Thriving in an able-bodied world
Julie lived in a world that seemed to hum along at a pace she could never quite match. Her legs wobbled like a newborn foal’s, her eyes blurred the edges of everything she tried to see, and her hands trembled as if they were caught in a perpetual breeze. Her thoughts, too, sometimes slipped through her grasp, leaving her frustrated and quiet. But Julie had a spark — a stubborn, glowing ember of determination that refused to be snuffed out by the challenges she faced.
She lived in a small town where the sidewalks were uneven, the signs too small to read, and the people too busy to notice her struggle. Just getting around was a battlefield. The others around her raced ahead, their laughter echoing as Julie lagged behind, her cane tapping a slow rhythm against the concrete. Others sighed when she asked for help, and the information they gave her were a jumble of tiny, indecipherable lines. But Julie didn’t give up. She listened harder, memorizing what she couldn’t see, piecing together her day like a puzzle with missing edges.
At home, her family worried. They padded the sharp corners of their world, but they couldn’t pad the world outside. Julie saw their furrowed brows and heard their whispered fears. She hated being their burden. So, she taught herself tricks — little rebellions against her body’s betrayals. She’d count steps to navigate rooms, hum tunes to steady her shaking hands, and repeat words under her breath until they stuck in her foggy mind. It wasn’t perfect, but it was hers.
College was her dream, but the campus was a fortress of inaccessibility — lectures too fast, paths too narrow, doors too heavy. Julie didn’t flinch. She recorded classes, used a magnifying app on her phone, and leaned on a battered walker she’d nicknamed “Old Reliable.” She studied twice as long as her peers, her tremors smudging her notes, her vision blurring the screen. But she passed. Then she excelled.
She found allies in unexpected places. A friend, Mrs. Carter, noticed Julie squinting at books and quietly ordered large-print editions to give her. Another fiend, Sam, started walking with her to the store, carrying her bags without making a fuss. They didn’t pity her; they saw her. With their help, Julie clawed her way through to graduation. Her hands shook as she gripped her diploma, but her smile was steady.
Her work day was full of hurdles. The building was a maze of stairs, and the city buses didn’t wait for her halting gait. Workers stared or, worse, looked away. One day, the boss suggested she “just stay home” after she’d stumbled in the hall one too many times, spilling her paperwork. The words stung, but they also lit a fire. Julie decided she’d prove them wrong — not out of spite, but because she wanted to live as fiercely as anyone else.
The world didn’t bend for Julie, so she carved her own space in it. She started a blog — raw, funny, and unflinching — about living with disabilities in a world that wasn’t built for her. People listened. Her words spread, and soon she was speaking at events, her voice trembling but strong, her cane tapping a defiant beat. Companies called, asking her to consult on accessibility. She said yes, but only if they meant it — no half-measures, no pity projects.
Julie never stopped shaking, stumbling, or squinting. Her mind still wandered off mid-thought sometimes. But she turned every obstacle into a stepping stone. The able-bodied world didn’t make life easy for her, but Julie didn’t need it to. She made her own way — slow, messy, and magnificent. And in doing so, she didn’t just survive; she redefined what it meant to thrive.
1. Simplify your life.