Looking through my holiday photos, you would struggle to spot my disability.

You’d see cruise ports . A cruise ship. Nice food. Days out. The occasional cup of tea and more frequent beer. You’d probably conclude that I had a good holiday, and you’d be right.

What the photos don’t show are the hundreds of tiny reminders that disability never goes on holiday.

The holiday was brilliant .

The disability came with me.

Before we even left, there was the planning. Most people book a holiday and start looking forward to it. I find myself thinking about medication, assistance, transfers, access, walking distances, fatigue and what would happen if things went wrong. None of it is especially dramatic, but it adds a layer of background stress before the holiday has even begun.

Part of that stress comes from relying on other people. As a self confessed control freak I like to be organised. I like to know what’s happening. I like being independent. Travel has a way of taking some of that away. I’m stuck  relying on other people to carry things, move things, organise things or simply help me get from A to B. The holiday starts long before the departures.

Then there’s security.

For most travellers, airport security is a minor inconvenience. Queue up, empty your pockets, walk through the scanner, carry on with your day.

For me it becomes a whole olympic style  event.

I can’t go through the scanner. I can’t fully participate in a pat-down because pmy body simply doesnt  cooperate. Extra, often awkward,  explanations are required. Alternative arrangements are made. Staff are invariably polite and professional; often quite sympathetic; but I still end up feeling like a problem that needs solving rather than a passenger who needs processing.

It lasts a few minutes.

The feeling  lasts longer.

One thing I’m always conscious of is feeling that I’m in the way.

Busy stations. Airports. Crowded streets. Ship corridors. Anywhere with people moving quickly.

I’m constantly checking over my shoulder.

Constantly aware that I’m slower than the people around me.

Constantly wondering whether I’m inconveniencing someone.

Most people probably haven’t even noticed me. Yet there I am apologising for existing at a different speed to everyone else.

“Sorry I’m slow.”

“please go ahead”

Sorry I’m taking up space.

Sorry.

The reality is that a lot of disability isn’t physical. It’s the mental load that comes from navigating the world while trying not to inconvenience it.

Then there are the compromises that nobody sees.

I couldn’t simply throw a hoodie in my bag or tie it around my shoulders  “just in case”. What I bring, what I wear and what I carry are all influenced by what I can physically manage. Every item has a cost.

The same applies to activities.

One of the strange things about disability is that something can be completely accessible and still not really be available to you.

The swimming pools were right there.

The buffet was right there.

The various activities and opportunities to dash around were right there.

I could see them all and get there albeit slowly

That doesn’t necessarily mean I could use them in the same way as everyone else.

Accessibility and participation are not the same thing.

I notice the tiny reminders.

The ones that don’t make dramatic stories.

The ones that happen every day.

A good example came at dinner. I was sat in a  nice restaurant, having a tasty meal, enjoying my holiday, surrounded by people dressed for a formal  evening.

Next to me , a family member was cutting up my food.

Nothing was wrong.

Nobody was making a fuss or even noticed

I wasn’t upset.

Yet it was another quiet reminder that there are parts of life I still can’t do for myself.

The thing is, none of this ruined the holiday.

Not remotely.

I had a fantastic time; I walked 13,000 steps for 4 consecutive days, I went on boat tours, ferrys, sat in pubs and cafes

That’s actually the point.

Disability doesn’t disappear because you’re somewhere nice.

It doesn’t stay at home while you go away.

It follows you through airports, restaurants, city streets and cruise ships. Sometimes loudly. More often quietly.

When people look at the photos they’ll see the good bits.

They’ll see exactly what I saw.

What they won’t see are the hidden costs that came with them.

The strange thing is that I’m okay with that.

The photos aren’t lying.

They’re just incomplete.