Dusty Wentworth

  The Public Loves Resilience Because It Costs Them Nothing Resilience is one of those words people like to use about disabled people. They say it with admiration. They say it with warmth. They say it as though it is always a compliment. But I have become wary of the word. Not because resilience is false. Disabled people are often resilient. Chronically ill people are often resilient. People living with pain, trauma, neurological conditions, fatigue, mobility loss, and bodies that no longer obey instruction often have to adapt in ways most people never see. The problem is not resilience itself. The problem is how easily society praises it while refusing to ask why so much of it is necessary in the first place. Resilience is praised most loudly by people who do not have to pay the cost of it. That is the uncomfortable truth. When a disabled person manages to leave the house, people see determination. They do not see the planning behind it. They do not see the medication, the pacing,...

  Why Disability Pride Month Isn't for Me July marks Disability Pride Month. For many disabled people, it is a time to celebrate identity, community and acceptance. I genuinely respect that. Everyone has the right to decide what disability means to them. Personally, however, it is not something I identify with. If I could wake up tomorrow free from Functional Neurological Disorder, Fibromyalgia, PTSD, the lasting effects of a ruptured brain aneurysm, and the limitations that made me a full-time wheelchair user, I would do so without hesitation. I do not feel pride in becoming disabled. I feel pride in adapting to it. There is an important difference. My disability has changed how I live my life, but it has never changed who I am. I am a husband, a father, a writer, a veteran and a friend. I happen to be disabled. It is part of my life, not the definition of my identity. That is why Disability Pride Month has never resonated with me. None of this is a criticism of those who find mea...

  11th June 2026 is a date I suspect I will remember for a very long time. It was the day my new Scoozy S800 arrived. Now, that might not sound particularly remarkable to most people. After all, it is only a mobility scooter. But for me, it represented something much bigger than a piece of equipment. It represented freedom, independence, possibility and, perhaps most importantly, adventure. The strange thing is, I never wanted a mobility scooter. Becoming Disabled Disability has a way of changing your relationship with the world. Before my brain aneurysm, acquired brain injury, Functional Neurological Disorder (FND), Fibromyalgia and the collection of other health conditions I now live with, I never gave a second thought to walking across a field, exploring a nature reserve or heading off somewhere on a whim. Those simple freedoms vanished gradually. I became a full-time wheelchair user in October 2023. Like many people, I initially viewed wheelchairs and mobility scooters very d...

  Why Disabled People Are Either Pitied or Pedestalised If you spend enough time as a disabled person, you begin to notice a pattern. People rarely see you as simply another human being. Instead, they tend to place you into one of two categories. You are either a tragedy to be pitied or an inspiration to be admired. There seems to be very little room in between. I have experienced both. I've seen people look at me with genuine sadness, as though my life ended the day I became disabled. I've also had complete strangers tell me how "inspirational" I am for doing things that most people wouldn't think twice about. Going to the shops. Taking photographs. Going for a ride on my mobility scooter. Getting out of the house. Apparently, existing while disabled is enough to qualify for hero status. The reality is rather different. I am not a tragedy. I am not a hero. I am simply a man living his life. Yet society often struggles with that idea. The Comfort of Simple Stories...

I grew up surrounded by open skies and quiet lanes, the kind of Norfolk landscape that gives you room to think. Out here, life moves at its own pace. You notice things, the rhythm of the sea, the slope of a ramp, the way a path suddenly becomes too narrow for a pushchair or a wheelchair. It is in those small, ordinary moments that the idea of accessibility starts to feel less like policy and more like simple fairness. Disability is not a distant concept that belongs to a handful of people. It lives close by, in our families, our communities, and often, in our own bodies. One in six people around the world live with a disability, although most of the world rarely notices until the absence of something, a ramp, a subtitle, a kind word, draws attention to it. What strikes me most is that disability is not the trouble itself. It is the lack of empathy, understanding and access that turns difference into difficulty. Rethinking What Disability Means For years, society...

When I was told to “man up” after my subarachnoid haemorrhage, I just looked at my wheelchair and wondered: what does that even mean now? For as long as I can remember, “man up” has been one of those phrases thrown around casually—on parade squares, in workplaces, in pubs. It sounds simple, even motivational. But in reality, it’s loaded with expectation. It doesn’t just ask a man to be strong; it demands silence, emotional suppression, and the illusion of control. After my aneurysm ruptured, I woke up in a body that no longer played by the rules. PTSD, Functional Neurological Disorder, Fibromyalgia, and brain injury became daily realities. Pain, fatigue, tremors, memory lapses—none of it fits the cultural script of “unshakeable masculinity.” And yet, people still said it: “man up.” But here’s the truth: I’ve discovered more strength in vulnerability than I ever did in hiding behind a mask. Real courage has been admitting when I can’t do something, asking for help, or sittin...

Access Denied: The Harsh Reality of Accessibility for Wheelchair Users in 2025 From broken paths to outdated laws, here's what's still falling short for wheelchair users in Britain. The Illusion of Progress We’re told the future is accessible. But for many of us, it still isn’t. Government and businesses love to highlight their progress on disability access, from new digital legislation to step-free train stations. But for wheelchair users, the lived reality often tells a different story—one of patchy infrastructure, outdated attitudes, and policy decisions that undermine the very freedoms they claim to support. Every day, as a full-time wheelchair user and a father, I encounter countless barriers. I see the cracks everywhere: in disabled bays with no room to get my kids out, in broken pavement ramps, in public toilets that are too small to turn around in. And while there’s a glimmer of hope with new legislation like the European Accessibility Act (EAA) 2025 focusin...