Learning to Accept Support: Disability, Travel and Internalised Ableism
- Rachel Parker

- 1 day ago
- 4 min read

This isn’t a blog post I ever imagined I'd be writing, nor a photograph I expected to exist.
It shows me sitting in a wheelchair on the tarmac at Marrakesh Menara Airport, moments after landing. Not because of an accident. Not because of a sudden emergency. But because over the past year or so, my body has changed in ways I’m still learning to understand.
An Arrival I Didn't Expect
Due to ongoing and significant health issues, I now experience extreme exhaustion from tasks as basic as standing up or walking short distances around my house, simply letting my dog Nico out, heating up my meals, going to the bathroom. I often feel dizzy and am at risk of fainting. I’m still working with my consultant at Borders General Hospital to better understand what’s happening, but in the meantime, this uncertainty has become part of my daily life.

When Everyday Tasks Become Exhausting
Because these symptoms have increased significantly since my trip to India last January, this time the airport assistance looked different. For the first time, it included the use of a wheelchair through both airports, and lifts onto the aircraft rather than walking long distances and using the stairs, both things I’d previously done, even when assistance staff had wrongly assumed that support for autism or executive functioning must automatically mean a wheelchair.
This time, it wasn't assumed. Instead, I was greeted warmly with the question of “What assistance do you require today?” However, as it happens, on this occasion a wheelchair was necessary.
Needing Support Doesn't Always Look The Way People Expect
Being wheeled through the airport by someone else was strange. It brought an unexpected awareness of just how much autonomy I was handing over. I wasn’t in control of how quickly we moved, where we went, how close we got to other travellers or when/where I could stop. Alongside that came the internal voice telling me I was “being dramatic”, “making too big a deal out of things”, or “taking support away from someone who needs it more”.

Internalised Ableism and the Fear of Taking Up Space
I recognise this now for what it is: internalised ableism. But recognising it doesn’t make it disappear overnight.
Like many people with invisible or fluctuating disabilities, I can still stand and walk short distances most of the time. I can often still complete individual basic tasks. What my body can’t do at the moment is sustain those tasks one after the other and still continue to function for the rest of the day. My energy, is finite and much more easily depleted than before.
The Distinction Between Capacity and Sustainability
The distinction between what we can do once and what we can safely sustain matters. Most of us aren’t taught to recognise it, and in a society that rewards pushing through, we too often learn to dismiss our own limits.

When My Body Made the Decision for Me
The moment that quietened that nagging internal voice came shortly after landing in Morocco. Airport assistance could only take me as far as the main exit doors to the terminal. Whilst in line to book a taxi, I knew my body was tired and tried to sit on one of my suitcases while we waited. The next thing I remember, I was lying flat on my back on the floor, with my dad and a kind woman in front of us in the queue asking if I was ok and helping me sit back up.
I was embarrassed. However, perhaps surprisingly, this experience was validating.
That moment made something very clear. The wheelchair assistance hadn’t been excessive or unnecessary, it had been preventative. Without it, I would have been even more exhausted and would probably have collapsed sooner/more often and had far greater and longer lasting consequences.
Support as Prevention, Not Failure
There is a strong temptation, particularly for disabled and neurodivergent people, to keep pushing through simply because we can do something, regardless of the knock-on impact to our minds and bodies later. This is often reinforced when we are praised for our resilience and endurance by coping quietly, rather than setting boundaries or asking for/utilising the support and accommodations we require to have as equitable an experience as our non-disabled counterparts.
Had I tried to ‘power through’ the airports, walking long distances, immersed in the noise of the hustle and bustle, navigating the crowds and standing in long queues, I can only imagine how different this journey might have been.

Learning to Accept What Helps
Instead, with just one small but telling hiccup, a bruised ego and a slightly sore back, I've been able to arrive and begin this time in Morocco with a more gentle recovery. I'm looking forward to experiencing as much of the culture and as many of the sights as I’m able to, all at a pace that works for my body without feeling the need to sacrifice my health to ‘earn’ access.
This experience has reminded me that access and accommodations shouldn't be about proving incapacity, they’re supposed to be about preventing harm. They allow us to participate, travel, work and live without having to collapse first. I’m still learning what my body needs, and that learning is likely to be ongoing for a while yet. I'm trying to get more comfortable in knowing that using support isn’t something I need to justify. It’s something I’m allowed to accept.

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