There’s Nothing New On The Internet

On a recent road trip with my family, I saw something that made me cry happy tears. It brought back an unhappy but somehow empowering memory.

It kind of felt like a full circle moment.

I was there with my husband and my child remembering the kid that I was, and making a wish for the kids of today.

I shared the photo, the memory, and my wish on the internet.

It wasn’t a blog post. I didn’t do keyword research, or check what’s already been said. I had no angle.

I posted a photo and a caption. And then I went on with my life.

At lunch, an hour later, the post had 60 shares.

Six days later, the post has had 42,000 shares.

People are sharing their own stories. That’s a beautiful thing.

And a good percentage of the more than 3,000 comments on the post is that a wheelchair user in the Barbie universe is not new.

Have you heard of Becky? Well, yes. I shared my opinion, and linked to other people’s opinions.

My point was, this is an upgrade.

And I didn’t frequent toy aisles in the 90s.

I was too busy moving countries. Writing stories, dying my hair, missing people, figuring out what home means, and what the hell that dude just said.

If I had researched what’s been said before, I maybe wouldn’t have posted. But I did. In the five or ten minutes my kid was at the playground after shopping. I was in the moment, or in that moment in the 80s, I had stuff to say.

I knew this before, but this week has really taught me there’s nothing new on the internet.

But we all have different stories and perspectives.

Write your story from where you are, and share it. There’s nothing new on the internet, but you haven’t said everything yet.

And once our words are out there, they’re not ours any more. People either understand you, or tell you what they think you meant, and add their own context.

My context is I’m a proud disabled person. I know I matter, and it’s nice to see positive representation.

It’s bigger than dolls. It is accessibility, visibility, inclusion, and acceptance. Which we need everywhere. Not just the Dream House.

I don’t want to wish my wheels away, I want more accessible houses. Please don’t tell wheelchair users that you don’t see our chairs. We still need to get our chairs into places. And then do things in those places.

My husband loves me for who I am while also understanding that inaccessibility is a real thing. A real bitch of a thing.

And like when I wrote about that wheelchair in the bridal shop window, I look forward to the day when whole self-acceptance, inclusion, and wider access for disabled people aren’t novel concepts thought of once every 20 years.

Now, go tell your story.