Some occupations take more planning than others.
For many people, deciding to go to the theatre or a concert might be a spontaneous choice. For me, and for many disabled people, engaging in occupations that sit outside everyday routines often requires preparation well in advance.
Planning becomes an occupation in itself.
Going out to see live performances across a weekend is not something I do every week, and I knew it would take energy. I took a few days off work before the weekend to manage my energy and one day afterwards to recover. It is a reminder that a lot of my annual leave is often used simply to pace myself, sometimes spending whole days in bed resting. While that allows my body to recover, it can leave me feeling both grateful for the rest and frustrated that time away from work is often spent managing fatigue rather than doing the things I might otherwise choose to do.
Even as I write this blog, I have taken a couple of breaks this afternoon to snooze.
Energy management is part of how I plan my occupations. Thinking ahead about what I want to do, how much energy it will take, and what I might need to make it possible is all part of maintaining some form of occupational balance.
These events also require planning for both of us. My husband travelled with me across the weekend and had booked time off work himself so he could support me to attend. He drives, manages getting my wheelchair in and out of the car and helps with the logistics of getting to and from venues. Those things might seem small, but they take a lot out of me physically.
He also helps me think about what we will need to take and packs everything without me even having to ask. That is something I am deeply grateful for.
He is my husband, but he also carries caring responsibilities. He helps me organise things, helps with dressing and showering, and supports me when my brain is simply not capable of organising what needs to happen next.
He understands the toll this can sometimes take, both on me and on our relationship. Finding the balance between being my husband and being my carer can be challenging, and it is something we are still learning together.
For many disabled people, planning is not just preparation. It is a significant occupation that makes other occupations possible.
It is the work that sits behind being able to engage in leisure.
And I do love going to the theatre and gigs. Live performances are something I have always enjoyed. But there are also times when I simply do not want to go.
A few weeks ago, I had tickets to see the Kaiser Chiefs. Everything had been planned in the same way, including time to rest beforehand. But when the evening arrived, I just did not want to go. The thought of leaving the house felt overwhelming. It felt like putting on armour, preparing myself to face the world outside.
So I did not go.
Sometimes, even when the planning is right, the energy just is not there.
Across this particular weekend, though, that planning meant we could travel to two performances in two different venues in the North East. On Saturday night, we travelled to Sunderland to see Sheridan Smith in Alan Ayckbourn’s darkly comic psychological drama Woman in Mind. Then on Sunday evening, which happened to be International Women’s Day, we travelled to Newcastle City Hall to see Lily Allen perform songs from her latest album West End Girl.
Both women are almost exactly my age. Sheridan Smith is just a year older than me, and Lily Allen is only a few years younger. Watching them perform made me reflect on women of my generation and the different ways they have shaped British culture.
Saturday: Theatre in Sunderland
Saturday evening began with the journey to Sunderland.
Sheridan Smith is someone whose work has appeared in my life over the years rather than someone I have actively followed. Like many people, my earliest memories of her are from Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps. Since then, she has appeared in a wide range of television dramas, including, more recently, I Fought the Law.
She has also had her share of negative press over the years, much of it focusing on her personal life and relationships rather than her work. It is a pattern that still seems disproportionately directed at women in the public eye.
Yet my own experience has always been simple: if Sheridan Smith is in something, it is probably worth watching.
Woman in Mind confirmed that instinct. The play explores the inner world of a woman whose reality begins to fracture, blending humour with darker psychological themes. Sheridan Smith carried the role with vulnerability and intensity, holding the audience’s attention from start to finish.
Getting there involved another occupation: organising access.
Accessible ticketing varies from venue to venue. Some theatres require registration for access schemes, others ask for proof of disability, and each venue seems to operate slightly differently. Remembering which venue requires what can sometimes feel like another piece of administration before you have even bought the ticket.
Booking Sunderland was relatively straightforward, which made a refreshing change.
The wheelchair seating was positioned at the end of a row, which is common in many theatres. While it provides space for wheelchairs, it can sometimes mean the view is slightly different from the rest of the audience.
One thing the venue did particularly well was service to your seat. Being able to order refreshments without navigating crowded bars or foyers makes a difference. It improves the experience for everyone.
The venue also had accessible toilets, which is essential. But navigating through crowds to reach them can be another challenge. I often hesitate to ask people to move because I feel like I am in the way.
At one point, I warned someone that if they stayed where they were, I would probably run over their feet. They reassured me there was plenty of room.
Unfortunately, they were wrong.
I did indeed run over their feet.
Sunday: Lily Allen in Newcastle
Sunday evening meant heading into Newcastle city centre to see Lily Allen perform.
On the drive over, I spent some time on Instagram sharing International Women’s Day content on my stories. My feed is filled with facts about the inequalities women continue to face across the world.
