When the Price of Inclusion Was Everything: My Story from the Sidelines of Special Olympics Ireland

There’s a lot that people don’t see.

They see medals. Speeches. Volunteer awards. Social media posts about courage and inclusion.

What they don’t see is someone like me—sitting alone in my home, years later, still supporting an athlete I once encouraged to join a local Special Olympics club. Still paying the price, emotionally and quietly, for what happened back in 2010.

That year, the club told her: “Pay the fees or stay home.”
No exceptions. No help. Just an ultimatum.

She was on social welfare. She had nothing to fall back on. But she still wanted to go. To be part of something. So she took out a loan. A loan with 170% interest.

Let that sink in.

She was expected to pay €45 a week—out of her welfare payments—just to attend a 4-day event. And when it got too much, when she couldn’t manage, I stepped in. I was the person she’d named as a contact on her application form. I was her support. Her friend. Her family in many ways.

I paid the debt. Over €500. And I’ve never regretted helping her—only that it ever had to come to that.

What hurts the most? The same person who gave her that “pay or stay home” warning ended up winning a national volunteer award on TV the following year. Praised as humble. As someone who represented the best of us.

And I just sat there—speechless. Heartbroken. Invisible.

From 2010 to 2013, I worked at Special Olympics Ireland HQ helping with National Collection Day. Back then, we had real connection with communities. Real visibility. Buckets on the streets. People engaging.

But in 2014, it all changed. It was outsourced to a private company, and since then, the number of buckets has decreased, not increased. The collection day that once brought people together became just another campaign lost in noise.

Today, people still say “Special Olympics is free.”

I wish that were true.

Most clubs have membership fees, and athletes often pay for travel, food, gear, and accommodation themselves. Some clubs try to help. Some don’t. And when they don’t? People like my friend end up in debt just to participate.

And me? I live alone now.
My friend was my anchor. After my mum died, she was my reason to keep going.
Now, I only leave the house to do the shopping.
I sleep during the day and stay awake at night.
And once a year, I send her a care package, a food parcel—just so she knows she’s not forgotten.

That’s the reality behind the medals and the hashtags.
That’s what people don’t see.

I’m not writing this out of anger—but out of pain, truth, and love.

If you’ve read this far, thank you.
If you’ve ever felt like no one sees what really goes on—please know you’re not alone.
We need more truth, and fewer PR slogans.

Because if this is what “inclusion” costs…
Then we need to ask who’s really paying the price.

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