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If you’ve ever seen life as a series of challenges and victories woven together, Miriam Osborne’s story is the lens that would sharpen the focus and deepen the hue. An editor at The Toronto Star, avid traveller and advocate at heart, what makes Miriam Osborne’s story unique isn’t just where she’s been but how she navigates the spaces most of us take for granted. Hers is not a tale of extraordinary feats or Herculean triumphs—it’s about human grit, perspective and learning to see the world through the lens of difference.
Miriam, known to friends simply as ‘Mir,’ grew up in Brampton, Ontario, before making Toronto her adult home. She lives with arthrogryposis, a rare condition that restricts the mobility of her arms leaving her with little to no use of them. Walking necessitates the use of leg braces/AFOs (ankle foot orthoses). The typing her editor job requires is done with a chopstick held between her teeth. Yet, for most of her life, she’d shied away from identifying as disabled.
. “That moment when you drop your bags in a hotel room and take your first walk—nothing beats that feeling.”She admits, “I didn’t like the word ‘disabled’ at first. It felt limiting, like a label that overshadowed everything else I was or could be. For a long time, I avoided it entirely, opting for phrases like ‘physically challenged’ instead. Looking back, I see that resistance as part of my own journey—learning to embrace every part of myself, even the parts society taught me to hide.”
With a note of reflection in her voice, she says, “I didn’t want it to define me. People would say things like, ‘I don’t even see you as disabled,’ or ‘You’re not like other disabled people.’ And I’d take those as compliments. It took years for me to see those as what they truly were: veiled ableism.”
Today, Mir embraces her identity. It is this lens that has shaped her experiences—from the newsroom to navigating bustling city streets across the globe.
Travel as a disabled woman
For Mir, travelling is a paradox: exhilarating yet exhausting. Her adventures have taken her from the ancient streets of Rome with her sister Talli, to the vibrant chaos of Morocco and beyond, yet each destination comes with its own set of challenges. Unlike the carefree traveller armed with little more than a map, Mir’s toolkit includes extensive research and a healthy dose of patience.
“I’ll spend hours on Google Street View, virtually walking the streets I plan to explore,” she explains. “Because asking someone if a place is accessible doesn’t work. Accessibility is so subjective.”
She recalls one instance in Cuba where a tour guide assured her the terrain would be manageable. Reality? A steep, uneven hike that pushed her to her physical limits. “It’s a constant negotiation with yourself: How far can I push, and when do I turn back?”
Yet, it’s the serendipity of travel that keeps her going. The thrill of a new city’s pulse, the first sip of local coffee, or simply soaking in the architecture of a place steeped in history.
“That moment when you drop your bags in a hotel room and take your first walk—nothing beats that feeling.”
The economics of disabled travel
For disabled travellers, the cost of spontaneity is often steep—financially and emotionally. Mir’s trips frequently involve last-minute, unexpected expenses like private taxis or upgraded accommodations when accessible options fall short. In Italy, she recalls a day when a slight technicality with her sister Talli’s scooter resulted in being barred from a train. Although they had done extensive research, Talli’s scooter did not meet its size requirements. The alternative? A private taxi that cost a small fortune.
“Being disabled isn’t cheap,” Mir quips, though her voice carries more frustration than humor. “It’s a privilege to travel, but it comes with the understanding that nothing will go exactly as planned. You should budget for the unexpected because it’s inevitable.”
Breaking stereotypes, building connections
Travel, for Mir, is also about representation. In many places, her presence as a visibly disabled woman is a novelty. “I’ve been to cities where people openly stare or mimic me. Adults, not just children,” she says. While these moments sting, she believes they’re opportunities to shift perspectives.
“In some places, disability isn’t seen in public life,” she notes. “So just by existing, by being out and about, I’m part of changing that.”
Despite the occasional hurdles, Mir emphasizes the joy of connection—with locals, with cultures and with herself. It’s in these moments of connection that she finds the greatest rewards of travelling. “Travel humbles you,” she says. “It shows you how vast the world is, how much you have to learn and how much you can give back just by being yourself.”
Navigating the future
Mir doesn’t see herself stopping anytime soon. Her bucket list includes more of Europe, the Middle East, and hopefully, more solo ventures. The idea of navigating an unfamiliar city alone excites and terrifies her. But she’s ready.
A mirror for change
Through her work in media and her experiences as a traveller, Mir is quietly advocating for inclusivity. Whether it’s in newsroom discussions about disability coverage or her candid conversations about personal support worker systems, she’s not one to shy away from calling out inequities.
“There’s a lot of work to be done,” she admits. “But if my story can inspire someone to ask a question, push a boundary, or even just reconsider their assumptions, then it’s worth sharing.”
Miriam Osborne’s life is deeply rooted in a sense of purpose. She is not concerned about overcoming disability. Instead, she embraces it, living a rich and fulfilling life within its framework. And in a world often obsessed with labels, maybe that’s the kind of inspiration we need most.
Her advice to disabled travellers?
Go for it. Accept that there will be difficulties, but don’t let fear dictate your decisions. If you can make it work, do it. The world’s too big and beautiful to sit still.