Dusty Wentworth

  When Disability Becomes Content: Who Gets to Tell the Truth? I am not a disability creator. I am a writer who happens to be disabled, lives with chronic illness and pain, and uses a wheelchair. That distinction matters to me. Disability informs much of my writing because it affects almost every area of my life. It influences how I travel, work, spend money, access public spaces and plan even the most ordinary day. But it is not the entirety of who I am, nor do I want everything I produce to be reduced to symptoms, seizures and suffering. My blog allows me to explore the complexity that social media often strips away. It is now read in 47 countries across six continents. My articles have also been published elsewhere, including in The Male Psychology Magazine . That is where I do the heavy lifting. Social media is primarily how I publicise that writing. It also gives me a way to share shorter pieces of honest lived experience, particularly for people trying to understand a new dia...

  The Silence of Assumption We are taught that a man's strength is measured by the space he commands and the weight he can lift. But what happens when the body stops cooperating? There is a particular kind of silence that follows disability. It is not the silence of sympathy, but the silence of assumption: the immediate belief that because a man can no longer run, fight, climb, or carry, he has somehow become less of a man. This idea is deeply rooted in our culture. Historically, strength has been measured in purely physical terms: broad shoulders, hard manual labour, endurance, and fierce self-reliance. From childhood, many boys are taught that their worth is directly tethered to what their bodies can achieve. Then one day, for some of us, the body changes. Whether through a spinal injury, a neurological condition, chronic illness, an accident, a stroke, or an aneurysm, the measures we once used suddenly no longer apply. The world notices. People speak more slowly. They offer pity...

  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...