A big thank you to @thischronicstruggle for sharing an Instagram post recently that stuck with me, and inspired this blog post.
It was a simple but powerful reminder that using different mobility aids on different days is completely valid. For those of us with dynamic or fluctuating disabilities, that flexibility is essential. But it’s something many people still don’t understand.
I’m sharing this blog to help others understand why I use different mobility aids at different times. Even as I write, there’s a voice in my head saying, “Why do I have to explain this?” But I know I’m not alone in feeling judged for making the choices that help me get through the day, and I hope this gives some insight into how complex those choices can be.
This hasn’t been a typical week for me. It’s been far from it, but that’s exactly why it feels like the right time to share. The week has taken me out of my usual routines and comforts, and in doing so, it’s highlighted the constant planning, adapting, and decision-making that goes into how I move through the world.
When I’m away from my accessible home environment, when things aren’t set up for me, I feel the weight of just how misunderstood disability still is especially when it comes to mobility aids and the assumptions people make about how and when they’re used.
One example this week was a midweek wedding. Going somewhere new always means thinking through every detail in advance. We needed to find accessible accommodation, so we booked an Airbnb. I let the host know about my disability, and thankfully, they were lovely and understanding. The place wasn’t perfect, but I thought I could manage, and mostly I did. Even so, I needed help from my husband to get in and out of bed and use the toilet, because the space simply wasn’t set up like home is.
For the wedding itself, I chose to use my walker instead of my wheelchair. That decision was partly practical and partly about freedom. Most taxis are not wheelchair accessible, but the walker fits easily in the boot. This meant we could get a taxi both there and back, and both have a drink without worrying about who would drive. I contacted the venue in advance to check the layout and accessibility, which I always do, and I knew I would be able to manage a few steps with support, especially with my husband by my side.
At the weekend, we stayed at my dad’s while he was away, mainly so we could go to the beer festival at the local pub, which also had live music playing. This time, my husband wasn’t with me, but my brother and sister-in-law were there to help. My nieces were also staying, so we had three girls aged five, seven, and ten. I mostly looked after them. We went to the park, played games, and had lots of fun. It’s something I love doing. They’re used to me and my mobility challenges. They don’t know any different, and that makes it easier for us all.
When we arrived at the house, I used the downstairs toilet. It is very low, but I was just about able to manage by pulling myself up using the sink. I know any occupational therapist reading this might be horrified, as you are not meant to pull yourself up on sinks, but this is the reality for many of us when nothing else is accessible. It is not safe, but sometimes it is the only option.
After that we went to the pub for the festival. We stayed for a few hours, ate and drank, although I chose to limit how much I had because the accessible toilet was out of order. This kind of behind-the-scenes decision making is constant when you live in a world not designed for your body.
That evening, we returned to the house to sleep. I needed help with the stairs. They are steep, and my brother had to push my leg up over the final step. I slept in a single bed that was thankfully a good height. It used to be my step-grandmother’s when she lived there. In the morning, I could not manage the toilet upstairs as it was too low, so I had to use the bath to wee in. It is not easy to admit, but it is the reality of being disabled in an environment that is not accessible. I share it because these are the everyday challenges that are rarely spoken about, yet they shape our lives in ways most people do not see.
Today was the bank holiday Monday, and I met up with friends and family for a picnic at Preston Park in Stockton. I know the park well, which helped a lot with planning. I often take the lead when arranging meet-ups like this not because I want to take control or spoil anyone’s spontaneity, but because knowing the plan matters for me. It helps me decide which mobility aid will be best suited, how much energy I’ll need, and whether I can manage independently. Sometimes I do worry I come across as a bit of a control freak, always organising things, but the reality is that careful planning is what makes it possible for me to join in. Today had its challenges, the park was really busy, and the play area had soft ground, which my wheelchair doesn’t handle well, but there were enough of us there to make it work. Despite the cold weather, we had fun and even warmed up by heading into Butterfly World for a while.
Further reflection
The Instagram post also made me reflect on something that happened over the past month, something I’ve been mulling over. I was challenged at work on two separate occasions after colleagues saw me walking with crutches instead of using my wheelchair. Both were surprised, even though I walk from my car to my office every day.
One colleague asked me directly, “If you can walk, why are you using a chair? Are you faking it?”
Another, in a completely different situation, said, “Oh wow, I didn’t know you could do that. I’m so impressed.”
Although that second comment was meant kindly, both left me feeling awful. As if walking is some kind of miracle. As if there is a right way to be disabled. These are both ableist reactions. One openly questioned my integrity, and the other unintentionally turned my ordinary reality into something remarkable just because it didn’t fit their assumptions.
These reactions stayed with me and made me reflect further when I saw an Instagram post about using different mobility aids at different times. It resonated with me. Non-disabled people often view disability in black and white terms, shaped by unconscious bias. If you use a wheelchair, they assume you always need it. If you can walk, then you must not need it. But real life is not that simple, not for me and not for many others.
So I want to explain why I use a combination of mobility aids and how each one supports me differently depending on the situation.
Crutches are for short distances, like walking from the car to my office. They give me the support I need for a short time.
The walker is ideal when I am going to an event, like a wedding or a meal out, where I know I will not need to walk far but might still need to take a few steps. It has a seat, so I can rest when needed, and it is also a good height, which means I can stand up from it independently without needing help. I also use my walker at home to help me move things from room to room, like drinks or my phone, as it allows me to carry items safely while staying supported.
My wheelchair is essential for long days, work, or when I am out and about on my own. It helps me conserve energy and move freely. Their is a trade off, unlike my walker I can’t stand from it independently, so I always have to think about will there be someone to help me stand, or will I have access to a something I can pull myself up on like a handrail in a accessible toilet. I can use it independently with my adapted car, which has a ramp that I reverse the chair up onto. This raises the height of the chair, allowing me to stand safely. I always place my crutches in the back of the car when getting the chair in and out, so they are ready for when I need to transfer.
People often stop to offer help, which is kind and well-meaning. But I have a routine that works, and when someone unfamiliar steps in, they often do things differently. That means when I get to the other end of my journey, the chair may not be set up correctly, and I struggle more than I would have on my own. I always politely decline help, but the response is often the same: “Are you sure?” Some people even insist on helping, which, although well-intended, is not helpful at all.
People often assume that mobility aids are all or nothing, but in reality, it is about flexibility, practicality, and choosing what works best for that day, that task, and how my body is coping in that moment.
At home, I thrive. My environment is designed to support me. I have raised furniture, step-free shower rooms, a commode in the bedroom, and a staircase with handrails on both sides that I only use once a day because it takes all my energy. I plan to make sure I have everything I need. That is how I stay independent.
But when I am away, even just visiting family, I am reminded of how disabling the world can be. Low toilets I cannot get off, furniture I cannot stand up from, and broken accessible toilets. These are the barriers people don’t always see. They wear you down. You are constantly making decisions about how much to eat or drink, whether it is worth going out, whether you will need help, and whether you will have to justify your choices all over again.
Mobility aids are not about weakness or attention. They are about freedom. They are tools that help me live the life I want. I use the one that suits the moment, and I should not have to explain or defend that choice.
So next time you see someone using a different aid than usual, or switching between them, please don’t assume. Instead, remember that everybody is different. Those of us living with disability are simply trying to get on with life, in a world that does not always make that easy.
Thank you for reading. Please feel free to share.
Rachel xx