Why Being Disabled Is Not A Travel Hack

Freeze frame of a TikTok video with the caption “The time me and my friends used wheelchair assistance so we wouldn’t miss our flight back into the U.S.”

Happy 2026. Feeling pumped?

Everyone’s doing their New Year reset. “We’re gonna be better.” And disabled people are waking up to TikTok's about how being disabled is a travel hack and The Wall Street Journal highlighting the miracle of ‘Jetway Jesus.’

Being disabled is not travel hack. Flying while disabled is exhausting. It’s dehumanizing. It’s expensive. And it’s layered in ways most people never have to think about.

When I travel, I don’t just show up with a boarding pass. I travel with a wheelchair, and a printed, double-sided one-sheet I hand to every gate agent explaining how to handle it. Because I’ve answered the same questions a thousand times, and I’m tired of watching people guess with equipment my body depends on.

I travel with my service dog, Canine Companions® Lovey. Which means paperwork. Digital copies. Physical copies. Backups for the backups. Because I never know who’s going to demand proof, or what form of proof will suddenly be “required” today.

That’s before I even get to my body. The pain, the fatigue. the logistics. Whether my girlfriend is with me to help. What if something breaks? Will anyone listen? Just how tired am I going to be by the time we land? How much longer am I waiting to deplane? I’ve been sitting for hours with non-accessible airplane bathrooms.

So when I see people openly bragging about faking disability for pre-boarding or using their platforms to call it a “hack”, my brain short-circuits.

This feeds a narrative disabled people have been fighting forever:
• we’re exaggerating.
• we’re gaming the system.
• we need to be watched.

And yes—non-visible disabilities are real. They are valid. We should never be policing people who need assistance but don’t “look disabled enough.”

This is people who know they don’t need it, saying so out loud, and monetizing it for clicks. And the fallout lands on us.

On the scrutiny when someone like me stands up out of a wheelchair.
On the unspoken question: Are you faking it?

So we over-perform legitimacy. We carry more documentation. We explain more than we should. We make ourselves calmer, nicer, because access feels conditional.

I don’t want to spend my energy explaining why basic decency is required.

I want to spend it reminding people that disabled folks matter. That we’re not inspiration. Not content. Not a punchline. Not a workaround.

We’re just people trying to get where we’re going.

If this is how we’re starting 2026? Arguing about whether disability is being “abused”—then yeah. I’m frustrated. And I’m not interested in pretending this is cute or funny.

So I’ll ask this instead:

Who gets believed?
Who gets blamed when systems fail?
And why is disabled existence still treated like an inconvenience people feel entitled to exploit?

Sit with that.

Why Lying About Disability Hurts Everyone

Silhouetted wheelchair user navigating through a bustling airport terminal during sunrise or sunset, with warm golden light streaming in from large windows ahead. The reflection of the light creates a glowing effect on the polished floor. Other travelers with luggage are blurred in the background, adding a sense of motion and activity to the scene.

Thanksgiving this year marked a bittersweet milestone for me: my first flight since the passing of my service dog, Canine Companions® Pico. Navigating air travel without his steadying presence was an emotional adjustment, but it also brought a new set of challenges to the forefront—ones I hadn’t anticipated as a wheelchair user.

Picture this: It’s the early hours of the morning, and I’m at DCA, waiting to board my flight to Seattle. Between navigating Transportation Security Administration (TSA) Pre-check, managing my luggage, and coordinating the safe onboarding of my wheelchair, I was already juggling more than most travelers might consider. And then came the questions.

The heightened interest in the mechanics of my Alber GmbH power-assist wheels meant fielding inquiries from airline staff who were understandably curious about the technology I rely on for mobility. Half-asleep and longing for coffee, I found myself explaining the specs of my chair like I was pitching a new gadget on Shark Tank ABC.

The lesson I learned? Preparation is survival. Much like I once traveled with paperwork to verify Pico’s working status, I now carry a one-page cheat sheet detailing everything about my wheelchair frame and wheels. It’s a necessity for safety reasons, and because of the pervasive scrutiny many disabled travelers face—scrutiny amplified by dishonest actions like those described in a recent viral story.

A passenger on a United Airlines flight tried to exploit early boarding by claiming he had a disability due to recent knee surgery. However, his actions unraveled when he requested a seat in the exit row, where passengers must confirm their ability to assist in emergencies—something Federal Aviation Administration regulations prohibit for people with certain disabilities. Faced with the choice of admitting he lied or forfeiting the coveted exit row seat, he indignantly claimed he was suddenly "fine" to sit there after all.

When individuals fake disabilities, it undermines the trust needed for systems like pre-boarding to work. Those of us with legitimate needs find ourselves subjected to greater scrutiny. Additionally, exploiting accommodations reinforces the false idea that they’re perks instead of rights—conveniences to be gamed rather than tools for equity. This attitude chips away at the dignity of those who rely on these systems. Disability is not a monolith, but one thing unites us: the barriers we face are real. Every "clever hack" or deception makes the rest of us pay a higher price, emotionally, physically, and logistically.

We, as a society, must do better. We must normalize empathy over suspicion and remember that accessibility isn’t just a checkbox on a corporate DEIA plan—it’s a commitment to dignity, inclusion, and equity for all.

Planning to lie about a disability to get early boarding? Read this

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Plane

A UK-based consortium has created a cabin concept that allows wheelchair users to use their own chair when flying on airlines

Greetings, fellow readers! I'm your friendly neighborhood wheelchair user, navigating the world with everyone’s favorite 70-pound Lab Retriever, Canine Companions® Pico. Over the near decade that we’ve been matched, we have a knack for finding ourselves in the most absurd situations.

Let's talk about flying. Not the Superman kind, but the "strapped into a metal tube hurtling through the sky" kind. It's a bit like a roller coaster, except the ride lasts for hours and there's no overpriced keepsake photo afterward proving you survived.

Now, imagine doing this while also wondering if your legs (aka my wheelchair) will still work when you land. It's like playing a game of "Wheelchair Roulette". The stakes? A cool $20,000. That's right, folks. My wheelchair costs more than a used car, and I'm entrusting it to the same people who routinely lose luggage on direct flights. In 2022 alone, 11,389 wheelchairs were mishandled by US airlines, according to the U.S. Department of Transportation February 2023 Air Travel Consumer Report.

But let's not forget my trusty sidekick, Pico. He's the Batman to my Robin, the peanut butter to my jelly, the...well, you get the idea. He's my rock, especially when turbulence hits and I'm clutching the armrests like I'm trying to strangle them. This is where the spasticity from CP can be extra fun.

Now, here's the good news. Delta Air Lines and Air 4 All are stepping up their game. They're developing a seat that allows us wheelchair users to stay in our chairs during the flight. Debuting on June 6 at the Aircraft Interiors Expo, this prototype has been a longtime coming. As PriestmanGoode director Daniel MacInnes told Insider, "Offering equal access to comfort, safety, and dignity for all passengers has always been our objective for Air 4 All."

This is a game-changer, folks. No more playing "Wheelchair Roulette". No more being transferred from chair to chair like a game of musical chairs. Just me, my wheelchair, and my trusty canine sidekick, cruising at 35,000 feet.

So, here's to Delta, Air 4 All, and all the wheelchair users who dream of flying comfortably. Keep flying high, my friends. And remember, the sky's the limit...unless you're in an airplane. Then it's more like 35,000 feet.

Share your thoughts, experiences, or your favorite airplane food (if such a thing exists) in the comments below. Let's get the conversation rolling!