As I sat on the phone with my friend, Sky, my hands moved rhythmically, crocheting a hat and scarf set. The familiar motion of looping yarn over my hook was soothing, a quiet ritual of creation. While we chatted, I found myself sharing a fear I had never voiced aloud: my deep worry about wearing scarves as a wheelchair user.
Long garments, like scarves, always come with the risk of getting caught in my wheels, potentially causing harm or damage. It’s happened to me before—the sudden yank of fabric, the near loss of balance, the moment of panic as I scrambled to free myself. Yet there I was, crocheting a scarf anyway, as if going through the motions without fully considering what I actually needed.
I kept crocheting, but the unease sat with me. A few days later, I paused and asked myself:
What would it look like to engage with this fear instead of ignoring it? To see my anxiety not as something to silence but as a guide, inviting me to think differently? To meet it with curiosity and care instead of resistance?
That question shifted something in me. I realized that my fear wasn’t just a barrier—it was also an opportunity. An invitation to create something more thoughtful, more adaptable. I set the scarf aside and began crocheting a winter cowl instead. A cowl could keep my head and neck warm without the risk of trailing fabric getting tangled in my wheels. It was a simple adjustment, but one that made all the difference.
That small but intentional shift felt like an act of self-compassion—an acknowledgment of my needs without shame or compromise. Too often, disabled people are taught to push through discomfort, to contort ourselves to fit the world rather than shaping the world to fit us. But adaptation isn’t about limitation; it’s about care. It’s about recognizing that our fears and anxieties don’t always need to be overcome—they can be listened to, honored, and used to guide us toward something better.
Accommodation isn’t just about physical adjustments; it’s also about reframing how we respond to our needs. It’s about seeing creativity and accessibility as intertwined, each informing the other in ways that make our lives not just safer, but more expansive.
This experience reminded me that adaptation is an art form in itself—one rooted in care, in self-acceptance, and in the belief that we deserve solutions that don’t require us to choose between safety and self-expression.
So, as the weather turns colder and I reach for my winter layers, I’ll do so knowing that my craft, my care, and my creativity will always be in conversation with one another.
Because adaptation is a form of care.
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