As an occupational therapist and someone who is disabled, I know firsthand how challenging it can be to attend live events. Recently, I went to a gig featuring my favourite artist—a rare treat I plan for roughly once a year, as these events can be overwhelming and exhausting. But this time, the experience left me reflecting on how venues can better support disabled attendees, especially when plans don’t go as expected.
The Build-Up
I booked my ticket months in advance, unfortunately, only standing tickets were available (it is a smallish venue) on the website—a disappointment, but I decided to take the chance. I hoped I’d be having a “good” pain day when the time came.
But the day of the gig rolled around, and I was in the middle of a huge flare-up. My usual strategies weren’t enough, and I knew standing for hours would be more difficult than I’d hoped. Desperate, I checked the venue’s website to see if there were any options for assistance. At previous gigs the venues website simply said “come early and speak to us and we will find you a seat etc”. To my frustration, there was only a form on the website which it was too late to fill as they state“ fill it in and send it back with the supporting documents within seven days of your booking”… ignoring my situation where it was too late to do this, this also requires “good” executive functioning for the disabled person to find this information, fill in and return the form and find supporting docs to send in too within the time limit! That doesn’t seem particularly accesisble. The website also stated “we cannot always guarantee seated options”, which seems rather unhelpful! In the end I decided to go anyway, hoping that someone at the venue might be able to help me.
At the Venue
When I arrived with my walking stick, a staff member noticed me and kindly moved me to the front of the queue. I was so relieved! But when I entered the queue I was surrounded by others who had pre-arranged accessibility accommodations, I noticed they were given wristbands and guided to a designated seating area.
I explained my situation to the staff member, hoping for some understanding. But to my dismay, I was told, “Sorry, there are no seats—you could have booked a normal seat in advance.” I felt crushed. If I had seen an option online to book a seat, I would have done so in a heartbeat. When I entered the standing area I spoke to security and asked if there were any seats left or anywhere safe for me to purch (I was worried about being pushed over too). He looked at me as if I was being a nuisance and bluntly responded with “you could sit there, but that’s all”, as he pointed outside of the auditorium to the hallway by the toilets (where you couldn’t see the stage). My eyes welling up with tears, I found myself panicking in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do next.
In the end, I sat on the floor near the back of the venue. I felt embarrassed, sad, and deeply let down. I survived the gig, but I was in so much pain that I was one of the last people to leave. It’s been days, and I’m still recovering from the physical toll of standing for so long, even with my stick.
Reflections on Accessibility
Looking back, I know part of this situation was on me—I didn’t book assistance in advance. But as someone who has both physical and cognitive challenges, I wish venues would accommodate those who can’t plan so far ahead or who experience unexpected health issues on the day. What if I’d broken my leg the week before the event?
The rigid system leaves no room for flexibility. It excluded those who struggle with executive functioning , who may not know they need accommodations until the last minute, or who simply didn’t see the option online.
It frustrates me that all the systems set up to support us, create so much extra work and planning! You can’t just turn up to things like other people can.
Moving Forward
This experience reinforced how critical it is for venues to create accessible systems that meet a range of needs. Some ideas I’d suggest include:
- Make the system clear : make it easier for disabled people to find out how to get help and how to guarantee a seat, preferably on the ticket booking platform.
- On-the-day flexibility: Reserve a few seats for those who need last-minute assistance, and have staff trained to respond compassionately.
-Compassnate staff: ensure that staff make disabled people feel heard, even if they can’t help, apologising and even just saying something like “I’ll just check for you” with a smile goes a long way.
Attending live events should be an inclusive experience for everyone. It’s not just about compliance—it’s about creating an environment where people feel seen, supported, and valued. I hope sharing this experience encourages more venues to reflect on their accessibility policies and make meaningful changes.
Have you had a similar experience? I’d love to hear your thoughts or tips on navigating gigs and events as a disabled person. Let’s keep this conversation going!
Comments