Legs or wheels - still overlooked

 

I thought I had mastered invisibility when I started using wheels. Turns out, I was wrong.  

This time, I walked. Not far, not long, just from the car to the counter to pick up a prescription. A simple errand. A moment of blending in.  

Or so I thought.  

I queued like anyone else, waiting my turn. The assistant at the counter acknowledged me, politely asking me to wait a moment. All very standard, perfectly normal.  

Then another assistant arrived, looked right past me, and asked, 'Can I help you, sir?'

To clarify: I am a woman. I was wearing a dress. I was standing right there. And yet, I was bypassed entirely, as though my presence failed to register.  

 

 

It made me think:  

When I’m on my scooter, I talk about feeling as invisible as my illness. But walking didn’t change that. The invisibility persisted, just in a different form.  

On wheels, people assume dependency and dismiss you.  

On foot, the struggle is hidden, and people don’t realize you exist in a world not built with you in mind.  

Either way, there’s this tendency for disabled individuals, especially those with invisible conditions, to be overlooked. To not quite fit into society’s expectations of who deserves attention.  

And I’m far from alone in this experience. Over 10 million people in the UK  have a hidden disability. In fact, around 70-80% of disabilities are invisible, meaning that for most disabled individuals, the challenges they face aren’t immediately apparent. Yet despite this, society often equates disability with what can be seen - what fits neatly into a visible, recognizable mold.  

But here’s the kicker: There’s nothing visibly “wrong” with me. No glaring sign that I have a disability. No obvious reason someone should overlook me entirely.  

So why did they?  

Actually… perhaps I truly am invisible.  

Which does beg the question, have I unlocked the ultimate stealth mode? 

Can I now sneak into VIP events undetected?

If so, someone point me toward the backstage entrance.  

 

 

But in all seriousness, this is why awareness matters. 

Why conversations matter.  

Because until we challenge the way society perceives (or fails to perceive) invisible disabilities, too many of us will continue to exist in the margins.