When most people think about exercise, they imagine something ordinary — going to the gym after work, riding a bike on the weekend, or taking a walk to clear their head. They might even complain about having to do it. For many, exercise is optional. It’s a choice. For me, it’s something entirely different. I live with cerebral palsy, and that means every movement comes at a cost. Every stretch, every lift, every attempt at control demands focus, strength, balance, and energy

This post reflects my personal experience with the German healthcare system as a disabled person living with cerebral palsy. It is not meant to speak for everyone. I know that experiences can vary greatly — even within the same system — depending on circumstances, support, and access to information. Overall, I’ve been able to get the care and services I need, often with the support of my mom. Along the way, I’ve learned that the system doesn’t always make it clear what you’re

Content Advisory (Mature Readers) This post discusses disability, cerebral palsy, and personal experiences related to fear, stigma, and communication challenges. It includes honest language, emotional reflections, and references to societal reactions that some readers may find confronting. Reader discretion is advised.

There is something I’ve been carrying quietly in my heart for a long time now. It’s not something I talk about often, because it feels delicate—almost sacred. But it’s honest, and it deserves to be spoken. I would like to have a child one day. Not out of pressure. Not because it’s what life is “supposed” to look like. But because the idea of nurturing a life, of teaching kindness, resilience, and compassion, feels meaningful to me. I imagine small moments—reading bedtime stor

When I wrote the introduction to my blog, I mentioned the important people in my life—my family, my sister Tamara, the friends who have always supported me. But one person was missing. And not because I forgot her. My Oma Christa wasn’t in that introduction because she is no longer with us. Today, I want to tell you who she was, so she will never be forgotten—not by me, and not by anyone who reads this. For my English-speaking readers: “Oma” means “grandma” in German. I think

DISCLAIMER: This blog contains content intended for adults only. Some posts discuss mature themes, including intimacy, sexuality, relationships, and emotional experiences from an adult perspective. All content is based on my personal experiences as an adult. Reader discretion is advised. This blog is not intended for readers under the age of 18.

DISCLAIMER: Like most dating apps, this platform is intended for adults (18+), and my experiences are from an adult perspective.

People often tell me I should be grateful. They say I’m lucky. They say I have good parents. and they’re right. I do  have amazing parents. I have a great family and wonderful friends. I’ve been told many times—by people close to me and even by people who don’t really know me—that my parents love me deeply. I believe that now. I know they love me. This isn’t a post about denying that love. This is a post about understanding its limits. Because even the best parents in the wor

DISCLAIMER: This blog contains discussions of adult topics, including dating, sexuality, and relationships, written from a lived-experience perspective. Content is intended for mature audiences and may not be suitable for readers under 18.

If you don’t consider yourself disabled, it can be hard to understand what disability truly is. Many people imagine disability as a personal tragedy, a medical problem, or a rare condition that affects “other people.” But disability isn’t just something that lives inside a body. It’s something that happens when a body meets a world that was not built with it in mind. To understand disability, we have to stop looking only at the person—and start looking at the environment that