Trying To Get Tickets To The ERAS Tour As A Disabled Person

TW: Mentions of ableism, severe depression, suicidal thoughts and ideation.

Us international Taylor Swift fans have been waiting for The ERAS Tour to come and visit us for months and finally, we have dates! (Through some bizarre twist of fate, the announcement, the registration, the extra dates announcement, and the opening of resale tickets all occurred while I was at therapy, so I don’t think it would surprise anyone to learn that I rescheduled the sessions that were booked for the days of the actual ticket sales – thank god for my very understanding therapist).

So the tour is coming – possibly the most exciting event of next year – but before I could be excited about that, the ticket sales had to be navigated. And given how horrific the US sale had been, I was – at the very least – very apprehensive. I hoped that, after the previous fiascos, this sale would be smoother but, having witnessed the anxiety and misery and disappointment, I couldn’t help but worry that this sale would be just as bad, with the added hurdle of trying to get accessible seating.


Having pre-ordered the Midnights album during the period in which it granted you a code for tour dates, I had access to the ticket sales a week earlier than the ticket sales for which you had to register. That was definitely helpful, in some ways at least. In the week leading up to this first sale, my Mum and I spoke to the Wembley accessibility people several times, trying to get the most accurate information about getting tickets through them. My Mum had to actually make the calls since making a phone call is something that is a real struggle for me as an autistic person, especially when the phone call has high stakes or I have anxiety about it (I can handle other forms of communication – I just can’t gather enough information from just a voice to keep up a conversation in real time and the anxiety of screwing up just makes the processing worse and the whole thing snowballs until I become non-verbal or descend into a meltdown). So Mum made the phone calls and we tried to get the clearest picture we could, but the information changed with every call and, on the Friday (with the tickets going on sale on Monday morning), they still weren’t sure of anything. They were really only certain of one thing: they were very, very aware of how high the demand was, part of the reason why they were so reluctant to commit to any of the information they did have. It was very stressful and I spent the weekend consumed with anxiety over whether or not I would be able to get tickets to even one show, having hoped to go a couple of times with different friends and family members. The dread I felt at the thought of not getting to go was paralysing.

Most people don’t seem to understand the intensity of my emotions. Technically, it could be part of being neurodivergent or mentally ill but it’s always just felt like part of me: it’s me, hi, I feel everything at 500%, it’s me. I feel every emotion with my whole body; it’s just always been that way. And people have always been weird about it (especially when it comes to loving Taylor actually – I’ve been mocked and harassed for years for being a fan of hers, often for reasons that completely baffle me). It hurts – and that hurt is very intense too – but I’d always rather love things, regardless of what people say. Taylor and her music (and seeing her live) are and always have been so important to me, getting me through hard times and bringing me such life affirming joy; as hard as it can be, it doesn’t surprise me that the thought of not getting to see her live after waiting so long feels like a lifeline being cut.

Monday morning, I woke up so anxious that I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t do anything. When the time came, when the online queue and phone lines ‘opened,’ Mum rang the accessibility number. It rang and rang until it went through to an automated message before hanging up. We tried again. And again and again and again. We kept getting the same message and we were still calling when the queue moved from the first of the Wembley shows in June to the first of the Wembley shows in August in the early afternoon. We were still calling as the clock inched towards five and the closing of the phone lines. I’d been sitting with Mum, unable to do anything and on the edge of the meltdown all day. I was exhausted, in pain, and swinging between misery and rage, in tears over how awful the experience was. It was (and still is) so desperately distressing that it seemed literally impossible to get a ticket for accessible seating, to access the concerts as a disabled person. It just felt – and feels – like yet another part of the world telling us that we’re not worth the effort, that we don’t matter as much as everyone else. It’s a deeply hopeless feeling. And as if the situation wasn’t hard enough on its own, I’ve been struggling with suicidal thoughts and impulses for a while now and between the dwindling possibility of getting accessible tickets and the crushing display of ableism, those thoughts were only getting louder and more difficult to block out.

