It hurts, but I persevere. My body renders me to be in boring permanent pain.

Besides, Daddy is smiling down at me. He’s egging me on with his mischievous grin.

I stretch my back, my stiff legs, and then my arms, one is crooked, but I don’t care: bish bash bosh goodbye to limiting beliefs…

Who knew they were just in my head?

But, I’m the boss of my mind. You are in charge of yours too!

I can almost touch the sky; his doting hands will grasp mine, and he cheers me on, in my head.

I’m not doing yoga, I’m simply stretching my body, and it feels nice.

In my imagination, he’s saying encouraging stuff, and he was a Cockney, so it’s cheeky funny banter.

It keeps me engaged, and so I stretch every day.

I am “curing” my disability, because it’s no good telling people about progress, – if you’re not making any.  But, I am wiser now, and realise that little steps of self-improvement, done consistently, are exactly the same as saving pennies to make a pound.

The tortoise moves more slowly than the hare; so I’ve banished the big rabbit away from my thoughts.

Okay, so I can’t really cure cerebral palsy, but I can make my body a bit stronger.

That’ll do, I never aspired to be an athlete anyway!

I remind myself, as I do each day that I can talk and walk. My parents were told I’d do neither.

I have an orchestra of permanent pain, and the foot is excruciating… but I can outwit it: distract it with my own music.

I move and lip-sync to the lyrics of my favourite artists. I stretch the pose to emulate Debbie Harry’s words: The song: Dreaming has such an uplifting beat.

Listening to Blondie while I’m stretching, empowers my soul. I feel feminine and happy…and in this daily space, doing what I can physically, holds the key to dispelling limiting beliefs.