In a bit of a bind, my daughter Jen — who has a learning disability — declared ‘I need personal time and personal space’.

True for all of us!  We’ve all been there.  It’s all too easy to be overwhelmed by one element of our lives which rears its head at every waking moment. E-mails and social media are perhaps two cases in point which most of us can relate to.  We’ll all have experienced being bombarded by one person overstepping the line and being overly demanding of our attention.

Jen making time for herself when travelling

Now imagine the additional challenge of any of these scenarios if you have learning disabilities, and don’t have full understanding of what is being said or implied and by default don’t have skills to be able to control or rein in undue attention whether digital or in person.  You need the support of others.  Those others need to be aware of what’s going on.  The person with learning disabilities needs to make the right person aware of their challenge in order for it be recognised for what it is, not just ignored and brushed under the carpet with the hope that it will go away.

This is only the starting point.  After that the supporting party needs to follow through, take the necessary action, share in a way that it can be received by the person being challenged, check and double check that the outcome is satisfactory and if not, find another route to address the problem, or perceived problem.  The person with learning disabilities is reliant on others to resolve any thorny problem.  And that’s assuming that they have the means of being able to communicate their challenge to others in the first instance!

‘I need personal time and personal space’

Night watch on the Atlantic crossing 2026

Strange but true. This is why I love night watches and flights. By definition night watches mean that you are miles offshore, possibly 1000s of miles off as we were in the Atlantic where we don’t have internet on tap by choice. Unless the conditions demand we usually stand night watches alone whilst keeping a sharp look out for anything unusual or other craft within range.

Similarly long haul flights gift uninterrupted thinking space. In my life and perhaps yours too, this is a commodity in seriously short supply. On this flight to Denver I am surrounded by people sleeping cuddled up in blankets with seats reclined or glued to monitors spewing out a never ending supply of old and new videos on demand. Others have opted for David Attenborough, and today, unusually for me, I too did succumb to watching the film of the play of The Mousetrap with the intrigue of ‘Who done it?’ seeking to capture and retain my attention.

Usually I work out of choice. I love uncluttered time to think. My time. Without being bombarded by questions and demands of others. Maybe this is why Jen too is very happy on a long haul flight.

I’m excited by our destination and opportunity to explore hiking in the Rockies with access to the Continental Divide this summer having skied those slopes so often in the winter. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve looked up and across and yearned to be on that trail. I’m seriously excited to think that in just a couple of weeks with a following wind, I might be up there at over 3,000 metres on top of the world looking down on creation!

And perhaps that’s the point.

Jen’s declaration — “I need personal time and personal space” — wasn’t frustration. It was self-knowledge. A clear, confident understanding of what she needed, and the foundations of her life thus far to say it. That doesn’t happen by accident. It happens through years of deep listening — noticing the unsaid, refusing to brush things under the carpet, believing that what Jen needed mattered enough to act on.

So yes, I hope to stand on that trail at over 3,000 metres, looking down on creation, and feel the exhilaration of it. But I’ll also carry something quieter: the knowledge that everyone — every single person, whatever label the world has put on them — deserves to find their own version of the top of the world.

That’s what’s possible. It starts with listening.

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Sue and Jen Blackwell are mother and daughter, co-founders of the award-winning charity DanceSyndrome, and the heart of a speaking partnership that includes husband and father Malcolm, whose 35-year career in international business leadership is one part of the family story. The Blackwells — Sue, Jen, Malcolm and son Anthony — have spent 44 years living what most people only theorise about, and built something remarkable in the process.

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