The physiotherapist did not have a secure grip of my Poorly Hand. It was not a reassuring daddy – grip, and she was determined to stick to the rule book!

The treatment room, that I was all too familiar with, and the incentive of being able to touch the giant blue ball, a few feet away from me…but first I had to learn to walk.   I may have only been three years old, but I had a developing sense of nuances; I was conscious about the air of impatience, coming from both the therapist – and mother.

So, for the umpteenth time, during the session, whilst both sets of eyes kept darting at the wall clock: the therapist insisted on holding my Poorly Hand to help me balance. Yet again, I fell back to the floor on my bottom- to a percussion of tutting.

But this time, when she tried to grab my Poorly Hand, I refused to give it to her; I had wedged it under myself and offered her my able hand instead.  I used the cerebral palsy arm to slice through the air, as though it were a sail, helping to balance me, and I instantly took my inaugural steps. With my awkward fist, and goodness knows after how many sessions: I touched the ball. I was finally mobile.

I also had to override how the professional had positioned my foot, allowing it to flay out instead, because, that way: it did not feel tight and locked – and why would I care at three-years old: what I looked like!

I was more concerned about being less of a burden to mother, I was the oldest of her three kids: all of us being in nappies at the time…

When I was a bit older, my parents had separated by the time I was five, I recall my daddy telling me how he had broken the rules too. He had been about six, and as a rescued abandoned baby – had been shoved into an unsavory sounding childrens’ home in the heart of the East end of London:

“They fort I was dumb, all coz I was mutton, and when they weren’t meddling wiv me ears; they’d stick me at the back of the class, ‘nd just bleedin ignored me! But, Emmajane, I learned to lip-read. I outwitted the sods, ‘n never let on I could understand them; soon after I ran away, ‘n you know the rest!”

Amazingly, dad couldn’t read or write at the time that he started his business. In a way he broke the rules in commerce too; since the assumption is that one must be literate to start a company. And, how he gained customers was far from conventional. He solely relied on his innate self-belief, with his emphasis always on customer service. He would pick a company he fancied working for, such as a record label, and then tell them how happy their competitor was with his service. He would give the same line to the other one: ending with bagging both!

“Always under promise and over deliver, make sure you work ‘ard – ‘n get the work done ahead of their expectations. ‘Appy boats is all that matters.”

By breaking the rules, dad’s company became the only 24/7-hour Pro-lab in Europe; the other being situated in New York…

We must be mindful about the restrictions and rigidities of rules. Being compliant does not always serve us well. There are alternative routes to achieving any goal, no matter how small it may be.

So, next time you are dealing with a problem, try to trust your own judgment, work out how you may be able to find a solution. Dare to walk in your own life lane: it is never crowded. Rely on your wonderful human intellect and instinct, and discover how you can break the rules, providing of course that you are keeping lawful.

I hope you find this helpful.

SUNNY wishes, Emma x