Reclaiming my world: A trip to London after 5 years trapped by disability

In 2016, my entire world abruptly shut down. At 13 years old, I went from being a completely healthy, active teenager to experiencing a sudden, catastrophic bodily collapse.

I was diagnosed with Functional Neurological Disorder (FND)—a complex condition where the brain’s software fails to send the correct signals to the body. Despite physically normal brain scans, the real-world symptoms were devastating. FND left me completely bedridden for three long years, unable to speak for a year, and stripped away my ability to walk for five years.

For a long time, I felt utterly trapped within my own mind and body. The physical isolation of being confined to a bed is hard to articulate, but during those dark years, the outside world kept moving without me. For years I was a teen who was locked inside a body that had simply shut down. While poorly I found comfort in London and it was my dream to visit the city but I wasn’t well enough to go. I could only dream of visiting the capital from my bed in Nottingham.

Recovery from severe neurological paralysis does not happen overnight. It is a grueling, agonisingly slow process of quiet, daily milestones. First, it was reclaiming my voice. Then it was learning to sit, followed by taking assisted steps. Every single movement required immense mental determination to override the faulty signals in my nervous system.

Eventually, after years of fighting, I achieved what once felt entirely impossible: I planned and executed a major trip to London.

Once I was able to tolerate sitting again I was given a wheelchair then was off to London!

Traveling with a severe chronic illness or a history of paralysis is an intense logistical challenge. It requires meticulous planning, looking up wheelchair access, mapping out transit routes, and managing unpredictable neurological fatigue. Navigating London’s transport infrastructure as someone actively recovering from a disability opened my eyes to how vital true accessibility is. It isn’t just about ramps and lifts; it is about independence, dignity, and having the confidence that the infrastructure will support you when your body is vulnerable.

I had traveled from a state of total physical lockdown to the heart of the capital.

My message I would want to share is that hope is a tiny spark that can survive the darkest days. More importantly, I want other young people facing sudden, severe physical trauma to know that a diagnosis is not the end of your story. Reclaiming your independence and exploring the world takes time, patience, and fierce determination—but the destination is entirely worth the fight.