The fall that changed everything

Growing up, I never knew my dad any other way. The wheelchair was just part of who he was. But what we didn’t talk about – what I didn’t understand as a child – was the emotional weight he carried. I was a quiet, reserved child, often hiding my emotions because I didn’t want to add to his burden. Mental health wasn’t something we discussed back then, and I never realised how deeply he might have been struggling. 

As I reached my teenage years, things became harder. Dad’s moods grew more unpredictable, and our relationship strained under the pressure. Simple things, like asking to go to a school disco, could spiral into shouting and tears. At 15, I made the difficult decision to move in with my mum. I knew it would hurt him, but I also knew something had to change. 

Healing and growth 

That change came years later when Dad began to open up about his trauma. He started sharing his story – publicly and with us – and began to heal. Over the past seven years, he’s made incredible progress. Giving up alcohol was a turning point. His mood, his outlook, his energy – they’ve all transformed. And with that, my anxiety has eased. I no longer live in fear of how he’ll react when something goes wrong. That peace is a gift I never take for granted. 

We still navigate the challenges of accessibility – being turned away from restaurants or venues that aren’t wheelchair-friendly – but Dad handles it with grace. I, on the other hand, still carry that quiet anxiety, always wondering how he’s feeling and how I can make it better. 

A new generation, a renewed purpose 

Eight years ago, when my daughter was born, Dad came to meet her. We looked at each other, both in tears. In that moment, we felt the full weight of our journey – and the hope of a new beginning. Watching my daughter reach for her grandad, wanting to be picked up, brought back all the emotions we thought we’d left behind. The ripples of that fall still touch our lives in unexpected ways. 

Why I speak out 

It’s not easy to share this story. It’s deeply personal. But I do it because I know it makes a difference. When people hear it, they connect. They reflect. And sometimes, they change. That’s why I advocate for safer working at height, not just for the workers, but for the families who live with the consequences. 

The bigger picture 

We need to bring back the human connection in the workplace. Not just the polite, “you okay?” but real conversations. Real care. If someone’s struggling – mentally, emotionally, physically – we need to notice. We need to speak up. My dad’s supervisor knew he was struggling. He knew about the money problems, the sleepless nights, the drinking. But no one stepped in. No one challenged it. And that silence changed our lives forever. 

A call to action 

Every worker should be reminded daily why they’re there, who they’re going home to. Because when someone falls, it’s not just them who suffers. It’s their whole family. Their whole future. 

I believe every company should bring in real people with real stories. Let workers hear first-hand what the consequences look like. Let them feel it. That’s how we build a culture of safety. A culture of care. A culture where people feel valued, supported and empowered to speak up. 

Because at the end of the day, a happy worker is a safer worker.