I have a fear of failure. And I am scared of rejection.
I am fearful of both being too much and never enough, at the same time.
There are many things in life that scare me.
But there’s one thing I’ve never been scared of, and that’s speed.
I am a motorbike rider.
I come from a drag racing dynasty, and my story literally started at 6 weeks old when I was taken to the race track for the first time.
Part of a community before I could even open my eyes.
If you’re a kid raised at the track, you grow up in clouds of smoke. To the smell of nitro, and the ground constantly shaking beneath the soles of my feet. Sounds that just, never stop.
Then there’s sweet relief when that final generator switches off just after midnight.
If you don’t know what drag racing is.
It’s fast and furious, but legal.
They talk about 10-second cars, but that is nothing compared to what you can see go down the strip at Eastern Creek or Santa Pod.
300mph cars in 3.5 seconds. It’s insanity to most people, unless you’re born with petrol in your blood.
My setup in the sport was a little different from most. I saw my mum race, and then my dad race, so when I was offered my own bike at age 12, it felt like a natural progression.
It was only 50cc, but it would ignite a fire on my belly and a need for speed in my soul.
I was fearless, fascinated, and desperate to go faster.
And by 24, I was sitting on a 1200cc Buell instead, but it wasn’t just me, I was racing my mum and my sister too.
3 Moor women wearing the same colour leathers, in the same class on that start line.
There’s something to be said about the empowerment that comes with the twist of a throttle. Open wrist, full speed, 130mph with your sister by your side.
That will always be one of my favourite ever memories. A race against my sister, Siobhan. Neck and neck all the way down the track. I was urging my bike to go that little bit faster. Screaming as I sped towards the finish line.
I couldn’t wait to see who won; it doesn’t matter who did now.
That story will stay with me for a lifetime.
Drag racing was and always will be a family affair. And it was the first true love of my life.
But apparently it was not to be my forever.
On 18th August 2018, on a morning just like every other, something out of the ordinary happened, and I got on my motorbike for the final time.
My first run out that Sunday morning resulted in a power wheelie, a spinal cord injury, a disability, and an entirely new way of life.
All of a sudden, I was fearful of everything and not just speed. I wore the fear of getting hurt again like a weighted vest. Spotting anything and everything that could potentially put me back in a hospital bed. Protect my body at all costs.
But bigger than the fear of being hurt again was my fear of the future.
Because what did it mean to be disabled?
Without even realising, I’d been programmed to think it was the worst thing in the world.
A helpless and hopeless existence.
There was a bias so deeply rooted in me, I didn’t even realise it was there, until one day I looked in the mirror and saw all my own low expectations and imitations reflected back.
Weak ideas about who I could be and what I could achieve, now I use a wheelchair.
But where had they come from?
The media, those movies, the men and women in control?
They’d have you believe disabled is a dirty word.
Something to be feared.
No freedom. No fun. No future.
But I am not living a life of pity or decline, and my story is only just getting started.
The more I lived, the less fearful I became, and over the course of these seven years, I’ve learned that disability is nothing to be scared of after all.
I’d argue that since my disability, I’m not just surviving, I’m thriving.
No Freedom?
My dad packed us all on a plane to Tenerife 2 months after I’d left the hospital, so a fear of travel never became a thing. I’d go on to take countless trips across Europe. All in preparation for the one big ticket.
Because I just backpacked around the world for a year.
I swam with pink dolphins in the depths of the Amazon. I saw the sunrise and set on the Bolivian Salt Flats. And I somehow completed the Hi Giant loop on the back of somebody else’s bike.
17 countries, it was the trip of a lifetime. One that brought me all the way to Australia when I’d built yet another life in another city.
I am free.
No Fun? But I have stories that stretch far and wide. A scroll on my Instagram would show you it all. But there’s no space for them in this story.
Because it’s not all sunshine and smiles. My future in Australia remains an unanswered question.
The Australian government discriminates against disabled people.
I would have to fight and prove my worth as a human and a citizen in the court if I wanted to stay.
I am not scared of my disability, but apparently, this country is.
I am viewed as a burden and a cost to bear, so whilst I am at peace with my body, the world still has progress to make.
I know in my soul, I would be an asset to any country I choose to call home. Not in spite of my disability, but because of it.
I also now know, disability was nothing to fear after all.
No doomsday scenario or sorrow affair. And sure, it’s hard, and sometimes really shitty. And I will never not cry when the lift is broken on an already bad day.
But there’s a lot of beauty in navigating a new way of life after the “worst thing in the world” just happened.
The sentence I was served was a perspective shift. An opportunity to live life with my eyes wide open.
The very things we fear the most can still be both painful and devastating, with little light or silver linings, but they often show us something we need to see.
For me, grief and gratitude come hand in hand.
I guess the moral I take from my own story is this.
Most things that come to pass are never as bad as the idea we’d built up about them.
And even when they are, more often than not, we can survive and maybe even thrive.
There is so much I am scared of in this modern world.
Failure. Rejection
Being too much and not enough.
But disability isn’t in the list anymore.
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