There are a lot of hidden costs to being disabled. Being disabled means not being able to “afford” the cheaper options.
Having a safe, guaranteed experience costs money. Logistics cost time and money - you can’t “just go” to a new place.
A person in a wheelchair asks another person in a wheelchair “why are you in a wheelchair?” because they can move their legs.
People panic whenever they see a disabled person lives or travels alone. The terrified look my new neighbors give me when they first meet me because I am by myself. The relief on their face when they ask “Are you by yourself?” and I mention I’m married. How creepy that question would be if I was a woman.
So, wheelchair-instagram is a thing that I tend to get lost in from time to time. On the surface, it’s nothing really special: random videos and images of people in wheelchairs going about their daily lives.
But I think that’s why it appeals to me so much. It’s a chance for me to see people like me—no, that’s not right. It’s a chance for me to see bodies like mine out in the world doing things the things that I can (or wish I could) do.
The way a fish moves through the water once it’s been freed from the hook.
It’s not realizing you’ve been gasping for air until after you finally start breathing. Only to realize that once you leave this place, there’s no air for you to breathe.
Camp was like that. Volunteering was like remembering to breathe. Being there was like remembering to breathe