Accessibility in Practice, International Women's Day Reflection

The Day I Bum Shuffled Down the Stairs of a High End Restaurant in Manchester

I don’t usually share accessibility experiences like this so openly or in so much detail.

Most of the time I offer small glimpses into the realities of navigating spaces as a disabled person, but I rarely sit down and write about a full day in the life.

I am also aware that speaking openly about experiences like this can sometimes create distance in spaces where relationships are still forming. That is never my intention, and I genuinely hope with my heart that it is not the outcome here.

But this experience has affected me in a way that I feel I need to share honestly.

On Friday I attended an International Women’s Day event in Manchester.

It ended with me bum shuffling down the stairs of a high end restaurant.

I was there as an inclusive strategy consultant, and the day became a very real reminder of why these conversations still matter.

I had never been to an event quite like this before. It was supposed to be the day before a soft launch for me. The moment where I was stepping more fully into the next chapter of my work.

I arrived feeling excited, positive and confident that access and guest experience had been carefully considered. The communications in the lead up to the event had been warm, thoughtful and reassuring. I left my hotel that morning with a big smile and an open heart.

The day began with a beautifully delivered opening speech inviting the women in the room to head upstairs together, encouraging us to reflect with each step on what we wanted to bring to the day and what we hoped to take away from it. How we could connect, support, empower and elevate each other on the 115th celebration of International Women’s Day.

As the cohort of humans began to glide up the stairs of empowerment, another lady and I were gently redirected towards the access lift. The team did their best to get it working, but it took a little while, leaving us outside for a few minutes feeling slightly awkward, a little chilly and perhaps a touch frustrated.

But not letting it dampen our spirits, we ended up having a really lovely chat. In such an unlikely setting we connected beautifully, finding a shared moment of understanding, respect and appreciation for each other.

As it turned out, she was one of the workshop hosts for the event. Listening to her later in the day was genuinely inspiring. I found myself relating to so much of what she shared, and in the end I felt a real sense of gratitude and privilege to have met her, thanks to that slightly dodgy little lift and the unexpected conversation it gave us.

By the time we made it into the room, the event was already underway, and there was really only one place left for me and my wheelchair.

At the back.

You know the spot. The one where the chair gets taken away and you are expected to demonstrate your wheelchair parking skills.

Rather than perhaps being offered the option to transfer onto a regular chair.

News flash. I am not a tree 😉

Not long after, everyone was invited to stand up.

My view of the opening speaker quickly became a rather panoramic view of… well… bums.

I giggled a little, and the lovely lady sitting next to me quietly said she would stay seated with me. That small moment of solidarity meant more than she probably realised.

Earlier in the day another speaker asked me a question while we were talking that ended up being one of my favourite conversations of the event.

She asked how she might approach inviting a room to stand up in a way that felt more inclusive, as this formed part of her workshop.

We talked about simple alternatives. Perhaps saying “stand up if you feel comfortable or able”, or offering another option such as raising a hand instead.

It was such a thoughtful question, and I told her it was one of my favourite moments of the day. Especially when it came to her delivery later. That inclusive conversation appeared in practice within hours. Seamlessly, and beautifully delivered.

Because inclusion so often begins with exactly that. Someone being curious enough to ask.

Access to the lift had been scheduled at four specific points during the day, with a plan for a member of staff to assist me when I needed to move between levels. On paper it sounded thoughtful and organised.

In practice, each lift journey involved delays and entering rooms late while staff tried to locate someone who knew how to operate it, and then work out how to get it moving.

The lift itself was actually in the neighbouring building. I had been made aware of this beforehand, but I do not think anyone expected there to be such a rigmarole every time.

At the end of the day, everyone made their way downstairs. I found myself stuck upstairs again, in another slightly uncomfortable conversation with the general manager while staff tried to locate someone who could operate the lift.

At one point he explained that there were no disabled toilet facilities upstairs because he “would expect disabled people to be seated downstairs”. At that point I had to stop myself from a literal head in the hands moment.

Unfortunately the event itself was spread across two floors, so that assumption did not quite hold up. It also left me quietly wondering how often disability is only recognised when someone cannot navigate stairs.

After waiting around for fifteen minutes for someone who could let me into the magic lift, and more awkward sitting around while more than ten restaurant staff rushed around me setting the tables for the evening’s guests, the manager came back to say we would have to wait even longer because the staff were on a shift change.

At that point I made a decision.

The easiest and quickest way out became me bum shuffling down the stairs of the luxury Manchester eatery.

