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.


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The Moment Everything Changed

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

She was living on social welfare. She wanted to be part of something, so she took out a loan—with 170% interest.

She was expected to pay €45 a week, just to attend a 4-day event. And when it all became too much, I stepped in. I wasn’t just a friend—I was the person listed on her application. I took responsibility. I cleared the debt—over €500.


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The Pain of Watching Injustice

The worst part?
The very person who told her to “pay or stay home” received a national volunteer award the following year. On TV. Called “humble.” Celebrated.

And I sat there… speechless. Invisible.


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My Time at HQ & The Disappearance of Visibility

From 2010 to 2013, I worked at Special Olympics Ireland HQ on National Collection Day.
Back then, it was real—buckets on streets, faces at doors, people connecting.

In 2014, the campaign was outsourced to a private company. Since then, the number of collection buckets has fallen, not grown. The spirit that once filled our towns during collection day? Fading.


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The Truth Behind “It’s Free to Join”

People still say:
“Special Olympics is free.”
But most clubs have membership fees. Athletes are often left to pay for travel, meals, uniforms, accommodation—and more.

Some counties fundraise to help. Some don’t.
And when they don’t? People like my friend suffer.


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My Reality Now

I live alone.
My friend was my lifeline, especially after I lost my mum.
Now, I only leave the house to do the shopping. The rest of my time? I sleep during the day and stay up at night.

But every year, I send her a care package—a food parcel—so she knows she’s still valued. Still remembered.


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This Is What People Don’t See

This is the side of Special Olympics Ireland that doesn't appear in glossy posts or award ceremonies.

I’m not writing this to attack—but to shine a light.
This is my truth. Her truth. And likely many others’ too.

If you’ve read this far, thank you.
If you’ve ever felt like your story didn’t matter—you’re not alone.

We need less PR, and more accountability.
Because if this is what inclusion looks like—
We need to ask: Who’s really paying the price?



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