by Arienna Hauser-Brown
I never knew I walked differently until second grade.
One day at school, I passed the glass walls surrounding the pool and caught my reflection as I walked by. In that moment, everything changed. For years, I had wondered why people stared or why other children made comments about the way I moved. Seeing myself in that reflection made me realize what everyone else had already noticed: I walked differently.
And for the first time, I became aware of it.
I was born with Charcot-Marie-Tooth disease (CMT) Type 1E, which runs through my family. My grandmother had it, then it was passed to my father, and eventually my sister and me. Growing up, I watched how difficult acceptance was for my father and sister. Over time, both of them went from walking independently to relying on wheelchairs. Witnessing their experiences shaped me in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time.
Growing Up with CMT
Growing up, I carried an overwhelming sense of self-consciousness, which developed into a form of depression that I quietly struggled with for years. Even when no one was looking at me, I felt like they were. I became hyperaware about walking in front of people and being noticed, which naturally became emotionally exhausting.
What grounded me during those years was my family, especially my mother.
My mother has spent more than 20 years battling lupus, yet she never allowed hardship to define her life. No matter how exhausted or sick she felt, she kept moving forward. She raised me and my sister with the belief that our condition does not stop us; only we stop ourselves. She taught us that the world would not always be accommodating, but that we are capable of learning how to adapt without losing ourselves in the process.
That mindset stayed with me, even during the moments when I struggled to believe it.
Learning Not to Hide
Everything began to shift when I was 14 years old.
At the time, I was already taking advanced classes, and education had become deeply personal to me. Growing up with CMT, I often felt underestimated before people even spoke to me. At times, assumptions were made based solely on the way I walked. I became determined to prove to myself that I was capable of more than what others expected.
At fourteen, I enrolled full-time at Cuyahoga Community College.
Walking into those first college classes was terrifying. I was incredibly self-conscious and unsure of myself. But something unexpected happened. When I introduced myself and my classmates realized I was 14 years old, that became the focus; not my walk, not my disability, not my CMT.
For the first time, I felt seen differently.
I made the Dean’s list, took honors classes, and began thriving academically. More importantly, I realized that my condition did not erase my ability to belong in spaces I once thought were out of reach. That experience changed the way I viewed myself and my future.
My Turning Point
Over time, I realized that the biggest challenge I faced living with CMT was not always physical.
It was internal.
The hardest battle was the voice in my head telling me to stay small, avoid attention, or hold myself back before someone else could. Fear and self-doubt stopped me from pursuing opportunities long before my condition ever did. For years, I allowed my insecurities to make decisions for me.
That perspective shifted again when my niece was diagnosed with CMT.
When I looked at her, I saw so much of my younger self: the fear, the self-consciousness, the uncertainty. I realized I did not want her growing up believing her life would be defined by limitation. I wanted her to see possibility instead. I wanted her to have examples that I did not always have growing up.
That realization pushed me to stop letting fear decide what I was capable of.
My Biggest Battle: Me vs. Me
One of the biggest milestones for me was learning how to drive.
Doctors told me driving independently would likely not be possible. Still, my mother believed otherwise. She first began teaching me when I was 13 years old, and later I enrolled in MetroHealth Hospital’s rehabilitation driving program, where I trained using hand controls. Although the equipment ultimately became financially out of reach, I refused to give up on the goal.
Eventually, my mother looked at me one day and said, “You remember what to do. Drive.”
So I did.
What started as short drives down the street slowly became independence, confidence, and freedom. Today, I have been driving for six years and became the first person in my family with CMT to earn a driver’s license.
That experience taught me something important: sometimes adaptation does not look exactly the way we originally imagined it would, but that does not mean the goal is impossible.
Becoming the Examples I Needed
That same determination followed me into real estate.
Despite concerns from others about whether I could physically handle the demands of the profession, I worked full-time during the week while attending real estate school on weekends. I studied constantly, pushed through exhaustion, and passed my licensing exam on the first attempt. Just three months after receiving my license, I sold my first home.
I still remember showing fourteen houses to a client in a single day, navigating stairs and physically demanding spaces that many people assumed I could not manage. It was exhausting, but it was also proof to myself that I was capable of adapting rather than giving up.
Today, at 23 years old, I continue to build the life I once feared might not be possible.
I earned my college degree at 17 and am now studying criminology at Cleveland State University with hopes of becoming a lawyer. I work at a law firm, am writing my first book, and dream of someday creating a nonprofit focused on providing support and resources for women and children in need.
Becoming a mother is another milestone I once believed might never happen for me. My daughter has become one of my greatest sources of motivation and a daily reminder to keep building a life defined by perseverance rather than limitation. I want her to grow up knowing that her mother never gave up, despite the obstacles life placed in front of her.
What I Want Others to Know
If I could say anything to a child learning to navigate life with CMT, it would be this: do not let fear make your decisions for you. It is okay to feel scared, discouraged, or uncertain sometimes. Those feelings are real. But your life does not end because of a diagnosis. You are still allowed to dream, to try, to fail, to adapt, and to keep going.
And to families, I would say this: support your children, but also allow them room to grow independently. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is believe in them before they fully believe in themselves.
Looking Toward the Future
Living with CMT has shaped my life in countless ways, but it has also taught me resilience, adaptability, and perspective. I know there will continue to be challenges ahead. But I also know this: CMT is part of my story, it is not the end of it.
And I hope others living with CMT can believe that for themselves, too.
