Amber Sargent, 36, shares her story below…
Lowering myself from my wheelchair, I commando crawled into the kitchen.
Next, I engaged my core muscles and rolled sideways into the living room.
“Freedom!” I shouted.
It was 1995 and I was six years old.
Back then, I hated being in my chair.
I was one of six children and our mum, Shayna, raised us on her own.
She told me that when I was in the womb, my umbilical cord had wrapped tightly around my arms and legs, stopping my muscles from developing properly.
My condition wasn’t progressive, but it wouldn’t improve either.
“Doctors said your life was over before it started,” Mum once recalled.
“But I knew you’d be a fighter.”
I learned early on that if I wanted something, I’d have to figure it out myself.
Read more: I am a daredevil who uses a wheelchair
When I was two years old, Mum found me on the lounge drinking a bottle of milk I’d somehow grabbed on my own.
“That’s when I knew you’d be just fine,” she laughed.
By the time I was six, I was fiercely independent, even though the muscles in my arms and legs remained underdeveloped.
I used an electric wheelchair outside and when I was at home I loved to crawl and roll.
When I played tag with my siblings, I could often roll faster than they could run.
At school, I had help from a support worker with writing and using the bathroom, but I never felt self-conscious.
Living in a small town meant everyone knew me and accepted my differences.
At 12, I overheard a disability case worker talking to Mum.
“What will Amber do after high school?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Mum hesitated. “I figure she’ll just live at home with me.”
Mum didn’t mean any harm, but I wanted a life where I could stand – well, roll – on my own.
From then on, I took my studies seriously, determined to claim my independence.
At 18, I left my hometown to study rehabilitation services at uni and moved into a dorm on campus.
It was exciting and terrifying all at once.
A few months in, I met Kyle, 19, who also used a wheelchair, while we were waiting for a lift in the dorms.
“It’s a walker’s world here, huh?” he joked.
“If I had a dollar for every time I could use my feet, I’d have no money,” I quipped back with a grin.
We both cracked up, and from that moment, we were inseparable.
Kyle lived with muscular dystrophy, a degenerative condition that gradually weakened his muscles.
We swapped stories about the ridiculous things people had said to us over the years.
“One guy told me I was just too lazy to walk,” Kyle winced.
“I’ve heard that, too,” I replied.
“I guess we’re both just too lazy then,” he chuckled.
Our friendship soon turned into romance.
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We realised that the degrees we were studying weren’t right for us.
After both dropping out, we moved into an accessible home together.
I went on to study business administration, and Kyle and I continued to laugh off ignorance and gently educate people about disability where we could.
In 2024, I took up rolling again to regain fitness.
I trained both inside and on the footpath in front of our home.
Passers-by were always encouraging.
“Don’t get too dizzy!” one dog walker chuckled.
Dizziness was an issue, but I learned to look at one spot while rolling and take breaks between sets.
Though Kyle couldn’t roll himself, he was always encouraging me.
He posted a video of me rolling on our social media, @toolazy2walk and it racked up over a million views!
Some people cheered me on while others compared me to loose objects in the back of a car.
It stung, but instead of letting negativity stop me, I used the attention as a way to further educate people.
We posted more light-hearted videos about disability and even began selling t-shirts with slogans.
One said ‘My muscles ghosted me’.
Living with a disability doesn’t mean living a limited life.
It means finding yourown way to move through the world.
If my story can spark understanding or make someone smile then every roll has been worth it.
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