I’ve written blogs for Ataxia UK before, but in case people don’t know me, I’m Laura. I was diagnosed with Cerebellar Ataxia when I was 17 and thought that my life was over. Three years later, I’ve just finished my second year of university studying psychology and have realised that my life is not over. I still struggle a lot with dealing with my condition, but it means so much to me to share my good experiences in the hope that others don’t feel so alone. Right now, I’m having an extremely good experience, and I’m excited to share how much it means to me.
Facing the Fear of Travelling Alone
Travelling alone with ataxia seemed like something that could never happen. Without someone to advocate for me in confusing environments or support me physically, places like airports or foreign cities felt impossible.
I used to believe I couldn’t travel unless everything was perfectly flat and accessible. I thought I couldn’t gain real-world experience in psychology because of my condition. But in just two weeks, I’ve managed to prove all those doubts wrong. I’m now nearing the end of a two-week psychology internship in Athens, and it has been the experience of a lifetime, one I never thought I’d get to have.
The Airport Challenge: Navigating an Invisible Disability
My first challenge was the airport. I struggle withstanding for long periods and being in crowded spaces, which makes airports tough. In the past, I’ve relied on my family to explain my needs because they weren’t always taken seriously.
Last year, for example, a staff member dismissed my request for fast, track access just by looking at me. If my mum hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have had the confidence to insist on what I needed.
This time, I travelled alone, and I had to be my own advocate. I finally wore a sunflower lanyard, something I had avoided because I didn’t want to highlight my condition. But it turned out to be a lifeline. Staff were more understanding, and the experience went so much smoother. I’m glad I took that step, even if it felt daunting at first.
Exploring Athens, With Ataxia
Athens has always been on my bucket list. I’ve loved Greek history for as long as I can remember. But with ataxia, that dream felt out of reach. Ancient ruins aren’t known for being accessible, and there were moments over the last two weeks where I questioned how I’d manage.
But I did it. I climbed to the top of the Acropolis (with friends) and even tackled the steps of the Odeon of Herodes Atticus on my own. There were definitely struggles along the way, but I made it through, and I’m heading home with all my limbs intact!
Learning to Open Up
Ataxia used to be something I hid. I wanted to blend in and not have to explain. I planned to keep my lanyard tucked away and act like everything was fine.
But something changed. Within a day of meeting the other interns, I felt comfortable enough to open up. By the end of the week, everyone knew about my condition, and they were nothing but supportive.
Some people didn’t get the full story; sometimes there’s just not a natural moment to explain everything, and that’s okay. But whether people knew the details or not, I felt accepted and included. That meant everything.
A Newfound Confidence
This internship showed me that I can be a psychologist. My experiences don’t hold me back; they give me the empathy and insight to make a difference.
Getting my diagnosis took me to a dark and lonely place. That’s why I care so deeply about psychology; I want to be there for others who are facing that same darkness.
Despite not speaking Greek and living in a culture different from my own, I’ve never taken part in something more meaningful. Connecting with mental health service users and learning about psychology in practice confirmed that this is where I belong.
Redefining What’s Possible
The biggest thing I’ve learnt is that ataxia doesn’t define me. Sure, I might not experience things the same way other people do, but I do experience them. I find new ways to get around challenges, and sometimes those ways are even more meaningful.
Yes, there are some things I can’t do. But there are always other things I can do, and those things might be even better.
Opening up about your health is scary, but people really can surprise you. You deserve to be included. You deserve to dream big.
More Than a Diagnosis
If there’s one thing I want anyone reading this to take away, it’s this:
You are more than you could ever imagine.
I’m living an opportunity I never thought I’d get to have, and it means more than anyone could ever know.
In just two weeks, my confidence has grown so much.
This is proof that my ability is not, and will never be, defined by my disability.
