By Sophie Mattholie, TLF Adviser
I’ve spent a lot of time in various youth spaces in the past few years. Most notably as an advisor on
The Listening Fund, and as a Trustee at a youth-led disability charity called The LUNA Project, both of
which I was lucky enough to get to talk about on episodes of Shift. These are very different spaces to
work in for me as a disabled young person, and this is something I notice a lot. There are aspects of
disability spaces which simply cannot be replicated by non-disabled spaces, but there’s also a lot that
the wider youth sector could learn from the way we work in order to be more inclusive for disabled
and non-disabled young people alike.
One of the biggest, and perhaps most obvious, differences is in the design of the spaces. At LUNA,
the vast majority of volunteers are disabled, so this means we plan all virtual and in-person spaces
around this. Online, cameras on or off are fine, use of the chat is fine, fidget toys and stimming are
encouraged, and we do our best to make sense of half-formed brain fogged thoughts. In person,
wheelchair access, plentiful rest time and quiet spaces, and allergies are all incorporated into any
planning from the very first step. If we’re doing a workshop, there is never a part of the presentation
which only one person knows: if someone is suddenly unwell, forgets what they’re supposed to say,
or just needs a moment, it never causes a problem. If it’s a long day, the evening plan is usually
takeaway and chats rather than something more energy intensive.
This level of access is a continuous process of conscious choices, and one that we are always very
careful to implement. It creates an environment unlike any other I’ve experienced. We work
dynamically, passing tasks around based on capacity, stepping back from external commitments
when we don’t have the energy, and welcoming people to meetings whether they come every week
or twice a year. People come to meetings from hospital or in bed, not because they feel any pressure
to, but because they want to hang out and know they’ll be welcome!
The level of thought we put into it is perhaps unique to a majority-disabled space, but I definitely
think there’s also a lot that could be taken from it too. To some extent, flexibility and varying
capacity are built into the design of good youth spaces, and this is certainly something I’ve really
appreciated about The Listening Fund. It’s not my experience of all youth spaces though, as much as
I wish it was.
Existing in other youth spaces is a very different experience for me (although not inherently better
or worse!) When I’m one of the only disabled people in a space, it feels a lot more like I have to
negotiate my presence and my needs. This is a steep learning curve for everyone involved. It has
taken me a long time and a lot of practice to reach a point where I can easily explain my needs to a
non-disabled person in a way that they also understand. This has been really frustrating for me, and
I’d imagine for my facilitators too. Amongst my disabled peers, this is a common experience – it’s
our first time experiencing a lot of this too, and this means that while we’re expected to know what
we need, we often won’t know until we try!
While there is a level of internalised ableism that society ingrains into disabled people which
individuals can’t necessarily undo, a good facilitator goes a long way for providing the time and
space to figure out what we need and how to ask for it. I would also say that a little bit of disability
knowledge goes a long way: if you’re working with a young person who’s a wheelchair user, do you know what goes into making a place “wheelchair accessible”? Do you understand the need for quiet
spaces that neurodivergent young people have?
Further, there are lots of subtle differences between these two types of spaces. In non-disabled
spaces, I naturally stand out as the lone wheelchair user. I’m not particularly bothered by this, but
other people find it uncomfortable. This is more reflective of wider society than anything else.
Contrastingly, at LUNA there are countless mobility aids at any in-person event. We celebrate this
and you’ll frequently find us trying out each other’s wheelchairs at the end of a conference or trip!
There’s such a sense of camaraderie that comes from being in an all-disabled group, where fainting,
joint dislocations, or hospital trips are just the facts of life and not causes for alarm. It contrasts quite
strongly with non-disabled spaces, where even years into projects my colleagues are still quite
concerned to see me lying on the floor during breaks.
This is not to say that either of these experiences are better than the other, just to say that they’re
strikingly different. Equally, non-disabled spaces have been uniquely positive for me. When there’s
been accessibility issues, my colleagues have universally had much more energy to fight them than I
have. I experience so many access issues that they become background noise and no longer shock
me, but my colleagues approach it with rage. It’s really refreshing and rather lovely to see people
stand up for me with that much fire behind them.
I’ve learned a lot from working in both kinds of spaces, and I definitely think other people could
learn from this too. If you work with young people, I would encourage you to consider what
reasonable adjustments can be implemented as universal design: regular breaks, quiet time, and
flexibility are appreciated by everyone, even if disabled young people often need them more. I’d also
encourage you to learn a little bit about disability. We’re expected to explain ourselves, our
disabilities and our needs so often that someone else knowing even the basics comes as a massive
relief. From my experience, the small moments of allyship mean the world.