Most people scroll past me before they ever hear my voice. They see the wheelchair first, not the person sitting in it. I know the pattern well—eyes pause for a second, assumptions form, and then the thumb keeps moving. Being a disabled girl in a wheelchair often means being invisible in a world that values speed, perfection, and appearances.
I was not always this strong. Strength was something I had to learn, slowly and painfully, after life changed in ways I never expected. The wheelchair did not take my dreams away, but it did change how the world reacts to them. Some people look at me with pity, others with discomfort, and many simply look away. What they don’t see is the heart that still hopes, the mind that still dreams, and the soul that refuses to give up.
Every day, I face challenges that most people never think about—stairs without ramps, doors that are too heavy, places that were not built with me in mind. But the hardest obstacles are not physical. They are the silent judgments, the lowered expectations, and the belief that my life must somehow be smaller because my legs do not work the same way.
I want people to understand something important: I am not my disability. I am a girl with emotions, passions, fears, humor, and dreams just like anyone else. I laugh loudly. I cry quietly. I get hurt. I get inspired. I fall in love with little moments—a kind smile, a message of support, someone who takes the time to see me beyond the wheelchair.
Sometimes I wonder how different things would be if people stayed instead of scrolling. If they listened instead of assuming. If they realized that following someone like me is not an act of charity, but an exchange of humanity. I share my story not to ask for sympathy, but to remind others that strength does not always look like standing tall. Sometimes, it looks like waking up every day and choosing hope despite everything.
To anyone reading this who feels unseen, misunderstood, or underestimated: you are not alone. Your worth is not measured by how fast you walk, how perfectly you fit in, or how easy your life looks from the outside. It is measured by your courage to keep going.
So yes, I am a disabled girl in a wheelchair. Some will scroll past. But if you choose to stay, to listen, and to follow, you are choosing to see a human being—not a limitation. And that choice means more than you may ever know.Don’t Scroll Past Me — There’s a Heart Here