A rather ironic, comical and slightly defining moment where, in the end, I simply slid down the same set of stairs that had been intended to empower the women at the start of the day.

Instead I did it on my bum.

On a practical note, and perhaps for clarification (and maybe a little justification), some days I am able to move around with crutches and manage stairs a little more easily. Yesterday just was not one of those days.

In moments like that there can be an unspoken pressure that comes with being an ambulant wheelchair user. A sense that perhaps you should be able to manage, or that you might be making things awkward for others when you cannot.

With the best intentions, I think we are all quietly hoping it will be fine.

Yesterday I felt that pressure quite strongly. I could see that it was being felt by the staff and organisers.

Part of me wanted to apologise for not being on top physical form that day, for being a bit of a pain and an inconvenience.

Speaking of convenience, during the day I had also visited the disabled toilet downstairs several times. On a couple of occasions I was met with women leaving the facility.

I would never assume why someone might need to use that space. Disability is not always visible.

But what struck me were the comments.

“Oh were you waiting for the disabled toilet? Sorry, I could not find the ladies so I just used yours.”

“I do not think there is a ladies upstairs, is there?”

They chose to tell me they did not need it.

Moments like that reveal something about how accessible facilities are often perceived. As optional. As convenient overflow. Rather than essential spaces that allow some people to participate in the day at all.

There was no harm or offence intended in those words, I am sure. But they landed alongside what had already been an overwhelming day.

Since yesterday, four other women who attended the event have reached out to me privately to share their own struggles with accessibility.

In a room of around one hundred people, it turns out I was far from the only one navigating challenges. That makes six that I am aware of.

The difference is that most of these experiences remain unspoken.

People adapt quietly. They find workarounds. They ask for help when they can, or struggle in silence when they do not feel able, and carry on.

Then they go home and deal with the impact in private. The physical pain. The emotional doubt. The quiet exhaustion that comes from putting on a smile and a brave face all day.

I also met a room full of beautiful and inspiring women yesterday. Women with pure hearts, genuine warmth and powerful stories. I am incredibly grateful for those moments of connection, learning and understanding. It was a privilege to witness their presence and learn about the journeys that have shaped them.

It is also important for me to say that this was far from the most difficult day I have experienced as a disabled woman. In many ways the day itself was wonderful.

In fact, part of me almost feels uneasy sharing it as my first reflection of this kind.

But the energy in that room, the honesty of the conversations and the courage of the women I met may actually be the very thing that helped me find the confidence to write this.

Perhaps the real impact of Friday was not the challenges at all.

Perhaps it was the women in that room who quietly empowered me to find my voice and share the experience.

And for that, I am genuinely grateful.

A huge theme of the event yesterday was about visibility. Claiming your space in the room. Reclaiming your voice, and making an impact.

If I am honest, the last twenty four hours have included moments where I have questioned whether there is truly a space for me in business networking environments like this.

Perhaps it stings more because it is new territory for me. Or because I arrived feeling so positive and hopeful about what the day might bring.

Or perhaps because my own real time challenges and vulnerabilities seemed to dominate so many of the conversations I had, rather than the experience, insight and work I had come to share.

I have gone through a whole spectrum of emotions since Friday.

But as I write this, I am also more certain than ever that this work needs to be done.

And if that means navigating experiences like this along the way, sharing them honestly, and helping shift the conversation even a little, then it is something I should keep trying to do.

The brands and businesses I have supported since starting out in this domain are proof of that.

My approach and work ethic has always been discreet. You can read between the lines from my socials from time to time who is getting it right, but the majority is done quietly. That has been my model.

Maybe I need to change that strategy and be more visible with my work.

Because if it helps even one person feel seen, understood, or able to participate more fully in spaces like this, then it will have been worth it.

One thought that stayed with me throughout the day was this.

I would genuinely love to be able to invite colleagues and friends to venues and events like this. To recommend them with confidence.

But it also made me wonder what would happen if there were two or three guests in the room requiring similar adjustments to me.

How would that work in practice?

Moments like that highlight why accessibility cannot rely on improvisation or goodwill alone. It needs to be considered structurally, so that everyone can move through a space with ease and dignity.

Experiences like this are exactly why the work of inclusive design and operational accessibility matters so much.

Accessibility that works on paper is not the same as accessibility that works in practice.

Accessibility does not have to be perfect.

What matters most is culture, curiosity and a willingness to ask the right questions early enough.

Those are exactly the conversations I love having with businesses, event organisers and leadership teams.

Because when inclusion is designed in from the start, everyone in the room benefits.