I suffered three ableist incidents in one week – please respect wheelchair users

I love nothing more than heading out to a restaurant on my own for lunch and to people-watch. Or interacting with strangers while perusing shops and pottering around leisurely.

But simply existing in public as a disabled wheelchair user often unfairly exposes me to ableism.

In fact, within the space of a week, I experienced three separate intimidating, patronising and unpleasant ableist experiences. On a good day, I can block it out and simply rise above it, but sometimes I can’t mask that it’s hurtful, scary and absolutely not on.

Last month, as I browsed the summer fashion and home range at H&M in Angel, I heard a deep voice behind me say to an elderly man he was with: ‘Just wait, I need to show someone the lady from EastEnders.’

The comment immediately spiked my attention. Why? Because, as an actress and presenter in the public eye, I am often stopped by people asking for selfies. I am also confused or mistaken for other disabled wheelchair users who are on TV too. After hearing the comment, I knew he thought I was the lovely Lisa Hammond.

The guy then followed me around the store with his camera pointed at me discreetly. Every time I looked at him with a stern expression, he pretended to pick up clothing.

I felt violated on two levels. Firstly, because I despise how ableist it is to assume that all petite-statured people or wheelchair users are the same person. For me, it comes down to sheer ignorance of seeing someone’s impairment or mobility aid before the individual.

Secondly, I felt totally intimidated as a woman on her own being followed and having unsolicited pictures taken of me. As someone who has had horrendous memes made up of me to mock and humiliate, this experience was triggering. I felt sick and angry.

I wanted him to understand that what he was doing was inappropriate, so I challenged him.

‘You know I’m not the actress in EastEnders, right?’, my voice stern and expression serious, ‘So no point in trying to get a pic.’ I was petrified and shaking at the same time.

He replied: ‘But you look like her!’

‘Why?’ I shot back, ‘Because we’re both wheelchair users? Plus she is a brunette and I’m blonde.’ 

Instead of bowing out and simply acknowledging that stalking me and trying to sneak a picture was inappropriate – or, you know, perhaps even apologise – this guy continued to argue with me about how he could see my dark roots and that I could have simply dyed my hair.

This interaction left me feeling shaken, so I left with haste. As I exited the store, I was proud of myself for speaking up, but why did I have to be subjected to this ableism?

Later that same day, I ducked into Sainsbury’s for cat food because I am in a perpetual state of buying it for my two sphynx babies.

As I scanned the shelves looking for the right one, I heard a woman who worked at the supermarket bellowing: ‘Can you move out of the way? People are trying to get past.’ Immediately, I was transported back to high school, where the teacher’s voice scolded the kids for being unruly or not getting to class fast enough.

I turned around to see a few other shoppers unable to squeeze past the narrow aisle and my rather bulky power chair with their trolleys. They all seemed to stand with rather gormless expressions, just waiting.

At that moment, I felt puzzled. Why couldn’t they simply ask me to move themselves? What makes it so hard to interact with a disabled person on such a basic human level so as to ask politely to squeeze past – the same way I do with non-disabled people.

For me, this moment simply highlighted the awkwardness we still have around disability. So I took a deep breath, moved slightly, made a loud, sigh sound and continued with my shopping.

Then, a few days later in another supermarket, I was buying more cat food when I found myself in another unsettling situation. I was finishing up at the tills when a woman blocked my way. She randomly started shoo-ing me with hand gestures – her voice became louder and more aggressive. 

Initially, I didn’t know what to think as I couldn’t understand what she was trying to say. So I swung my wheelchair around and headed in the opposite direction. That’s when she continued to follow me down the aisle while yelling phrases I couldn’t make out.

One of the members of staff got involved to ask if I knew her so I said I didn’t and they called security and escorted her off the premises. I was once again left shaken and in shock. I felt violated and threatened – simply for buying groceries.

No one can know categorically if any of these events would have taken place if I were with my PA or a group of non-disabled friends. That’s because I feel that being in the company of my non-disabled peers gives me a protective bubble and people tend to be more respectful and engage with me as they would anyone else. They might think I’m not so unapproachable if I’m with others.

But the truth is, I felt scared and all three interactions tarnished how much I enjoy being alone in public.

These incidents – alongside being rude and scary – are ableist. I use this word specifically because I do not think I would have experienced these things if I were not disabled.

I want people to know that disabled people like me deserve respect in public. 

Maintaining my independence and autonomy are things I have worked incredibly hard to achieve over my life. It’s a shame that ableism, microaggressions and discrimination like this exists.

If one of your deaf, disabled or neurodivergent friends tells you about an interaction similar to mine, please do not invalidate their experience. Listen, be respectful and educate yourself.

Luckily, my confidence hasn’t been knocked completely and I’m looking forward to more spontaneous trips very soon.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

Share your views in the comments below.

MORE : As a disabled person, every day I find myself masking and code switching

MORE : I was feeling too sick to work so I told my colleagues the truth: I was on my period

MORE : I’m 37, but people never ask when I’m having kids because of my disability