The first time a stranger called me “inspirational,” I was buying milk.
I’d rolled into a corner shop near my London flat, navigating aisles barely wider than my wheelchair. As I reached for the carton, a woman tapped my shoulder: “You’re so brave to shop alone! If I were you, I’d just give up.”
Her words felt like vinegar on a wound.
Brave? No—I was just hungry.
Give up? My wheelchair isn’t a tragedy; it’s my freedom.
But this “inspiration porn” is the least of it. What truly breaks me:
- The 45° “death ramps” they call accessible entrances, where I pray my wheels won’t slip.
- Airlines treating my chair like luggage. Last year, Lufthansa snapped my $6,000 TiLite’s frame. Their response? “File a claim within 24 hours.” (I was stranded in Frankfurt for 3 days.)
- The “helpful” hands that shove my chair without asking—as if my body is public property.
Worst of all? We’re told to be grateful for scraps.
When a Tube station finally installs a lift, headlines cheer “progress!”—ignoring that 40% of London’s underground remains inaccessible. When a cafe adds a ramp, they want applause. But ramps shouldn’t be “kindness”; they’re rights, like stairs for others.
I don’t want your pity or praise. I want:
🚦 Slopes that don’t require mountain-climbing skills
✈️ Airlines fined DOUBLE for broken wheelchairs
💺 Seats removed from buses so I’m not left waiting in rain
Next time you call me “brave,” ask instead:
“Why must she fight this hard just to exist in public?”
#NotYourInspiration #WheelchairLife #AirlinesBreakWheelchairs #AccessibilityIsARight
