Thirty-Eight:
Thirty-eight years on this earth and some days I still feel like I’m standing in the rubble of battles I never asked to fight.
Healing from trauma isn’t linear. It isn’t aesthetic. It isn’t a cute quote on a pastel background. It’s messy and inconvenient and sometimes it creeps up on you years later and whispers, “You’re not done yet.”
And when it comes to my son’s cancer — and all that happened around us when he was diagnosed — I don’t think a mother ever just “gets over” watching her child fight for their life while simultaneously navigating systemic failures, corruption, and ableism that caused real, tangible harm. That kind of trauma doesn’t sit neatly in the past. It rewires you. It embeds itself in your nervous system. It lives in your bones.
Some days I’m strong and composed and overflowing with gratitude. Other days it hits me sideways and I realise I’m still carrying pieces of it all — not just the illness, but the environment we were forced to survive within.
Then the guilt comes.
The voice that says: You should be over this by now. You’re letting people down. You’re too sensitive. Too much.
But here’s the truth — surviving something doesn’t mean it didn’t change you.
Add to that the ongoing battles. Nepotism. Ostracism. Watching doors close not because of talent or education or heart — but because people see “disabled” before they see human. Before they see artist. Advocate. Strategist. Creative. Leader.
I have mad skills. I have qualifications. I have lived experience you cannot buy in a classroom.
And still… survival feels heavy.
I avoid abusive dynamics now. I protect my peace. But that protection costs me access to spaces, to charity work, to community involvement. It’s exhausting having to choose between impact and safety.
I’ve lost enough for several lifetimes.
So yes — I want joy now. I want comfort. I want adventure. I want softness. I want laughter that isn’t edged with vigilance.
Today is a soft day.
Today I colour.
I read.
I sit with my art supplies.
I revisit the girl I’ve always been — the free spirit with morals that can’t be bought and values that won’t bend.
I remind myself who I am beyond the trauma.
Beyond the labels.
Beyond the survival mode.
It’s easy to forget how far you’ve come when you’re still climbing — and that counts for something.
Sarah Wingfield
Independent Disability Advocate
#disabilityinclusion #strongertogether #disability #disabilityawareness #disabilitysupport #disabilityrights
Alt text:
A white-background collage arranged in angled panels, featuring close-up images of soft-day self-care and creativity. The images include a red kawaii frog handbag with a strap and zip, a collection of grey and coloured art pens with a pink “KawaiiDollDecora.uk” watermark, a handwritten blue message reading “It wasn’t your fault” beside a pink heart-decorated nail, a bright yellow “The Positive Planner” notebook, a hand-drawn palm diagram labelled with words such as dreams, family, goals, success and love, a cluster of sharpened coloured pencils, a handwritten pink message saying “Keep Going” with hearts, and a pastel mint kawaii cat bag with heart-shaped sunglasses. The overall mood is gentle, reflective, creative, and supportive.
