Triggering scenarios

Recently, I was at a restaurant and went to use the restroom. I was in my wheelchair. Things were going smoothly, someone held the door for me, so I did not have to make my way in like a bull ramming a wall, the accessible stall was big enough for my wheelchair, life was good.

After exiting the stall, I went to wash my hands. There were about eight teenage girls standing at the sinks talking. As soon as they saw me, they looked as if they saw someone with a horrible, contagious disease. The room became painfully silent as I half smiled and said, “excuse me.” They did not smile back. They collectively moved as a big unit as far away from me as they could, continuing to stare at me. I truly could not understand what about me would justify such a dramatic reaction.

As many times as things like this have happened to me, it never becomes less awkward. I will never get used to being looked at that way. As if I have the plague. If you know you know.

As they continued to stare at me, still silent, I went to reach for the soap. The dispenser was not even close to being in reach from my wheelchair. Ugh! This did not help my frustration. I just wanted to wash my hands and get out of that room.

As I continued to struggle to reach the soap, they finally got tired of the show and stepped over my wheels on my chair so they could exit the bathroom. I heard a few giggles as they finally exited the tiny space.

To be clear, I do not hold any ill will towards these girls. My sadness comes from the exhaustion of these same types of instances throughout my lifetime, and the continued lack of accessibility. Even in newly renovated spaces.

Each time something like this happens, it triggers memories of these same types of scenarios. It feels heavy and defeating. My dignity pulverized. I often wonder, Why do I even leave my house?

Life ebbs and flows. After that same defeating encounter, I ran into a lady as I was exiting the bathroom. She was as kind as she could be.

One act of kindness can ease the pain of a difficult experience. It does not wipe it away, but it helps to ease the sting. Like a salve smeared over a wound.

It was hard to put on a happy face as I tried to enjoy the rest of my evening. No one in my party knew what had taken place in that bathroom. Even if I tried to explain, I knew that would not ease my pain. Plus, who wants to bring everyone down with a sad story when we are supposed to be enjoying the evening?

The truth of it all is I just wanted to use the restroom and wash my hands. This should not be some sort of traumatic experience. This restroom was clearly newly renovated and while they got a lot of accessibility features right, they seemed to overlook that a person in a wheelchair would need to wash their hands. It is so important to include people with disabilities in discussion for these types of renovations. Just because something checks a box of “accessible” does not always mean it is functional.

I have reached out to the restaurant to make the simple suggestion that they have a bottle of soap within reach so that a person in a wheelchair can have the luxury of a good old-fashioned hand washing before enjoying their meal.

Until next time …

Amy Shinneman is a former National Ambassador for the Muscular Dystrophy Association, disability blogger, freelance writer, wife, and mom of two boys. She is the recipient of the Reporter’s Winter 2025 Ink-Stained Wretch award. You can find her blog at humblycourageous.com and reach her on Instagram @ashinneman.