Josephine — Choosing Myself

Sometimes living here feels heavier than I expect it to.

People don’t always understand me, or the difference between how I move through the world and how others choose to show up in it. I’m often the only one in the room who truly knows what it’s like to live with a disability from birth — to grow up adapting, learning, adjusting, and still choosing independence every single day.

This building is meant to support people — low income, older adults, people with disabilities — and I’m grateful for that. But sometimes I wish it was a place centered specifically on people with physical disabilities. Not assisted living. Not constant supervision. Just a place where independence is respected instead of questioned.

When I first moved here, there were days I felt deeply lonely. Not because I was alone, but because I was misunderstood. Some people didn’t think I belonged here. Others assumed that because I’m capable, I shouldn’t need support at all. They didn’t understand that independence and support can exist together. I live in that space every day.

Being here has taught me something about maturity.
Often, the person who stays calm — the one who doesn’t react, doesn’t argue, doesn’t play games — is seen as weak. But I’ve learned that staying grounded is often the hardest thing to do.

There are moments when I feel the pressure — like people are watching, waiting for me to fall apart. As if seeing a disabled person lose control would confirm their belief that people like me shouldn’t be independent. That weight sits quietly on my shoulders more often than I’d like to admit.

I’ve worked my whole life to understand my emotions and manage them. Not because emotions are bad — but because I know how quickly they can be used against someone like me. I don’t want to be seen as “emotionally incapable.” I don’t want my feelings turned into proof that I can’t handle my own life.

Sometimes I want to defend myself loudly.
Sometimes I want to say exactly what I’m thinking.

But I don’t — not because I’m afraid, and not because I can’t. I don’t because I hold myself to higher boundaries.

By setting boundaries on myself, I empower myself. I choose not to give in to what others want from me — not because I lack control, but because I have it. I refuse to let anyone pull me into reactions that don’t represent who I am.

My restraint isn’t silence.
It’s strength.

I know who I am.
I know how hard I’ve worked.
I know what it’s taken for me to get here.

I don’t need to prove my independence by pretending I don’t need support. And I don’t need to hide my disability to earn respect. I deserve to be seen as a whole person — not judged by appearances, assumptions, or misunderstandings.

So I choose myself.
I choose peace.
I choose respect.

And every day, even when it’s hard, that choice is enough.