Since becoming disabled, I've become much more aware of the world around me. Before I needed mobility aids, accessibility was one of those things I didn't think about very often. It wasn't because I didn't care, it was simply because I moved through the world without encountering many barriers. If a building had steps, I used them. If a venue was a long walk from the car park, I walked. Accessibility wasn't something I had to consider because my body allowed me to do those things without much thought.
Now I find myself noticing things I never would have paid attention to before. I notice when a shop has a step at the entrance and no ramp. I notice when tables are packed so closely together that a wheelchair couldn't fit between them. I notice when accessible toilets are used as storage rooms or when a venue claims to be accessible because it has a ramp at the entrance, but then the toilet is up a flight of stairs. Once you rely on accessibility, you start seeing all the places where it is missing.
See the image alongside this blog. I was in Sports Direct with my partner while he was picking up a few things for himself. Simply getting around the store was a challenge. The layout was so cramped that I seemed to bump into almost every rail, constantly having to manoeuvre around displays and narrow gaps. When we reached the lift to go upstairs, things became even more frustrating. The lift was being used as storage for shoes on sale, with stacks of boxes taking up a large portion of the space. I could barely fit my wheelchair inside and ended up with my feet awkwardly contorted just to squeeze in. My poor partner was left wedged between the wall of the lift and my wheelchair. It might seem like a small inconvenience, but moments like this are a perfect example of how accessibility barriers don't always come from a lack of ramps or lifts. Sometimes the accessible feature exists, but it's been made difficult to use because accessibility wasn't considered beyond simply ticking a box.
I think that's one of the biggest misconceptions people have. Accessibility is often viewed as a special accommodation for a small minority of people, but the reality is that it benefits almost everyone at some point in their lives. A ramp helps me use my powerchair, but it also helps parents with pushchairs, delivery drivers moving heavy trolleys and people recovering from injuries. Lifts are invaluable for wheelchair users, but they're also helpful for elderly people, pregnant people, people with chronic pain and anyone carrying heavy luggage. Even something as simple as having benches available can make a huge difference, not just for disabled people but for anyone who needs a rest, whether that's because of age, illness or simply having had a long day. This effect of helping everyone, not just disabled folk, is called the 'curb cut effect'. After curb cuts the lower part of curbs in the uk was designed for wheelchair users, yet now they help the elderly, those on bikes, parents with prams and more.
I think many people imagine accessibility as something that only matters if you have a permanent disability, but most of us will experience a time in our lives when accessibility becomes important. People break legs, have operations, develop chronic illnesses, become pregnant or simply grow older. None of us can guarantee that we will always be able to move through the world in the same way we do today.
Something else I've come to realise is that good accessibility often goes unnoticed. When somewhere is genuinely accessible, people don't usually stop to think about it because everything works as it should. It's only when barriers appear that accessibility suddenly becomes visible. Nobody notices a door that's easy to open until they encounter one that isn't. Nobody thinks about whether there is somewhere to sit until they desperately need a seat and can't find one.
The truth is that accessibility isn't about giving disabled people an advantage. It's about making sure people aren't excluded unnecessarily. It creates options. It gives people the opportunity to participate, whether that's visiting a café, attending an event, going to work or simply spending time with friends and family. The more accessible a space is, the more people are able to use it comfortably.
Since becoming disabled, I've often found myself wishing that more people understood this. Accessibility isn't a niche issue that only affects a small group of people. It's something that makes the world easier, kinder and more welcoming for everyone. We all benefit when spaces are designed with different needs in mind, and I think the world would be a much better place if accessibility was viewed as a normal part of good design rather than an afterthought.
I didn't fully understand that until I needed accessibility myself. Now it's something I notice every single day, and the more I see of it, the more convinced I become that creating accessible spaces benefits far more people than most of us realise.
Faeryn
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