The Wedding Dress Edit
I didn’t expect choosing a wedding dress to be the part that stopped me. Not emotionally, not in the way people talk about it. It was quieter than that. Practical, in a way I hadn’t prepared for.
It started exactly how you would expect. Scrolling, saving, imagining. The dresses you think you will wear. The ones you can already see yourself in before you have even tried them on. For a while, which was enough. It felt easy. Natural. Exciting, even.
And then, somewhere between imagining and reality, a separate set of questions began to surface.
Not dramatic ones. Just small, persistent thoughts that didn’t quite go away.
How would I get into it?
How would I move in it?
Would it work with my wheelchair and my crutches?
What would it feel like if my body swells, as it often does, or after an hour, or two, or a full day of being in it?
They are not questions we are encouraged to ask. Not because anyone is hiding anything, but because for most people, they simply don’t need to be asked.
A Different Starting Point
Most dresses are designed for a body that moves in a very particular way. Standing. Balanced. Uninterrupted.
And my body does not always do that.
That is not a limitation. It is just a different starting point. But it changes everything.
And if I’m honest, feeling glamorous and picture perfect isn’t something I experience very often when I’m hopping about or pushing myself up hills. Especially not when you’re getting married on a volcano.
I remember trying on a dress I thought I loved. It looked exactly how I imagined it would. For a moment, I could see the entire day. The photos, the feeling, the version of it I had already built in my head.
And then I sat down.
Nothing dramatic happened. No obvious issue. Just a shift. The fabric dropped slightly in places it hadn’t before. The structure that supported me when I stood changed completely. I immediately saw that one turn would catch the fabric in my wheelchair.
That was the moment I realised there is a difference between wearing a dress and managing it.
And I didn’t want to spend my wedding day managing anything.
What the Day Actually Asked For
So the search changed. I didn’t move away from style but dug deeper into it. I stopped focusing on how a dress looked and started asking how it would feel, not just in that moment, but throughout the entire day.
We knew Martin would be walking down the aisle to me, and I would be seated. That would be the first time he would see me. I wanted that second to be perfect.
But I also wanted moments where I could move differently. Where I could stand, even if just briefly, with my glitter gold crutches. Even if that was only for the photos.
Because those are the moments no one really shows you. The in between. The parts of the day that are quieter, but last longer. Sitting with people you love. Pausing between everything else.
That is where a dress either works, or it doesn’t.
There were things I had never considered before. Closures, for example. Not whether they looked good, but whether I could actually manage them. Because there is something about needing help with something that should feel personal that shifts the experience. It makes it feel observed.
And for the number of times I needed the loo, it would only be a matter of time before that became a problem.
Independence became part of the decision in a way I hadn’t expected. Not loudly, just consistently.
Can I wear this… or can I just exist in it?
Where the Inspiration Came From
The style had been sitting quietly in the back of my mind for a while.
I remember watching TV and seeing Maya Jama wearing a long-sleeved crochet piece by Bronx and Banco. I took a photo of the screen and searched for the designer straight away. That moment stayed with me.
It wasn’t that exact dress.
But it led me there.
And when I started exploring their pieces properly, one stood out. Like it had been waiting for me. I could have ordered it straight away, but I gave myself time. I tried other styles, explored what else was out there.
And still, everything kept leading me back.
Trusting My Body
There was just one problem.
Their closest store was in New York. And I live thirty miles outside of York. Just the small matter of 3400 miles between us, so trying it on wasn’t an option!
Which meant if I was going to choose it, I had to be certain in a different way.
That’s when I did something very me.
I took my measurements every day for two weeks.
Not out of anxiety, but out of understanding. Because my body isn’t static. It shifts. Inflammation, heat, fatigue, all of it plays a part. What fits one day doesn’t always feel the same the next.
I didn’t want to order a dress based on a single version of my body that might not be the one I arrived in on the day.
So I tracked it. Quietly. Consistently.
Until I understood it well enough to trust my decision.
And once I did, there was no second guessing.
The Dress
What I found was something entirely different to what I thought I’d wear.
Grecian inspired, with a modern, understated edge. Soft, sculptural, fluid. Crochet that allowed movement and breathability, while still feeling elevated and intentional.
The length worked because I could move without catching or fussing. The shape gave me freedom through my arms, for wheels, crutches, holding hands, hugging people properly.
The fabric breathed. It felt kind on my skin. It allowed space for change, for swelling, for everything in between.
And most importantly, it moved with me.
Not against me.
It didn’t ask me to hold myself differently or need adjusting. Nor did it ever become something I had to think about every time I shifted position.
It just worked.
And still, it felt like me.
Which ruled a lot of other dresses out very quickly.
I didn’t want to disappear into tradition. I wanted to feel comfortable, confident, and present.
And this gave me that.
The Moment It Arrived
When it arrived, there was definitely a moment.
Not dramatic. Not cinematic. Just that quiet rush where you think, oh… this is it.
I tried it on slowly. No rush.
And immediately noticed how easy it felt. Soft on my skin. I could sit comfortably, move freely, and breathe.
More importantly, I couldn’t stop smiling.
Nothing scratched, tugged, or needed adjusting. It didn’t take me out of the moment.
It let me stay in it.
At this point I hadn’t even looked in the mirror. But when I did, the feeling was confirmed…. I had found my dress
The Day Itself
On the morning of the wedding, I slipped into the dress and instantly felt at ease. No adjustment. No second guessing. Just a quiet sense of rightness.
It looked beautiful. Not in an overdone or performative way, but in a way that felt completely aligned with who I am. Elegant without trying too hard. Confident, relaxed and very much me.
It felt like a dress I could genuinely enjoy wearing, not endure for the sake of tradition or photographs.
And that’s exactly what happened.
For the photos, it worked beautifully. Sitting, moving, laughing, existing. The dress moved with me, not against me.
Which mattered far more than how it looked standing still.
What This Really Means
This isn’t really a story about a wedding dress.
It’s about trusting yourself. About choosing intention over expectation. About understanding that style doesn’t have to look a certain way to be valid.
Accessibility isn’t about compromise. It’s about awareness, collaboration, and choice.
This dress wasn’t something I needed.
It was something I chose.
And that choice felt exactly right.
