You’ve probably seen me around campus. I’m of average looks: 5’3,” brown hair, brown eyes. But I am the girl with the pink plastic braces on her legs and the sway in her gait. You might have had a conversation with someone who knows me, and they might have said something along the lines of “she wears braces on her legs.” It’s my qualifier. It’s how people pick me out of a crowd. If you have seen me, you probably don’t know my name or anything about me. You may be one of those people that give me a look of pity or curiosity like I so often receive while I walk to class.

I was born with a Tethered Spinal Cord, which means there was tissue wrapped around the base of my spinal cord that prevented it from moving and growing. When I was four weeks old, I had surgery to fix it and subsequently had nerve damage. It re-tethered two more times when I was three and five, resulting in more nerve damage. Because of the damage, I have had many different orthopedic problems and now wear leg braces.

To be honest, it gets tough sometimes. There are some days where I want nothing more than to just be physically “normal.” But there are times when I realize that I could do something good with my situation. I could show people that the disabled population is a force to be reckoned with. We have our own lives, our own identities, and our own goals. We are not defined by crutches, wheelchairs, canes or braces. We are so much more than our disability. But people tend to take others at face value. So I know the first thing people often see about me is my disability. As an actor, I aim to change peoples’ perception of what a performer looks like and ask directors to take a chance on me. I want to change the way the disabled population’s stories are being told.

Disability is often equated with weakness and fragility. But let me tell you something about the disabled population: we are strong as hell. Many of us have endured years-worth of hospital stays, doctors’ visits and surgeries. We go through a lot just to get the chance to fight the next battle that comes along.

But, speaking from personal experience (not everyone may think like this), we don’t actually care if you acknowledge our disability. I trip a lot over my own feet, even on flat surfaces. Come on, y’all, that’s funny. Over the years, I have learned to make fun of myself. I laugh when I trip and have perfected the sarcastically casual “I’m okay” as I lie on the floor post-face plant.

It is tough to go through life with legs that don’t work properly and joints that won’t cooperate, but it is also really cool to show people what I’m capable of. I want to show people that I am not my disability, but rather my disability is a part of me.

The next time you meet someone with a disability, ask them about it. It is so much better to just ask someone about themselves if you’re curious, rather than stare at them every day and treat them differently. There is nothing I understand less than when someone says “I don’t want to offend you, but what’s wrong with your legs?” Why would that offend me? I’d rather you ask me about this very obvious thing about my life than just stare at me until your eyes burn.

Curiosity is never a bad thing. If you ask someone about themselves, it could lead to a bigger conversation, you could even make a new friend (yay, new friends!) or you could change the dialogue about differences forever. Being open about our differences is a beautiful thing. Our differences are why the human population thrives. We all have something fresh and unique to bring to the table. We all have had different lives, different bodies and different brains that make us who we are.

Ask questions. Love one another. Start a conversation.