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Learning to Accept Support: Disability, Travel and Internalised Ableism

  • Writer: Rachel Parker
    Rachel Parker
  • 1 day ago
  • 4 min read
Photograph showing Rachel a white woman with curly brown hair wearing glasses, seated in a wheelchair on the open tarmac at Marrakesh Menara Airport shortly after landing. Behind her there are airplane stairs and various vehicles for manouvering planes and stairs into position, highlighting the scale of the environment and the moment of arrival.
Rachel sat in a wheelchair on the tarmac at Marrakech Menara Airport.

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.


A photograph focused a a large orange tree with vibrant green leaves and many orange fruit visible. It's set against a very bright clear blue sky, highglighting the difference in climate between Morocco and Scotland.
I was surprised by how green Marrakech is and just how many orange trees are growing in the streets!

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”.


A photograph with the 'Edinburgh Airport' logo above the wording "Special Assistance Reserved Seating" in white text on a light blue wall. There is a white desk, computer, jacket on a chair in the mid ground and part of a wheelchair back and armrest visible in the foregraound.
Internalised ableism had me questioning if I was 'being dramatic' and if I struggle enough to qualify for support.

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.


Rachel, a white woman with curly brown hair and glasses relaxes in a colourful striped hammock in a leafy garden, eyes closed, creating a calm peaceful mood to rest and recover.
Lots of seating to take breaks made such a difference ... even found some hammocks to have a lie down!

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.


A wooden table features a sliver platter for a traditional Moroccan mint tea service. An intricate silver teapot has a colorful cloth wrapped around it's handle and sits beside a sprig of fresh mint and a glass of mint tea. The warmth of the colours and reflections in the silver indicate the sunny holiday climate.
Taking a moment to slow down and enjoy some traditional Moroccan mint tea.

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.


Rachel, a white woman with curly brown hair and glasses is sat with her feet up, reading in a macrame swing chair, wearing her favourite  comfortable teal clothing. The warm orange walls and natural wooden floor create a cozy atmosphere along with the gentle shadows being cast to highlight the bright and warm holiday weather.
Plenty of quiet, calm recovery time; chilling out in the apartment, enjoying the swing chair on the balcony, reading, writing and getting creative.

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© 2025 by Rachel Parker

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