hi, I’m Ali.
and no, I’m not just here to “inspire” you…
I'm a disabled writer, speaker, and community builder in Vancouver. I'm a full-time wheelchair user, I've been disabled for over 20 years, and I've built a whole brand around a little stubborn idea: that disabled life is full of joy worth celebrating.
my story
Just over twenty years ago, on a warm day at a ski resort in Argentina, I pushed off down a run that was a little too steep. Thirty seconds later I was on my back in the snow, unable to move my legs. I was fourteen.
A year after my accident, I moved across the world to a boarding school in small-town Ontario. And like every teenager, I just wanted to fit in — which, for me, meant pulling attention as far away from my wheelchair as I could. For about fifteen years I was the good little disabled girl: the star student, the model employee, the one who went with the flow when the elevator broke.
Then, my employer planned an event that would be inaccessible to me, and it was the final straw. I stopped making myself small and got loud about what it means to be disabled in an inaccessible world. Since then, I’ve been on a journey to embrace my disabled identity as a part of me that makes me whole and, really, the best version of myself to date.
These days I'm in Vancouver with my husband and our two dogs (and a soon-to-be-accessible little bungalow on the North Shore). And I've built a life — and a brand — around disabled joy.
what I stand (sit) for
Here's the both/and I hold at all times: a lot about being disabled genuinely sucks. And, at the same time, disabled life is full of joy worth celebrating. Both are true. No one is obligated to feel joy — and joy isn't the opposite of struggle. They sit at the same table.
A few things I believe deeply:
Disabled joy isn't a distraction from activism. It is activism.
Your lived experience is your authority. You never have to prove or justify it.
Representation changes lives. I know, because I didn't see myself anywhere until I found my mirrors in other disabled writers and creators.
Accessibility is a right, not a favour.
You get to take up space your way.
What you won't get from me: inspiration porn, toxic positivity, or hustle culture.
a bit about the work
I've spent the last four years taking up space online as @seated.perspectives and building a business entirely on my own terms. Along the way:
Seated Perspectives became a Canva-award-finalist brand. I was in the top 30 of 13,000 submissions.
I've coached disabled journalists, advocates, and creators to build brands that actually sound like them.
I’m a 2026 Diversability D-30 Disability Impact List nominee.
I’ve been on multiple podcasts within the disability community.
I’m building a community space focused entirely around disabled joy.
This has been such a fun process of learning, growing, and becoming more enamoured with more parts of me.
what I do here
Everything comes back to one thread: create, celebrate, and centre disabled joy. That shows up in three ways.
The Disabled Joy Collective — an online community built entirely around disabled joy. Not therapy, not advocacy homework, not productivity. Just joy, and your people.
The Gentle Content Club — tools, courses, and coaching that help disabled creators build visibility with intention.
Speaking — talks on disabled joy, resilience vs. ease, community, and the power of representation.
come on in
If you're craving a corner of the internet that celebrates disabled humanity — fully, honestly, unapologetically — you're in the right place.
P.S.: I write long-form pieces about disabled joy and life as a disabled women still figuring out how to fully embrace her disabled identity over on Substack. Click here to subscribe.