Last night was one of the most emotional experiences I’ve ever had in Second Life. It wasn’t about some big event, a new sim opening, or meeting new people. It was about me. For the first time, I saw myself in Second Life exactly as I am in real life — in my wheelchair, with my backpack hanging just where it should be.
It hit me harder than I ever expected.
I’ve used wheelchairs in SL before, but those were just objects — something I wore or sat in. They weren’t mine. They didn’t carry the small, personal details that make something feel real. This time was different. This time I wasn’t just using “a wheelchair.” I was using my wheelchair, customized, accessorized, and scripted until it felt right. And when I finally sat in it, it was like looking in a mirror.
And that’s when it all came crashing down.
I wasn’t just crying. I was uncontrollably sobbing — waves of emotion hitting me all at once. It felt like a panic attack and yet it wasn’t fear. It was happiness, sorrow, shock, relief, and recognition all tangled together. I could barely breathe because it felt so real. For the first time, I was seeing myself fully, without hiding, and it overwhelmed me.
Because here’s the truth: my wheelchair isn’t my identity. It doesn’t define me. But it is part of my life. It shapes how I move, how I navigate the world, how I live. And seeing it honestly reflected in SL — not erased, not hidden, not avoided — was surreal.
For the first time, I felt like I belonged in this virtual space exactly as I am in reality. Not as a performance. Not as a test of how others would react. Just as me.
And here’s the part that caught me off guard: it almost felt like I was saying goodbye to who I used to be in Second Life. The version of me who stood, who “blended in,” who hid this part of myself. That avatar no longer feels like the truth. Last night was a shift — the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.
I also know this decision may put people off. I saw proof of it already. A friend asked if I was enjoying myself, and I said yes, absolutely. I even joked that it would be interesting to see how many people don’t talk to me anymore. He replied, “Oh, so that’s the test.” I told him, “No. This isn’t a test. This is how I want to see myself in Second Life.” And then he never answered me again — maybe because he didn’t know what to say, maybe because he was busy doing something else. Either way, the silence spoke volumes.
I won’t be sought after the way I was when I was walking. And that hurts to admit. But at the same time, it doesn’t change my truth. This is me.
Last night changed something in me.
I realized that authenticity in SL is just as important as in real life. It’s not about being defined by my chair, but about including it in my truth. And when I saw myself, really saw myself, backpack and all, it felt so real I could barely breathe.
It was shocking, overwhelming, beautiful. Almost like letting go of an old identity and stepping fully into my real one. And it’s something I’ll carry with me every time I log in from now on.
Because in Second Life, people often fall in love with the idea of you, not the reality of you. Last night, I chose reality.
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