Facial Palsy and Me
Well, this is a blog I never thought I’d write.
Unless you’ve met me in person or seen me via video, you might not realise that I have facial palsy. It’s something I was born with, and while it has caused frustration over the years, it’s also something I’ve learned to live with—maybe even appreciate. Honestly, I’m not sure I’d change it now. This is the face my kids know, and the thought of altering it feels a little like erasing a part of me they’ve come to love. My eldest even went through a phase of smiling with one eye closed, and I still wonder if that’s because I do too.
But let me take you back to where it all began.
My birth was long and difficult for my mum, and when I finally entered the world, the right side of my face was completely bruised. Over time, it became clear that the right side didn’t move like the left. Still, I was otherwise healthy.
I had a range of follow-up consultations, which I obviously don’t remember, but I know I had to practice saying vowels with an exaggerated wide mouth to strengthen the muscles in my face: “A-E-I-O-U.” I’d stick out my chin and stretch the final "U" as long as possible while watching myself in the mirror. Then, when I was seven or eight, we tried a device we called the “stimulator.” Each night, I’d tape two tiny electrodes to my cheek, connect them to a battery pack, and let small electrical impulses do their thing while I slept. Whether it worked, I can’t say for sure, but childhood photos suggest my palsy is less pronounced now than it was then.
Middle school and high school were harder. One boy called me “Katherine Golding Googly Mouth”—an absurd nickname I hated. Then there were moments of ignorance, like a GP bluntly pointing out the asymmetry of my face as if I hadn’t noticed, or a university peer assuming I’d had a stroke.
Some limitations were more subtle. I never learnt to drink through a straw without using my teeth. My dream of playing the saxophone fizzled because I couldn’t shape my mouth correctly. Even eating with my mouth closed has always been tricky. And as someone who’s mildly asthmatic, I’ve always had abysmal peak flow readings because my mouth can’t seal around the tube properly.
Years later, my migraines reached their peak, and I needed some help. I consulted an incredible neurologist: Allyson Parry. Alongside investigating the migraines, she introduced me to a whole host of options to treat and manage facial palsy—Botox, physiotherapy, and speech and language therapy. I’d never heard of these in the three decades I’d been living with the condition, and her care brought up so many emotions: why hadn’t I been offered these options sooner?
That experience led me to work with a fabulous speech and language therapist at the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford. She taught me exercises and techniques to massage and stimulate my face. While I eventually moved on and didn’t seek additional support, those tools gave me something I deeply needed at the time: a sense of agency.
Despite the challenges, I’ve come to accept my facial palsy as part of who I am. Like most people, I dislike watching myself on video, but who doesn’t? Over time, I’ve adjusted—facing only one way for photos and preferring my “good side.”
Recently, though, I discovered Facial Palsy UK, and their resources were a revelation. I found myself nodding along to so many articles, thinking, Yes! That’s me! It was overwhelming at times to realise how much I still didn’t know about my own condition.
Facial Palsy UK is doing vital work—not just raising awareness but creating a community for people who might otherwise feel invisible. Their resources remind us that we’re not alone, and that’s a powerful thing.
Writing this blog feels like therapy for me, and to push myself further out of my comfort zone, I’ve decided to share 12 photos I never would have posted before—images showing every angle of my face, not just the left side. Facebook may have seen some of these angles in the past, but I’ve certainly never embraced them.
That’s what I’m trying to do now: embrace my face, quirks and all, and I would love to help others do the same. So, if you or a loved one has facial palsy, and you’re reading this thinking you could really use support, please reach out. I’d love to hear your story. As a coach, I can help you build confidence, regain autonomy, and address challenges in your relationships.
Re-entering the facial palsy world has revealed how I can use my personal and professional experiences to support others, and so to align with my values, I’ve signed up to volunteer with Facial Palsy UK, and I’m now offering coaching services to help people with facial palsy build confidence and find joy in their unique beauty.
No one should feel the need to hide their face. I, for one, would love to see yours—all angles, all the quirks, all the bits that move unexpectedly, and those that don’t move as much.
This is me. And I’m proud to share it.