Life with PoTS by Charlotte D'alimonte

 

Life with PoTS by Charlotte D'alimonte 

Need an empowerment boost? Just read Charlotte D'alimonte's speech about her own battles with a rare sickness called PoTS and how no matter what you've been through, your disability doesn't define you!

Charlotte D'alimonte (8B)

Hi, my name is Charlotte D’Alimonte.

If you’ve ever seen me in gym class, you probably noticed me hovering on the sidelines—leaning against the wall, cheering from the bench, or stepping in for a minute before backing off. But it wasn’t always like that. There was a time when I was sprinting across the court, diving for the ball, laughing without worrying about limits.

Gym used to be one of my favourite classes. But in 2024, that changed.

That year, I was diagnosed with a semi-rare condition called Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, or PoTS. It affects about 1 in a million people. It sounds made-up, like something from a TV show—but the way it wrecks my daily life is very real.

PoTS messes with your autonomic nervous system—the parts that control things you don’t even think about: your heart rate, blood pressure, digestion. For someone with PoTS, standing up can make your heart rate spike over 120 beats per minute. Imagine your body acting like you just ran a marathon—when all you did was get out of bed.

For me, it started about a year and a half ago.
 It was just a normal morning. I got out of bed to get ready for school. As I greeted my dad, my vision tunneled—and then everything went black.

The next thing I knew, I was in my dad’s arms. His face was full of panic… and suddenly, I was panicking too.

That moment launched me into an endless cycle of doctors and tests. EEGs. Blood draws. Questions I didn’t have answers to. I felt like a science experiment—and worst of all, no one could tell me what was wrong.

Meanwhile, the symptoms kept getting worse.
 I couldn’t stand without feeling like I’d collapse. Even standing up from the dinner table made my head spin. My legs would turn this weird purple, patchy color. I felt like my body was betraying me—and no one knew why.

Then, finally, after what felt like forever, I had one more test: a tilt-table test. I laid down, got shot upright, and with one blood pressure reading—PoTS.
 A name for the thing that had taken over my life.

Getting a diagnosis didn’t fix everything. But it changed everything.
 Since then, I’ve had to adapt. I have to load up on salt. I have to get out of bed slowly. I’ve had to step back from things I love.

At Newton’s Grove, I’ve been lucky—most people are kind. But that wasn’t always the case.
 I’ve been accused of faking it. Of being lazy. And the worst part? I started believing it. I started thinking maybe I was just weak.

Today, I’m standing here for anyone who’s fighting something invisible.
 Maybe it’s PoTS. Maybe it’s anxiety, chronic pain, depression, fatigue—whatever it is. If it’s shaping your life behind the scenes, this is for you.

Just because people can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not real.
 Just because you can smile through it doesn’t make it any less valid.
 Your experience is real. Your pain, your exhaustion, your effort—they’re all real. And they matter.

You matter.
 Even on days it feels like no one notices—you’re still here, and that is powerful.

You don’t need a cast or a dramatic scar to prove your struggle is real. You’re not faking. You’re not failing. You are living proof that strength isn’t always loud or visible.

Please keep going.
 Every small step you take forward, even when it feels impossible, is an act of courage most people can’t even see.

And if you’re living with a disability—whether the world sees it or not—you are resilient. You’re creative. You’ve adapted to a world that wasn’t built for you, and that makes you a force to be reckoned with.

If you’re in a wheelchair but dream of playing basketball—roll onto that court.
 If you stutter but want to be a public speaker—step up to that mic.
 If you have PoTS but still want to be part of gym class—find your way onto that floor.

Lean on support. Rest when you need to. But don’t give up on what lights you up.

You are so much more than your diagnosis.
 You are a full, brilliant person with dreams, talents, and stories this world needs.

You’re not broken. You’re not less than.
 You are powerful.
 You are needed.

Thank you for listening—and even more, thank you for being here.
 The world is better with you in it.