Camilla was born with a rare genetic disorder nobody understands. But we do know one thing for sure—it has a massive impact on her brain and body. 

Camilla turned 3 in July.
While most three year old's run, climb, launch themselves down slides, dance, explore, scooter, bike— Camilla doesn’t. As much as I hate to say the word “can’t,” she truly… sadly can’t.
Camilla can’t sit independently, scoot, steam roll, crawl, stand, or walk. 

The truth is, the hardest part, the most frustrating part, of her life isn’t the disability itself. It’s never having that satisfaction of hard work paying off. 

It’s a satisfaction we far too often take for granted.
It’s the feeling you get looking at your freshly painted toe nails.
It’s the feeling you get after a DIY house project.
It’s the feeling that comes from a made bed, a clean sink.
It’s the sense of accomplishment that comes when you lift a heavier weight, perfect a recipe, ace a test. 

Camilla is hands down the hardest worker I know.
She’s relentless, unwavering, determined, and persistent.
She’s dedicated to her growth, her independence.
But there are no fruits of her labor. 

Fun fact: Camilla’s been in 1-hour physical therapy sessions every Thursday morning since December of 2022 trying to learn how to sit (a skill naturally acquired by most babies at the ripe age of 6 months).
While her head control has improved, and she’s been able to wean down on support from her back braces, she still cannot sit independently. 

That’s 3 years of “I think I can. I think I can. I think I can” energy and not much of a freaking reward. She needs more of a push. She needs help from experts who have mastered the art of training the brain to work with the body.

I fast and pray every first Sunday of the month for Camilla to experience the joy and fulfillment that only comes from hard work paying off. 

The truth is, I don’t care to make her “normal.”

I don’t care if she never walks, never eats by mouth, never potty trains.
But dang it, I care for her to accomplish the things she sets her heart after. I care for her to be able to sit next to her sister on their play mat, reach for her own toys, and move independently.

I know her heart longs for this freedom: a freedom you and I have and often forget to love. 

From the absolute bottom of my heart, thank you for being here, for sharing her story, and for donating to her DMI journey.

I truly feel that DMI therapy is the extra push her body needs.
Words fall short when I try to explain how much your support in just the past 48 hours has meant to me. I am so humbled to have you on Camilla’s DMI journey with us. 

Thank you for adding fuel to my hope. 🤍