Mark Wilson on Wobbles, family, and getting on with it (from my first podcast chat)

I’ve done radio and I’ve stood on a few stages, but The Wolf of Queen Street was my first proper podcast sit-down. Ten minutes in and we were already taking the mickey out of me “popping my podcast cherry.” Very on brand.

Before we even got to questions, he’d smashed through Wobbles in two and a half days. That floored me. I don’t take it for granted when someone sticks with my story. The humour landed with him too — the sass, the bread-clip disaster, the bits I probably should’ve kept to myself but didn’t. That balance — tears, laughter, love — is exactly why Ian Hunter (my neurodevelopmental therapist from way back) and I wrote the book the way we did.

Ian was at my 21st and looked around at the 150 people there and basically said, “There’s a book in this.” I was 22 and writing wasn’t in my top three priorities (beer, mates, and trying to pass papers were), but we started anyway. We sat down once a week, he asked questions, I talked a fair bit of rubbish, and four years later we had something real. The best decision we made was letting everyone tell the story from their angle — Mum, Dad, my sister, me. Mum writes like life is a wild novel; Dad’s chapters are tidy, short, and straight to the point. Same moment, two totally different truths. That’s family.

If you’ve read it, you’ll know Mum was nervous. She worried people would judge her for the hard calls she made. Here’s my view, which I’ve told her a hundred times: I’m sitting here talking to you because of what she did. She wasn’t perfect (who is), but she was relentless. Dad too. We had a dinner-table home — laughs, tears, arguments, and the real stuff. If the business was tight, we knew. If someone had a win, we all shared it. Nothing bottled up. I think we need more of that.

Primary school was easy enough — kids just want to play. College was rougher. Different school, social reset, and I learned fast that some people will avoid you just to protect their own standing. The exclusion was the worst bit, more than any name-calling. I was lucky though — a big crew outside school kept me anchored. And I had a clear target: get to the next step.

There were bright spots too. Dad once bought me a go-kart before I could even walk properly. Mum wasn’t exactly thrilled. We raced it in the funeral home carpark next door (I know), made a track with named corners, and I got good. In a kart, no one could tell anything was “different” — they just knew I was hard to beat. That bled into the rest of life. When I finally sat my restricted licence, the instructor pulled over ten minutes in, which had me panicking. He just said, “You’ve done this before. Take me back.” Licence sorted.

People often ask how cerebral palsy actually shows up for me. The simple version: the front of my brain tries to run actions the back should handle. If I overthink a movement, it gets harder. If I’m relaxed, things flow better. There’s a running joke that one or two beers smooths the signal; four or five and I’m like everyone else — useless. I don’t dwell on the wiring. I just crack on. If I keep moving, I maintain or get better; if I stop, I stiffen up. So I don’t stop.

Uni was where I found my feet — business, finance, mates, the usual. These days I work, pay a mortgage, chase normal life goals, and say yes to sharing my story when it might help. The talks aren’t complicated: mindset, graft, getting creative when the system can’t keep up, and remembering that nobody’s struggle is small when you’re the one inside it. My parents are the real heroes; I’m the product.

Would I change it if I could? I’ve thought about that more than once. If I could lift the load off my parents, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But change who I am? The connections I’ve made? The way I relate to other people’s stories? I wouldn’t trade that. If you’re after a genie, I’d probably just ask for a few shares ten years earlier and call it a day.

What’s next? Nothing fancy: keep living, keep working, keep sharing when it matters, and keep putting one foot in front of the other. If the book or a talk helps one or two people feel less alone, that’s a good day.

If you want the long version, Wobbles is available here. If you want me to come in and talk to your team or school, I’m keen. I like hearing other people’s stories too — everyone’s got one. That’s what keeps the world turning.