Hug Me Not My Wheelchair Please

I’ve been driving a power wheelchair since the age of two. My wheelchair has been a part of my life and a second part of my body since then. It is big and bulky and definitely the first thing you see when you look at me. And I really hate that sometimes. But I understand it. It definitely draws the eye before I do.

Overshadowed by my wheelchair

Sometimes, though, I really wish it didn’t. I wish when someone looked at me they immediately saw me. Not my chair. I’ve struggled with this internally for a really long time. The feeling of not being seen as something more than my assistive equipment or my spinal muscular atrophy (SMA).

Feeling like I’m constantly overshadowed by my wheelchair has been a persistent challenge, creating an emotional barrier that makes me feel unseen and misunderstood. It’s not just about physical limitations; it’s about the deeper human connection that often feels lost when people only see the chair and not the person sitting in it.

See the person, not the chair

I notice a lot when I’m taking a photo with someone that instead of a friend wrapping their arms around me, they’ll often rest their arm on my wheelchair or just simply lean in. And while that’s okay, I wish they’d hug me and pull me in like they would someone who isn’t in a wheelchair. Create those physical connections.

Being in a wheelchair and not having the ability to touch people and hold onto them is a lonely feeling at times for me. So having people do something like that would feel so heartwarming. Being held and pulled in is so grounding and makes you feel connected to the world.

With out human connections, the world is lonely

We all crave human touch and the ability to find comfort in one another. I am no different. I think it’s something I need to start voicing my opinion on more because I know most people don’t touch or hug right away because they think they might hurt me or knock me over. And they might. Let’s be honest, but I still want that connection to happen. I want them to see me not my wheelchair.

That's one thing I absolutely cherish about interacting with children—they have an innate ability to see beyond the surface and connect with the person inside. For them, my wheelchair is just another part of who I am, not a defining feature that sets me apart.

Show me affection like I am any other human

Take my nephew, for example. To him, I'm not "the aunt in the wheelchair"; I'm just Aunt Jenn, someone he loves and trusts. He climbs on me, plays with me, and showers me with affection in the same way he does with everyone else in his life. His genuine connection and unconditional acceptance mean the world to me.

There's something incredibly heartwarming and affirming about experiencing such pure and unfiltered love and acceptance from a child. It serves as a powerful reminder that our value and worth aren't determined by our physical abilities or limitations but by the love, kindness, and connection we share with others.

When my nephew runs down the stairs to hug me, choosing to embrace me and not just my wheelchair, it's a poignant moment that touches my soul. It's a reminder that love sees no barriers, that connection transcends physical limitations, and that we are all deserving of love, acceptance, and belonging just as we are.

So, while the world may sometimes focus on the chair, the children in my life remind me to focus on the love—the love that sees me for who I truly am, that celebrates my strengths, embraces my vulnerabilities, and cherishes the unique bond we share. And for that, I am endlessly grateful.