A Child Like Handwriting

For others, it may just look messy. But, for me, it feels like the penmanship of a child. My handwriting is barely legible. I didn't realize how quickly the CMT would affect my hands. 

I think back to the early years of my diagnosis. I knew that with the tremors and weakness in my hands, it meant that writing on paper would change. I didn't plan on it being so soon. One particular day, my mom asked me to write her a letter. She wanted something that would remind her of how beautiful my handwriting was. I don't know what exactly I wrote down that day. But I do remember how I felt. I was losing this small part of my life.

I still write letters, though not as often. My pen pal, in fact, probably had letters before my handwriting changed significantly. I should ask her.

Writing on paper has never been the same. I don't think of it often, as I mostly write in my journal on the days that my hands are feeling a little better. I rarely need to write on paper except for signing paperwork, as I usually can ask someone to fill out the rest of the form. But, on the days of even writing my name, it's difficult to understand. 

As a college student, I carried around notebooks for every class. In the first year, my writing didn't change. But as the years went by, I could no longer read my writing. This was unfortunate, as there are studies that say you remember more what you write down. Thankfully, some of the transitions from paper to using my laptop came during 2020. All of the classes were online, and I could join a Zoom class and type out my notes. Returning to another university, though, was another obstacle to overcome.

During the semester, I stopped writing notes on paper, I was in a bible class. The professor instructed us to all get a piece of paper and a pen for the pop quiz. Thankfully, I still carried a notebook with me just in case. The part I struggled with was writing down my answers. And then we were told to hand the paper to someone in the class to grade as the professor read the answers.

I did okay, until the classmate grading mine walked over to where I was sitting. Picture a small classroom, with only a few rows of tables and chairs. Anyone sitting near you can overhear conversations. This classmate asked what my answers were. He wasn't able to read them. I felt embarrassed. Here, I was a transfer student, in my early twenties, and my handwriting looked really messy. He wouldn't have known how this made me feel. He didn't know about my disability or that I had tremors. Instead, I just looked down and read out my responses. I was honest about what I wrote. 

I guess that's why I rarely write letters or in cards anymore. Only close family or friends see my writing. And of course, the doctor's office.