As soon as I noticed a group of men out of the corner of my eye, my body tensed. I’d just arrived at London Euston station in May for a weekend celebrating a friend’s birthday and I was being escorted in my wheelchair to the taxi rank by a member of staff. Suddenly, one of the guys from the group stood close to me, so I instinctively lowered my head and eyes.
That’s when he pointed his finger towards my head – invading my personal space – and said: ‘Oi lads, would you f**k that?’ The group burst out laughing, as they moved past me and carried on with their day – oblivious to the negative impact and destruction they had left behind. The member of staff helping me quickly said: ‘Just ignore them’. It’s an all-too-familiar comment used by non-disabled people who simply do not know what to say.
But I couldn’t just ignore them, nor did I want to . In that moment, I felt objectified, threatened, and – honestly – worthless. The word ‘that’ lingered.
Is that all I am to some people? Not even a human, just a thing. This is just one example of the misogyny and ableism I experience as a disabled woman. The thing is, I actually woke up that morning feeling beautiful with my lovely golden tan from sitting in my garden.
My blonde hair – long overdue a haircut – nearly touching my bottom, I was channelling a sun-kissed California babe. I had my Louis Vuitton bag on and designer sunglasses. I looked hot.
I felt empowered and sexy. But as soon as I got to P.