me, it’s because people didn’t believe in me. If the bar was set too high for me, it’s because people didn’t see me. In turn, I became a bit of a perfectionist. And, even though I don’t really have to, I go out of my way to prove my doubters and my haters wrong all the time.
I’ve managed teams of people, I’ve run organizations. I’ve led initiatives. I’ve even been a project manager on multiple building projects. None of that stuff was in my wheelhouse. None of that stuff was expected for me. All of it makes me feel like there’s an asterisk next to my resume for observers. Make no mistake about it, I earned every inch of what I have accomplished. So, why the defiance? In most spaces I am not seen, safe, or supported. And, it’s really that simple.
That’s what made The CP Social so meaningful – I was seen, safe, and supported by people I’d never met before. All because we shared something in common. We shared cerebral palsy in common. We also shared a lot of the challenges and the stigmas. But, I don’t want to speak for the other participants. I just want to speak for myself. Because I think that’s part of this. A lot of times people spoke for me and not necessarily in the ways that I would want. I think that happens when you have a disability. People assume that you can’t, or that you don’t understand, or whatever the case may be, there’s this inference that you’re less than. Most of the people I know with a disability have overcome a lot.
What’s it like to sit in a room with total strangers that see me, support me, and make me feel safe, when I usually don’t? It’s absolutely surreal. It’s taken me a month and a half to come up with words for what that was like. Beyond, “Wow, this was amazing.” It is absolutely surreal to sit in this space with people you don’t know and have them understand you at the deepest core level. It is a relief not to have to explain yourself. Not to have to make other people feel comfortable with who you are.
I’ve been talking about my life with CP for a little while now and I did so at this event. However, there was a big difference. I didn’t mask anything. I also somewhat ironically did the opposite of what I usually do and focused solely on the CP and not my wider context. I told people that I talk about CP, first and foremost so that I can feel seen. That feels selfish to me. I do hope what I have to say helps people. I do hope that other people can feel seen because of what I say. But, honestly, I spent most of my life doing things for other people. I talk about my life with cerebral palsy for me, so that the people I surround myself with every day will better understand the invisible things that make my life difficult. That they’ll better understand why it’s so important to feel seen, safe, and supported.
It’s really quite a magical thing when you think about it. To be able to have people you don’t know, know you on a core level. It’s magical because that doesn’t really happen a lot, right? Especially not with a room full of people. I could see it happening with one or two people, such as, when you have met somebody and they understand you. Yet, when I'm in a room full of people who just get it — that's really cool. The event itself wasn’t out of the ordinary. We socialized. We told stories. We ate meals. That wasn’t really the selling point. The selling point was we could show up exactly as we were. I have to be honest, it was great to feel safe and supported. It was also kind of uncomfortable because I wasn’t used to doing that. But, that discomfort was putting down this shield that usually says, “You’re not safe to do this. You’re not safe to be who you are right now.” Boy, did that feel weird. But, in a good way.
For me, life with cerebral palsy is about defying the odds. No one really expected me to work. Nobody expected me to accomplish much. At several points, nobody expected me to live. I’ve defied the odds since birth. That’s kind of my origin story. But, when you’re sitting in a room full of people, who also have cerebral palsy, they too have defied the odds since birth. And, it’s a moment where you belong. And, the thing that makes you stand out doesn’t make you stand out. You just belong when you’re in a group full of people that have that shared experience.
That took some time to process. Because in most settings I’m the only person I know with CP. In most settings my experience is a different experience. When that difference becomes oneness, the gravity and meaning of that is something I’m having a hard time articulating, even now. The depth of our connectivity is why I’ve stayed in touch with these people. It feels so meaningful – I don’t want to lose that. I want little bits and pieces of that in my life every day. I think I can go out on a limb and say that many of us feel the same way. The thing that I loved about showing up to the CP social is I was authentically me. No mask. No expectation. Just,Tim.
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