(An honest moment on ableism and accessibility)

I really wanted to attend Pub Choir — a standing event. All the tickets were standing, and I knew I wouldn’t last. Normally, that would’ve been the end of it: disappointment, maybe a few tears, move on. But that day, I decided to ask. Instead of giving up, I emailed the theatre and explained that I couldn’t stand for long periods — could they offer a seat somewhere?

To my surprise, they replied quickly. Not only did they offer help — they opened up a few hundred seated tickets on the balcony. I couldn’t believe it. I cried tears of joy. Because it meant I could go. I could sing, laugh, and actually be part of it — thanks entirely to the kindness and action of one venue. Shoutout to Astrid Jorgensen, her team and Ballarat Civic Hall for seeing inclusion as something worth acting on.

That moment stuck with me. It reminded me how often the world isn’t built for bodies that need accommodations, and how powerful it is when someone makes the effort to change that. It also made me pause — and feel this deep, unexpected gratitude. Gratitude for all the years my body let me do things without thinking twice. Gratitude for the people who go out of their way to make life easier for others. And empathy for those who live in a world that forgets them daily. Because while I only felt that frustration for a moment, some people live it constantly.

Accessibility isn’t a favour. It’s not special treatment.

It’s fairness. It’s what allows everyone to participate — to show up, to belong, to exist comfortably. This short video below captures it perfectly — accommodations don’t give anyone an advantage. They just even out the playing field.

So next time you’re at an event, hosting one, or even just planning a get-together, ask yourself:

That’s where real inclusion starts — not with grand gestures, but with small, thoughtful ones that say:

“You’re welcome here, exactly as you are.”