Dusty Wentworth

The start of 2026 marks an important new chapter for my work with the launch of a brand new YouTube channel, Dusty Wentworth Talks. This channel has been created to build directly on the success of my written blog and to reach a wider, more diverse audience who want thoughtful, honest and challenging conversations about masculinity, disability and modern society. Over recent years, my written work has resonated with readers who are tired of shallow debate and slogans. Many of you have asked for more direct engagement, more discussion and a more accessible way to explore complex ideas. YouTube provides exactly that opportunity. Dusty Wentworth Talks is designed to bring the same depth, integrity and critical thinking you already know, but in a visual and conversational format that suits the way people consume content in 2026. This blog post explains what the channel is about, why it matters, and why subscribing early will ensure you do not miss out as the first videos go live. Why Launc...

The New Year is quietly under way. It is Saturday 3 January 2026, and as I write this, snow is falling steadily outside my window. It is one of those calm, unmistakably beautiful moments that winter sometimes offers. I am thankful that I have nowhere I need to be today. Snow and wheelchairs do not mix well, and what appears peaceful from indoors can very quickly become dangerous outside. This stillness feels symbolic. With the turning of the year has come a change in how I view my life. This is not because circumstances have suddenly become easy, but because something fundamental has shifted. For the first time in a long while, I am not simply surviving. I am beginning to look forward. That shift has been slow, hard-won, and costly. From collapse to survival My journey over the past few years began in October 2023 when I collapsed at home. What followed was not a single event but an extended fight to stay alive. I spent eleven months moving between hospital wards and a spec...

I live in Norfolk, a beautiful corner of the United Kingdom where the land opens wide and the sky has room to breathe. Norfolk is a county known for the Broads, for its long coastline and quiet beaches, and for those great open skies that teach a man to look up and measure his days by light and weather. It is a place that does not rush you, a place that asks you to stand still and listen. Despite the weight I carried from military service and the long shadow of PTSD, and despite a relatively new diagnosis of fibromyalgia, life was good. I lived simply and happily with my wife and our three children. We were rooted in routine, laughter, and the small honest moments that make a family whole. I believed I knew the shape of my life, and I was content to walk its line. In October 2023, without warning, I collapsed at home. One moment I was steady on familiar ground, the next I was gone. I was rushed to hospital, where doctors diagnosed Functional Neurological Disorder, linking i...

One year ago, as Christmas lights flickered across Norfolk, I sat in my wheelchair staring at a stack of unanswered job adverts. The season felt distant, muffled by exhaustion and uncertainty. I was no longer thinking about celebration. I was thinking about survival. In October 2023, I collapsed and was taken to hospital. I was diagnosed with Functional Neurological Disorder. Scans also revealed a brain aneurysm. I was told it was stable. At the time, the focus was on managing the FND symptoms that had abruptly dismantled my independence. I was transferred to a neurological rehabilitation centre as part of my treatment. In April 2024, while still there, the aneurysm ruptured. What followed was a subarachnoid haemorrhage, a four-week coma, and a life that did not resume where it left off. Independence evaporated. Simple tasks became logistical exercises. I was left living with the consequences of brain injury, severe PTSD from military service, fibromyalgia, Functional Neuro...

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...

Boating on the Norfolk Broads has shaped local life for generations, yet the latest figures show the waterway is facing steady decline. Fewer private craft are being registered, hire fleets are reducing in size and maintenance costs are rising. The Broads Authority is again proposing toll increases to cover its expenditure, but that approach risks deepening the problem rather than solving it. Behind the numbers lies a wider challenge that touches not only the economy but also the health and wellbeing of the people who live here. The Broads remain one of the county’s greatest natural assets, but their value now needs to be measured in more than navigation revenue. They could become part of a much broader response to community health. Linking the environment to wellbeing is not a new idea, but it has never been fully developed here. Blue Health is the growing field of research and practice that explores how rivers, lakes and coastlines benefit both physical and mental health....

An Introduction: Beyond Suspicion and Hostility Disabled people in Britain are living with the consequences of an underfunded NHS, a fragmented social care system and a political climate that has normalised suspicion and hostility. Public debate has shifted its focus to welfare spending, overlooking the human lives at stake. The result is a country where disabled people are routinely failed by the systems designed to support them. My life as a 52 year old father of three young children, living with complex neurological and psychological conditions following a catastrophic medical event, is a case study in how severely the British state is failing its most vulnerable citizens. Catastrophe and the Absence of Support In October 2023 my life changed instantly. A brain aneurysm ruptured at home, causing a subarachnoid haemorrhage. I collapsed and awoke in intensive care a month later. The rupture left me with an acquired brain injury that affects memory, cognition, processing an...

After being repeatedly let down by the NHS, I finally reached the point where I had no choice but to look elsewhere for help that actually works. That search led me to Able2B. It is not free like the NHS, but free is no good if it is not helping you. I contacted them, arranged an assessment and hoped for the best. I had my assessment today (Friday 28th November 2025) and it was truly amazing. Exhilarating is the only word that describes it. Everything was completely person centred and focused on helping you become the best version of yourself. For the first time in a very long time I felt seen, understood and properly supported. Able2B is built on an impressive foundation. Rachel Hutchinson brings her experience as a consultant orthopaedic surgeon, and Jon Thaxton draws on his career as a professional boxer, the former British and European boxing champion who is now a personal trainer. Together they have created an organisation that is genuinely recovery focused and full of...

​When I was first admitted to the Norfolk and Norwich University Hospital in October 2023, I told my wife I would be left like this. It was not a prediction born of panic, but a quiet recognition of how the system treats people who become complex, inconvenient, or costly. I was reassured my fears were unfounded, and that support would be immediately forthcoming. Two years on, those reassurances feel hollow. The reality has unfolded precisely as I expected. ​This whole period of my life began when the situation was still uncertain. Months later, in April 2024, the aneurysm that had first been suspected of leaking and later declared stable eventually ruptured. That rupture led to the surgery that saved my life. Crucially, survival should have marked the beginning of structured recovery. Instead, it marked the point where support completely evaporated. Surviving the operating theatre is one thing; surviving the system afterwards is something else entirely. ​My time dealing wit...

There comes a point in life when travel, age and experience combine to offer a view of humanity that is both humbling and unsettling. You begin to see patterns where once there seemed only chaos, and you start to realise that our greatest achievements and our worst failures are often born from the same part of us. Human genius built both the rocket and the bomb; the difference lies only in intent. Our brilliance and our brutality are twins born of the same restless mind. We like to believe that the great wars and genocides of the twentieth century taught us enough about ourselves to ensure they would never happen again. Yet each generation finds new ways to repeat the same mistake. Hate and intolerance, dressed in new flags and fresh rhetoric, have replaced the mushroom cloud as the weapon of choice. It is as if humanity cannot live without an enemy, and when none can be found, we manufacture one from within. The unnatural habitat we call civilisation Long ago, when animals...