I am a bisexual person and a wheelchair user. I am also a sibling, an animal owner, a partner, and a neighbor. I am a member of this community. Yet, often, when people see the chair, they stop seeing the person behind it.
When I go out with my partner, people talk to them instead of me, as if my disability has erased my intellect, my roles in my household, or my very voice. They see the chair and dismiss the ability to love or be loved, ignoring my identity entirely. But the erasure doesn’t stop there. As a bisexual person, I find myself constantly mislabeled in both straight and LGBTQ+ spaces. Depending on the person I am with, I am either erased into a ‘straight’ identity or told I am ‘gay’ but haven’t fully come out yet. My actual identity is treated as a temporary phase or a mask, rather than the truth of who I am.
Right now, the political rhetoric against the disabled community is divisive and draining. I hear people talk about PIP as if it’s a ‘handout,’ but it’s actually a lifeline for the ‘extra costs’ of just existing in a world not built for me. My Motability car isn’t a gift; it’s paid for by surrendering my entire mobility allowance just so I can have a shred of independence to be there for my animals and my family.
That independence is undermined every day by ‘fake’ accessibility. Recently, at a local restaurant, the ‘accessible’ toilet was so small I couldn’t turn my chair or transfer safely. When I pointed this out, I was told the building was ‘listed’ and I should just ‘ask the person I was with to help me’ onto and off the toilet. To be told to sacrifice my basic human dignity and privacy—as an adult and a member of this community—because a business finds access ‘inconvenient’ is dehumanizing.
I am deeply worried about the current climate in our town. When our local MP, Rupert Lowe, uses his platform to attack ‘gender ideology’ and target my trans siblings with hateful rhetoric, I know that the tide won’t stop with them. Once they feel they have finished with the trans community, they will come for the rest of us. Whether it is attacking the rights of the disabled to live independently or the rights of LGBTQ+ people to exist authentically, it is the same campaign of marginalization.
But this is why Pride matters to me.
To me, Pride is the refusal to be quieted or partitioned. It is the one space where I hope to be seen as a whole person—not just a ‘case file,’ a ‘wheelchair user,’ or ‘confused’—but as a sibling, an animal owner, a neighbor, and someone with a complex identity and a right to joy. Pride is about the strength we find when we realize our struggles for accessibility, bodily autonomy, and equality are all connected.
My hope lies in us—the community. My hope is that we stop accepting ‘we’ll look into it’ and start demanding ‘we will change it.’ When we stand together, disabled and non-disabled, cis and trans, we create a world where ‘Limitless Voices’ isn’t just a slogan on a poster, but a reality we live every day.
My story isn’t a tragedy, and I’m not here to be your ‘inspiration.’ I am here to demand the same respect, direct conversation, and physical access that everyone else takes for granted. My voice is limitless, and as long as we have each other, I know we can turn the tide.