I was told to hide my wheelchair in school photos. Now disabled kids are being edited out

Growing up with a visible disability, I know all too well the pressure that children like me feel to conceal their differences; to try as much as possible to be the same as everyone else. 

All through school, I lost count of the number of times I was reminded to hide my wheelchair and present myself as ‘normal’ in photographs, including my primary school pictures. 

These formative, important events can, for disabled children, end up traumatic, and upsetting. 

I was reminded of how this trauma impacted me personally after a recent incident at a school in Scotland, where an external company offered parents the choice of class photos that explicitly excluded those disabled children with ‘complex needs.’

Justifiably, people are furious, and I can’t deny that I’m among them. 

I understand the lasting impact that these dehumanising decisions can have on a person’s sense of self-worth and identity. 

I am so grateful that parents at Aboyne Primary refused to accept this – complaining after being sent a link from a photography company offering them the alternative pictures. 

Aberdeenshire Council said it wasn’t a decision of the school and that the link to the photos was immediately removed, while the company involved, Tempest, apologised, saying ‘We would like to reassure our customers that this is not standard procedure for our company and we are taking this matter very seriously.

‘We deeply regret any upset this has caused and would like to sincerely apologise to the parents and children affected’

But let’s be clear: someone, somewhere, genuinely thought that editing out disabled children was OK; it didn’t feel instinctively wrong or cruel to that person; they didn’t think about what it would do to those disabled children, how it might shrink them down, harm them, or what it would teach them about their place in the world. 

They saw disabled children as something to be rid of. That’s the ugly, hard truth, and while it angers me, I’m sorry to say it doesn’t surprise me.  

Over the years, I have had to build myself up, because of those early formative experiences – when I was being told to be my best self, and that meant hiding my disability, editing out bits of myself, pulling myself in, and trying to conceal symptoms. 

I had always had an uneasy relationship with the things that set me apart: the wheelchair, the rollator, the crutches, and the splints. These photographers only reinforced the message that, if I had to be disabled, it would be palatable.

When I graduated from university, the photographer instinctively hid my wheelchair just a little, to make me strike the perfect pose.

It saddens me to think that this experience will negatively impact these disabled children, that even years after I’ve left school, kids are still being taught that they are not quite right.

For a long time, I believed that my achievements were the way I could conceal my disability – that I could prove my worth that way.

But as time passed, I came to realise that my disability is an intrinsic part of who I am; it isn’t to be celebrated or commiserate with; it is just a hard truth; it is my greatest joy and my greatest frustration. 

Years after those graduation photos, I was approached to appear on the cover of a magazine. I consciously decided to trust my instincts and gut at that moment.

No matter what the photographer suggested, I wanted the reality of my disability to be visible, so I insisted that my wheelchair be prominently pressed against my naked back because that is the up-close, on-the-nose truth.

As a disabled person, I’ve lived through many moments where I felt uncomfortable, felt like I didn’t belong, and it took years for me to overcome my own internal feelings about that. 

I see these photographs, how I edited myself down and, ultimately, learned not to, and I wish that the disabled children in this school, or any other, weren’t exposed to such thoughtless actions. 

There is anger at this incident, of course, and boycotts, and demands for explanation. 

That is good – but ultimately, we need further change. 

Most of all, I wish children didn’t have to learn these ugly, hard lessons about ableism — and what it is to exist in a disabled body. 

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

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