This week I had an appointment at the Job Centre to go through my self-employment work. The idea was that they’d look at my commitments in relation to my Universal Credit payments. For me, that kind of appointment is anxiety-provoking before I even walk through the door.

I wanted everything to be perfect. That’s what my anxiety tells me: make sure you have every possible piece of evidence, every document, every receipt. So, I did what I always do — I overprepared. I took as much digital information as I could find, hoping that would stop the panic from creeping in. Spoiler: I forgot some stuff I needed.

But once I was sitting there in the interview, things became overwhelming. It wasn’t just the questions; it was the noise in the background, the constant processing of everything going on around me. My brain felt like it was buffering, trying to catch up.

Then something happened that doesn’t often happen in systems like this. The person across the desk stopped, noticed, and said something like “We can take our time — just go slow.”

Those words changed everything.

They checked in with me regularly, asking if the noise level was okay, making sure I felt comfortable. And in that moment, I felt safe and listened to.

Why This Felt So Rare

This kind of compassion is unusual. Our systems are often designed for speed, uniformity, and bureaucracy — not for the messy realities of mental health and disability.

And yet, the numbers show just how critical it is to build understanding into these services. Around 16.1 million people in the UK live with a disability — nearly a quarter of the population. Universal Credit has become the safety net for many of us, with 7.5 million claimants as of January 2025, the highest number since it began.

For disabled claimants, the picture is even more stark. Roughly 2 million people are on UC with health-related benefits, and almost 70% of them are deemed unfit for any kind of work. Mental health is driving much of this: new disability benefit awards linked to mental health conditions rose from 28% in 2019–20 to 37% in 2023–24. And between 2022 and 2024, nearly seven in ten Work Capability Assessments recorded mental or behavioural disorders.

So when someone like me walks into the Job Centre feeling anxious, overloaded, and pressured to “prove” their work or worth, it’s not an isolated story — it’s part of a much bigger reality.

The Cost of Being Disabled on UC

For many, even surviving on Universal Credit and disability benefits is a battle. Research shows that:

• 77% of disabled UC claimants have gone without essentials in the past six months.

• 43% skipped meals just to cover other costs.

• 1 in 5 relied on a food bank in the past month.

When the system itself is already pushing people to the edge, small acts of kindness — like being told “take your time” — aren’t just nice. They’re lifesaving.

What My Experience Shows

That Job Centre worker showed me what accessibility can look like in practice. It wasn’t complicated. It wasn’t expensive. It was simple human awareness:

• Slowing the pace.

• Checking in.

• Acknowledging my sensory environment.

In a system where millions of disabled people are navigating both poverty and anxiety, these moments of humanity matter. They remind us that accessibility isn’t only about ramps or forms. It’s about being seen and listened to.

Where We Go From Here

If my appointment had gone differently, I might have left feeling broken down and defeated, as so many disabled claimants do. Instead, I left with a sense of relief and reassurance.

That shouldn’t be a rare story. It should be the standard.

Training Job Centre staff to recognise signs of anxiety or sensory overwhelm, offering flexible appointments, and building environments that reduce stress are not luxuries — they’re necessities.

Because when nearly a quarter of the UK population is disabled, when millions are struggling on UC, and when mental health conditions are surging, compassion can’t be optional.

It has to be built in.