More than a pretty face
I’m sharing my message with lashes and lippy
Iwatched, mesmerised, as my mum Lindsey, then 27, carefully brushed soft pink powder on her cheeks.
With two quick, effortless strokes, her face had a beautiful, rosy shine.
‘You look glowing,’ I beamed in awe.
‘I’ll show you how one day,’ Mum smiled.
It was 2007, I was 9, and Mum always told me that, even though I was different, I could do everything other girls did – from walking up stairs, to tying my shoelaces.
Even putting my own hair up in a bun. The fact I had no hands, or legs from the knees down wasn’t going to stop me… I don’t remember getting sick. But aged 4, in 2002, I’d almost died from meningitis. Doctors had no choice but to amputate my limbs to save my life.
They took most of the fingers from both hands, my legs above the knee. It must’ve been terrifying for Mum and, after my life-saving surgery, the specialists told her I’d never do anything by myself. Never live a normal life. But Mum didn’t agree. She refused to wrap me in cotton wool.
So I got a wheelchair, learnt how to push myself around using my stumps. And, at home, Mum put chocolate buttons on every stair in the house until I learnt to climb them
– it wasn’t easy.
‘I can’t do it!’ I’d cry out in frustration, aged 8, trying to tie up my locks with a hair bobble. ‘Calm down, try again,’ Mum said gently. My champion. Her tough love made me
In my room, I’d practise applying eyeshadow, a slick of lipstick
determined, independent.
Whether it was playing with my four younger sisters, doing my hair or dressing myself, I managed to do whatever I wanted.
At school,
I practised clutching a pencil with what was left of my hands – until I could draw a picture or write the alphabet.
At dinnertime, I’d be the last to leave the table. Painstakingly eating every mouthful with a knife and fork.
I just wanted to be like everyone else.
I’d feel a pang of jealousy when a school friend got lovely new shoes, though.
Or came to class with beautifully painted nails. ‘I love that colour!’ I’d gasp. Then, on my 14th birthday, in May 2012, Mum bought me an eye-shadow palette and a mascara.
‘Slow strokes, like this,’ she said, showing me how to make my lashes look long and luscious with the wand.
Afterwards, I’d hide away in my room, practise dabbing my face with foundation, applying eyeshadow, a slick of lipstick.
I had to use both hands to grip things and I was awful at first.
‘I look like a clown,’ I groaned to Mum, make-up all over my face.
‘And not a very good one!’ she chuckled.
We both laughed.
I kept practising – until one morning, I cracked it.
‘You look gorgeous,’ my 11-year-old sister grinned, as I wheeled myself off to see friends, face fully made up.
At first, I kept my look natural, lots of nude colours.
But, the better I got, the more I experimented.
Pink or red lipsticks, bright, shiny eye shadows. It gave me bags of confidence.
When I turned 16, I did a part-time beauty therapy course. I learnt all the tricks of the trade.
My classmates watched, fascinated, as I painted course mates’ toenails, applied their eye shadow, never smudging.
By the time I was 18, my little sisters were begging me to do their make-up.
‘Please, Danielle!’ the 13-year-old would nag before going off to the cinema with her mates. ‘OK,’ I’d grin. I was much better than them and loved doing bigsister stuff for them. Over the years, more people asked how I achieved certain looks. So I started posting make-up tutorials on Facebook. Some looks took two hours to create, but I got loads of positive comments. That’s incredible! I wanted to show people – not just those with disabilities but everyone – that just because something was difficult didn’t mean it was impossible. Now, I have more than 55,000 viewers. I can’t even put those on! fans write, watching my live videos, glueing on fake eyelashes.
I get messages every day from people the world over, inspired by my posts.
I’d love to become a full-time make-up artist, and I’m learning to walk with prosthetics. I’m hoping to move out soon, and I’d love kids one day.
Mum taught me that, with a little grit and determination, I could do anything I wanted.
Now I want to show others the same – and to do my small bit to help make the world a beautiful place.