A Personal Perspective on Mobility Aids
- Rebecca Corlett
- Oct 2
- 5 min read
This blog reflects my personal experience as a mobility aid user. While these are my lived experiences, I recognize that others may have different perspectives and experiences. We're all individuals navigating the world through our own unique lens.
When Independence Looks Different
I was at a social gathering, using my walking stick for support, when a woman approached me. Her face was creased with concern as she asked, "What's wrong with you?" Loud enough for others nearby to hear. The way she tilted her head and spoke suggested she saw me as some tragic figure rather than simply another person there to participate. I was there for the same reason as everyone else but suddenly found myself the unwitting centre of attention. Seemingly owing an explanation of the story behing my using a walking stick.
This interaction captures something that many of us encounter regularly as mobility aid users. There's a strange disconnect between how we experience our daily lives and how others perceive them.
What makes this even more complex is that my disability, like many others, is dynamic. I exist in a grey area between expectations that makes many people uncomfortable. My needs change from day to day, and situation to situation. Around the house, I might not use any aids at all unless pain and stiffness are particularly severe. When I'm out, I typically use my walking stick, sometimes crutches. On longer days out, I may need my wheelchair. This fluctuation confuses people who expect disability to be static and predictable.
My mobility aids are not there as conversation starters or invitations for commentary, but as practical tools that help me navigate the world with chronic musculoskeletal conditions. While the specifics of my medical history aren't the focus here, the social landscape that many of us move through daily tells a story worth sharing. It's one about assumptions, barriers, and the complex reactions that arise when your appearance challenges what people expect.
Beyond Black and White: The Reality of Mobility Needs
Perhaps the most striking aspect of my experience, and one shared by many ambulatory wheelchair users, has been been other peoples reactions. There's an unspoken assumption in our society that such things belong to older adults, or those who cannot walk at all. When that expectation is challenged, it creates a ripple of confusion, curiosity, and sometimes outright hostility.
This binary thinking creates dangerous gatekeeping. The reality is that many of us who use wheelchairs are ambulatory, meaning we can walk. I use mine as a form of pain management and energy conservation. Personally, I could 'make do' without my wheelchair on those bigger days out, but I would pay the price in increased pain, stiffness, and low energy for days to come. My wheelchair isn't about what I can't do; it's about making strategic choices to preserve my wellbeing and be kind to my future self.
I've been questioned accusingly - "you're not using your walking stick?" - whilst I was managing comfortably without any aids, whereas the last time they saw me I was using my stick. This creates a no-win situation where we're simultaneously 'too disabled' and 'not disabled enough.' The implication being that "real" disabilities don't vary in severity or impact, when in reality many people manage fluctuating conditions daily.
The inspirational expectations that many able-bodied people project onto those with chronic conditions can be suffocating. There's pressure to be perpetually positive, or inspiring simply for existing and participating in daily life. To be grateful for every scrap of help, whether or not that help was wanted.
The Burden of Constant Advocation
There's an exhausting undercurrent that many mobility aid users face: having to prove our legitimacy. I've learned to anticipate the raised eyebrows when I stand up from my wheelchair to put it in the car, the whispered comments questioning my authenticity. Experiences that are all too common among the disabled community.
Equally draining are the automatic assumptions that we can't do things. Well-meaning people will immediately jump in to "help" without asking, or exclude us from activities they've decided we can't manage. I once had a woman follow me through an entire car park, insisting on holding doors open for me despite my telling her I didn't need her help. I was perfectly capable of managing them myself and had family members with me who could have assisted if needed. Her persistence, even after I'd declined her help, felt more about her need to be helpful than any respect for my autonomy or actual assessment of what I required.
This forces constant advocacy - explaining that yes, we can do that task, attend that event, or manage that responsibility. The cruel irony is that this advocacy sometimes leads us to push beyond our limits to prove our capability, saying yes to things we should decline or refusing help that's actually needed.
What people don't realize is how these seemingly small interactions accumulate. Each questioning look, each inappropriate comment, each assumption adds to an invisible load. This emotional labour is rarely acknowledged, yet it can be a significant part of navigating the world.
Tools, Not Limitations: Reframing Mobility Aids
Perhaps the most important lesson I've learned is that independence isn't about doing everything without assistance. It's about having autonomy to make choices about your life. My mobility aids don't represent dependence; they represent freedom. They allow me to move through the world on my terms and live fully.
When I use my walking stick, my crutches, or my wheelchair, I'm not giving up or admitting defeat. I'm being strategic about managing my pain, being kind to my future self, and conserving energy for the things that matter most. This reframing is crucial for anyone navigating chronic conditions, and it's a perspective I bring into my therapeutic work with others facing similar challenges.
Moving Forward
To those who share similar experiences: your validity doesn't depend on others' understanding or approval. Your mobility aids are not character flaws to overcome but tools that support your autonomy. You don't owe anyone explanations, inspiration, or reassurance about your existence.
To those who want to be better allies, the most helpful thing you can do is follow our lead but here's what that looks like in practice:
Ask "How can I support you?" rather than assuming what's needed
Wait to be invited before offering help, and accept "no thank you" gracefully
Avoid commenting on someone's mobility aids or medical equipment
Don't ask personal medical questions of casual acquaintances
Challenge your own assumptions when you see someone's needs change from day to day
Remember that treating us as you would anyone else is often the most respectful response
Understanding the reality of dynamic disabilities and mobility needs isn't just about being kind, it's about creating a world where everyone can participate fully without having to constantly justify their existence or educate others about their lived experience.
My journey with chronic conditions has profoundly shaped how I approach therapy, offering clients a space where they won't need to explain or justify their reality. This lived experience, combined with professional training, creates opportunities to explore not just coping strategies, but ways to reclaim narratives and build resilience that honors the whole person.
Mobility aids are part of many people's stories, but they're not the whole story. They're tools that help write the next chapter.
If you're struggling with chronic pain/conditions or navigating life changes, remember that seeking support demonstrates strength, not weakness. Professional counselling can provide valuable tools for processing these experiences and building resilience.