Alongside those posts, I also shared reflections about the additional discrimination disabled women experience, something that often disappears from wider conversations about gender equality.
Many of the points I shared had been highlighted by journalist Lucy Webster, who writes about disability and gender. Her work highlights how disabled women experience sexism differently.
Where non-disabled women are often oversexualised, disabled women are frequently desexualised. Instead of assumptions that they want children, disabled women may find motherhood questioned or denied. Rather than being assumed to provide care, disabled women are often judged for needing care themselves. And instead of simply being included in women’s spaces, disabled women can sometimes find themselves excluded from them altogether.
Even something as simple as buying tickets for a theatre or concert can highlight these intersections. Access schemes, proof requirements and limited wheelchair seating add extra layers to something others can approach casually.
Those reflections stayed with me as we arrived in Newcastle.
Navigating the city centre in the evening can feel overwhelming. Crowds move quickly through the streets, and it takes concentration and energy just to move safely through busy spaces before you even reach the venue.
Before we arrived, I also noticed something about my own unconscious bias.
In the days leading up to the concert, I had joked with several people that my husband was coming with me. I had even asked him if he was sure he wanted to come, half joking that the audience would probably be full of women and he might be the only man there.
I had seen social media posts from previous shows pointing out a lone man in the audience, which had probably reinforced that assumption.
But when we arrived, I was surprised.
Yes, there were plenty of groups of women in the audience, but there were also lots of men there. In fact, the row directly behind us was made up almost entirely of men.
It was a reminder that sometimes our own assumptions shape how we imagine spaces before we even enter them.
Seeing Lily Allen live felt worth the effort.
Her music has been part of my life for nearly twenty years now. When her first album Alright, Still was released in July 2006, I had just qualified as an occupational therapist and started my first job working in a secure psychiatric hospital.
At the time, I had a close group of friends and spent a lot of evenings out. Many of those nights were spent at alternative or indie club nights dominated by male guitar bands.
When Lily Allen appeared, she sounded different from everything else I was listening to.
Her music was observational, funny, raw and honest. It reflected the world around her and the experiences she was living through. It was also a female voice in spaces that often felt dominated by men.
I had seen her live once before at V Festival. I had gone mainly for the headline act, The Killers, but it was Lily’s performance that stayed with me afterwards.
More recently, I have been listening regularly to her podcast with her friend Miquita Oliver. By the time the podcast began, she had stepped away from the intense spotlight of the early years. In that time, she had been raising her children, writing books, acting on stage, moving to America and working on her sobriety, while navigating the complicated relationship with fame and public attention.
What draws me most to those conversations is the honesty. Topics such as relationships, abortion and sexuality are discussed openly. Listening regularly also makes it clear how easily those conversations are lifted out of context and sensationalised by the press.
Her latest album West End Girl reflects on the breakdown of her marriage and the emotional landscape that follows. It is the kind of album that works best when listened to from beginning to end.
I found myself doing something I had not done in years. I bought the CD so I could listen to the entire album in the car from start to finish again and again.
Seeing the album performed live was something else entirely.
You could tell how much her performance style has evolved. Her experience of acting in stage productions really came through in the way the show was structured. At times, it felt less like a traditional gig and more like watching a one-woman play.
There were subtle set changes, costume changes and a clear narrative running through the performance. She performed the album from start to finish, allowing the story of it to unfold across the evening.
There were only occasional moments where she broke from the performance, offering a cheeky smile or small acknowledgement to the audience before returning to the flow of the show. It almost felt like the audience was watching a story being played out on stage, rather than a collection of individual songs.
It was a brilliant performance.
I felt every emotion she was expressing through the music. The vulnerability, the honesty and the strength behind the album all came through in the way she held the stage.
Newcastle City Hall made the evening particularly positive. The staff were welcoming and clearly experienced in supporting disabled visitors. They checked in with me after I had been seated and came back later to make sure everything was okay.
They also offer ordering from your seat for access customers, which meant we did not need to navigate crowded bars or busy spaces.
Like Sunderland, the venue had accessible toilets. But again, navigating through crowds to reach them can feel like another barrier. Often I try to avoid using them where possible, holding on until I reach somewhere I feel more comfortable. Sometimes that means wearing pads to manage any leaks that might happen along the way.
It is not something people talk about very often, but it is part of the reality of navigating public spaces with a disability.
Rolling Home Reflecting
Looking back now, my International Women’s Day weekend ended up being about more than simply attending two performances.
It was about seeing two women of my generation on stage and reflecting on the ways they have shaped British cultural life.
It was also a reminder that planning, pacing and preparation are occupations in their own right. For disabled people, those occupations often enable the things we most want to do.
Two evenings. Two stages. Two women whose voices have shaped the culture around us.
And a reminder that sometimes the occupations that sit behind the experience are just as important as the experience itself.