Dusty Wentworth

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...

For most, saving for a flat or a car represents a key milestone—a significant step towards independence. But for many disabled people in the UK, that same sum represents the cost of their freedom.  A reasonably priced, custom-built wheelchair—the kind that enables a full and active life—can cost around £5,000. It is an essential piece of equipment that many must fund out of their own pocket, a sum that could otherwise have been a deposit towards their future. A Week in the Life of a Free-Wheeler Chloe is a graphic designer in her twenties. She loves gigs with friends, navigating London’s busy streets, and building a creative career. But every day she faces a silent battle. The wheelchair provided by the NHS, while functional, is heavy and cumbersome. Trying to board a crowded bus, she feels the eyes of passengers as she struggles with the weight. Her shoulders and wrists ache with every push. It is a daily battle between body and chair—a battle she cannot win. This is n...