As Someone with Cerebral Palsy, Here's How I Made My House a Sanctuary

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By Kelly Dawson Good Housekeeping.com (USA)

Navigating a largely inaccessible world can be exhausting, but I made sure my apartment would be the ultimate place to relax.

A year ago, when I moved into my own apartment, I aimed to cultivate a setting that made me feel safe. As a woman born with cerebral palsy, I have legs that bend inward at my knees when I walk, creating a gait that resembles scissors opening and closing with every step. Balance requires a near-constant focus in public, where my eyes perpetually scan for a clear path and I’m always on alert for anything that may act as a restful seat when needed: a bench, a step or in desperate cases a ledge. It can be tiring, though these considerations feel as natural as can be: I have to go to the grocery store and I want to visit a beloved restaurant, and sometimes that can take effort. But in private, I didn’t want to work as hard. When it came to my home, I hoped to mitigate the stress often posed by surroundings through furnishing with accessibility in mind.

More than 60 million American adults, or one in four, identify as disabled, so “accessible design” encompasses a variety of solutions. Ease is the goal, whether that is expressed covertly by a sturdy chair or obviously by a ramp into a building — and anyone can use these items, whether out of necessity or not. For me, a checklist of inclusivity involved finding a somewhat firm sofa I could push off from to stand and rugs that stayed in place in every circumstance. I needed armless chairs to swing into and out of and a bed frame that wasn’t too low-slung. And, accepting that a few bumps here and there were inevitable, I preferred a round dining table and an accent chair with soft corners. Most importantly, I didn’t want to sacrifice style in the name of function. I had no problem buying things on sale, and in fact, I crossed my fingers for that. I was ready to search and sift and compare, but I wasn’t going to live in a hospital room.

“I didn’t want to sacrifice style in the name of function.”

To conserve energy and cover inventory quickly, I first turned to my computer. The best thing about shopping online for furniture is that the dimensions are listed on the same page as the product, making it easy to scroll past options that are too high, too short or just plain ugly. There are aesthetics-heavy retailers with accessible lines, including the Williams Sonoma brand Pottery Barn, but this level of attention is usually an anomaly and these particular furnishings were beyond my budget. Nevertheless, disability requires ingenuity — the proliferation of unrailed stairs, freestanding tubs and extra-deep sofas only builds this personal muscle — and I figured I could tailor options to my needs if I kept an eye out for the proper proportions. As long as most of my furniture fell within a three-foot height range so I didn’t have to bend down or stretch to stand or sit, that was ideal.

Furniture from direct-to-consumer brand Article isn’t certified as ADA-compliant, but I found that Article carried a streamlined bed frame, dining table and chairs that were just the right size and height. I cruised the showroom of Living Spaces one afternoon with my mom — who would know better what was best? — and we spotted a navy chaise sofa that was easy on the eyes, legs and wallet. Low-pile rugs were plentiful, so it was only a matter of picking patterns that suited my tastes and then securing them so they weren’t tripping hazards; I bought traditional pads for the larger ones and used adhesive for their smaller counterparts.

There were times when luck was on my side — such as when I noticed a leather side chair and a rattan-shaded lamp beside one another at HomeGoods — and other times when dwindling funds forced my hand (IKEA to the rescue!). While the chair was the right height, I bought these pieces mostly for looks and ease of storage, which is part of the game plan whether you have a disability or not. When it came to furnishing my place on the basis of accessible design, it all came down to this: Everyone deserves a home where they can be themselves, whatever that means to them. And I had the privilege to be able to do that on my own terms.

In the months since I settled in, my home has turned into a haven of relaxation and a hub of fun. It’s proof that inclusive design can feel warm and inviting, not cold and medicinal, as long as small yet significant considerations are part of the process.