Fellow schoolmates would call young Jessica ‘It’: Here’s how her mum coped

When I bump into friends on our walks, she’ll stand back, which is a bit sad. Sometimes I say, “You’re an actress. In a situation you’re not happy with, just become somebody else.” But it’s not fair telling her not to be Jess.

She has never disappointed me. Society has disappointed me in the way it treats her, but Jessica has never been a disappointment, ever. She’s my daughter. She means everything to me.

JESSICA: She’s always been a great mum; I had a very happy childhood. She liked going to the movies with me or on girls’ shopping days. We had great vacations in Disneyland and Colorado, where we went skiing, horse-riding and whitewater rafting. She wasn’t overly strict, but she thought I needed a good education and should stay healthy. When she became a personal trainer, she’d make my lunch and there weren’t a lot of chips or cookies.

It was frustrating for her when I started struggling at school. That’s when Dad would have to do the homework help, because she thought, “Right, I can’t handle this.” I was bullied: for how I talked, how I walked, because I had learning disabilities, because I liked wolves. Because I was weird. Mum tried telling me things I could say or do, even contacting the parents of the bullies, although they said, “Oh no, my child would never do that.” But Mum was a great support. She found a private high school for kids with disabilities; that was the best move.

I was always worried for her when she had her surgeries. If Mum was panicky [about my brain-stem tumour], she kept her cool around me. She stayed in the hospital with me the whole time and slept in a little fold-out bed. She’s taught me how to stay strong and put on a brave face.

Mum’s definitely into exercise more than I am. I’d rather be reading a book, on my computer, doing a jigsaw puzzle. But she’s one of the reasons I push myself to exercise, because staying healthy is a big part of having NF. Organising Cupid’s Undie Run every February for the Children’s Tumour Foundation is one way she handles having NF. We do medical appointments together and have our MRIs back to back. During mine, I play the entire Lion King movie in my mind; I can picture everything.

“Sometimes, Mum sends me texts like, ‘You are loved’ or ‘You have value’ … She can sense I’m not feeling 100 per cent good about myself.”

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Mum did a lot of acting when I was young and I learnt the plays; there are scenes we can still quote together. She’s probably the reason I got into theatre. I wrote the play we’re doing with the Disability Trust this year. It’s called Circus Miraculous and it’s about a boy who runs away to join the circus because he can’t seem to fit in.

The longest we’ve been apart was when I went to work at Disney World in Florida for a year in 2011. Mum put a handkerchief in a beautiful card and told me not to read the card until I got on the plane. She wrote about how proud she was of me. Of course, I got all teary. When Mum and Dad went on the Camino [de Santiago long-distance walk in Spain] in 2018 for eight weeks, it was just me and our dog at home because I don’t have a whole lot of friends to invite over. I did get a bit lonely.

Sometimes, Mum sends me texts like, “You are loved” or “You have value.” It makes me feel really good. She’ll send them when she can sense I’m not feeling 100 per cent good about myself. She wants to remind me that I matter.

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