The CMT Alphabet: B

The forest may be shadowed and wild. The path may feel impossible. Or lost. Or both.

The light, the clearing, may feel so far away. But we must be brave. And keep going.

CMT demands bravery. The quiet bravery. The kind of bravery that happens in the still of night. The kind of bravery that often goes unseen.

It's the bravery to speak your truth. No matter what people think or say. No matter how often you hear, "Oh, you look fine."

Bravery to ask for help. Even when you possibly, mostly, probably can lift a box or walk a distance or open a jar.

Bravery to say No. No to events. No to volunteering. No to finishing just this one task. No to others and no to yourself (which can be the hardest thing of all).

And bravery to say Yes. Yes to braces. Physical Therapy. Yes to the parking placard that gets you a little closer.

Bravery to stand up for yourself. To friends and family. Doctors. Oh, people with answers. Bravery to say, "I hear you. And, yet, you need to believe me."

Authenticity is brave. Many times it will feel easier to 'suck it up' and meet expectations. The possibility of disappointment takes bravery.

Bravery to educate. To talk about CMT (or any chronic challenge) with honesty. Sharing challenges feels scary. And weak. And flawed.

And yet so necessary.

To raise awareness is brave. Telling the world that this journey, while it has laughter and joy and wonder, is also freaky-hard... That takes bravery. And yet those stories help secure funding and research. Towards a cure.

Bravery to forge your own path. Because each path with CMT is unique. And there is no treatment. No cure.

Every single person with CMT is brave. Because I see such humor, hope, and grace in the CMT community. We are braver together.

And the more that we can be champions today, the better the world will be tomorrow. Future generations with thank us. For being brave.