Tuesday was more of the same, just with an awful day and awful night’s sleep under my belt. Mum and I were glued to the sofa again, calling over and over and over. Morning turned into afternoon, another show disappearing. Wembley Stadium had tweeted a response to the criticism on social media: “Due to unprecedented demand waiting time for Taylor Swift | The Eras Tour Disabled Access is longer than normal. For those unable to wait on the phone we have a call-back system.” Seeing that filled me with the urge to throw my phone across the room: when we’d spoken to them, the ‘unprecedented demand’ was the only thing they had known about. I wanted to scream.

The night before, a friend had suggested looking at Twitter to see if other disabled fans had posted about having a similar experience. I didn’t remember her suggestion until the afternoon but once I did, I went searching and found my experience repeated over and over. On one hand, it was reassuring because I wasn’t alone but on the other, here was this huge number of people who weren’t able to get tickets because Wembley’s accessibility department wasn’t doing its job. I spent the afternoon tweeting back and forth with this group of people: trying to find a better way, sharing different phone numbers that different people had had success with, updating each other on our progress, sharing the successes and the miseries and frustrations. One fan, Faith Martin (she wrote a great piece for Metro about what the experience was like was disabled fans), spent an amazing amount of time trying to help people get tickets, long after she got tickets for herself; I really appreciated her support and encouragement. (I’m sure there were other fans doing this, helping other fans for other UK venues but Faith is the person I saw doing this, the person who helped me.) Having that little community in such a fraught time was comforting; I’ve never had anything like that before.

Eventually, just before the lines closed for the day, we got through and were finally, finally able to get tickets. When my Mum hung up the phone and triumphantly announced that we had tickets, I collapsed back onto the sofa and burst into tears. I was overwhelmingly relieved but also totally overwhelmed by the exhaustion and anxiety making my hands shake, by the excruciating pain in my limbs, back, neck, and skull. But most of all, I was just completely overwhelmed by how hurt I felt by the ableism of the process (especially compared to the ease of the online general ticket sale), by how little my very existence meant to them even though I was paying them for the space I would be inhabiting. God, you know it’s bad when you’re paying to take up space and still no one cares because of the ‘inconvenience’ you present. I was pleased – of course, I was – but all the other big emotions were drowning it out. I knew I’d be thrilled later on, once I’d recovered from the unbelievable stress of those two days.

And it’s true. It took a couple of weeks to fully return to my day-to-day state but now that I have, I am really, really excited. But having said that – and I know I’ll say it a lot over the next year – I still feel hurt by how Wembley handled it all, how they treated their disabled patrons. I’m hurt and I’m angry and if there was anything I could do that would affect any change, that would be more than me simply shouting into the void, then I’d do it. Without a second thought. But if there is, I have no idea what it would be. So here I am, sharing my experience about, if only to remind people that this sort of thing – and worse, of course, much, much worse – happens every day. Even the processes set up supposedly to help us are failing us, and worse, hurting us.


I’ll leave you with what I tweeted after I got my tickets: “I knew that getting #ErasTour tickets would be hard but I didn’t expect the level of ableism. By making it so much harder for us, they’re essentially telling us that we aren’t as important as everyone else, that we don’t matter as much, and that was deeply, deeply upsetting.”

And here are some of the articles that have been written about this, including the experiences of several disabled fans. (Note: please don’t read the comments sections of these articles because the dismissive, ableist bile coming from people – most of whom are totally missing the point – is honestly painful and there is no reason to subject yourself to that if you don’t have to.)

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

Anxiety Around Social Media

Social media is a big part of all of our lives. For me personally, it’s a massive part of my job, of being an independent artist, of getting my music out into the world. It’s a big part of sharing these blog posts with people. And it’s a big part of keeping up with the lives of my family and friends. There’s some really good stuff there. But I also find it really hard; it causes me a lot of anxiety and when I’m in a fragile state of mind, it can contribute to my depression. And since this is the place where I talk about those things, I thought I’d write something about social media and some of the reasons I struggle with it. Maybe you guys will relate.


  • Seeing something upsetting – My anxiety, my depression, all of my emotions (which are powerful on a normal day)… they’re all very easily triggered and social media seems to be very good at that. One post, even if it’s not directed at me, can really upset me: scary political or society or world stuff that I can’t do anything about, harsh statements, unnecessary criticism of public figures I feel invested in (especially if it’s inaccurate, which it often is), and so on and so on. It’s so hard to climb out of the misery that one stupid post can cause that sometimes it feels safer just to avoid social media altogether.
  • Seeing something good happen for someone who hurt you – Chances are that, even if you’re not connected with the person who hurt you, people you are connected with are and so you’ll probably still find out about what’s happening in their lives. And honestly, sometimes I’ve found it easier to remain following them on social media so at least these moments don’t come out of nowhere and pull the carpet out from under you. Even if you think you’re over it, even if you are over it, seeing something good happen to someone who treated you badly when you’re in a fragile place can be really hard to manage emotionally, turning a good day or week into a bad one.
  • Seeing your ‘competition’ doing better than you – Even if you aren’t a competitive person, if you work in an industry that is, by it’s very nature, competitive, seeing someone do better than you (have success at something similar to a project of yours, get funding that you were hoping to get, etc) can trigger insecurity, even if you were in a really good, solid place before you saw it. Personally, I can only speak to the music industry. I want my friends and my peers to do well because I know how talented they are and how hard they work but, of course, I also want to do well. So while I’ll always feel pleased that they’re doing well, I can find it difficult as well, especially if I’m stuck in a rut, in a bad mental place, or having any other number of difficulties. It’s a complicated one. In fact, I think they all are.
  • The posts of others making you feel limited – There are various ways you could interpret this point but for me, as a disabled person with mental health issues, it can be really, really hard to see other people out in the world, doing the things that you want to do but can’t because you’re limited by whatever symptoms you live with. I struggle with this a lot and I think part of it comes from being diagnosed so late: I spent twenty years believing that I should be reaching (and exceeding, if I’m honest, because I’ve always been a perfectionist) the same standards as everyone around me. It started to become apparent that I couldn’t and since then we’ve been assembling the puzzle as to why but that hasn’t completely changed things in my head. I know and I understand why I can’t necessarily do the same things as my peers but I’m still really hard on myself when I can’t. I know it’s a process but it’s one that seems to be taking an inordinate amount of time, regardless of how I try to realign everything.

I’m pretty good at curating a mentally and emotionally safe social media bubble. It still allows healthy debate and differing views, of course, but I’m just really careful about where those views are coming from, i.e. not people who continuously rant and rage but people who share carefully considered thoughts and discuss them with equally considerate people. It’s obviously not that straightforward – it never is with social media – but it is possible to block out a lot of the negativity, the people who are being negative just to be negative. But even then, there are always posts that pop up out of nowhere and knock your feet out from under you.

It was a strange experience, researching for this blog post. While I’m usually writing about my own experiences on this blog (in this case with social media), I often read other blogs and articles to get a broader perspective, get more context, and making sure I’m not missing anything that would be important to include. During my reading for this post, something that came up a lot was the issue of presenting a persona online that isn’t quite the same as your own and to me, that was a surprise. I’ve honestly never felt the pressure to present as anything other than myself – although, I admit, snippets of myself rather than the whole experience (no one needs to know about this boring day or that book I never finished reading). I’ve always seen social media as a reflection of myself, the good and the bad. Maybe that’s an Autism thing – linked in with the commonly occurring need for and sense of honesty. So I can’t really speak to that; I’ll leave that to someone who has more experience with it (I wanted to add a link but I haven’t found one that I think is actually helpful beyond explaining the problem – I’ll add one as soon as I find one that offers something more helpful).

I don’t know what the answers are. But just because we don’t know what the solutions are, it doesn’t mean we stop talking about the problems. That is, afterall, how we eventually come up with the solutions. I need to use social media in order to work and I’m aware that I do get some real good out of it but the downsides can be really hard to handle. So, yeah, I don’t really know what to do. But writing out my thoughts has always helped me and maybe some of you out there will relate to this. Maybe you’ll have some thoughts about it; maybe you’ll just feel a little less alone. I hope so.