When I was injured in 2020, everything changed.

I had to learn a new way to move, live, and take care of myself—with only one strong side to work with. That first year, I lived in an apartment.

And as much as I appreciated having a roof over my head, I quickly found out the space I lived in wasn’t just inconvenient—it actively worked against my recovery.

What surprised me most wasn’t the narrow doorways or the tight kitchen.

It was the floors.

What I rolled over, stood on, transferred across, and cleaned up made a huge difference in how safe, confident, and functional I felt each day.

I don’t live in that apartment anymore—but I still remember every threshold, every floor that worked, and every surface that made daily life harder than it had to be.

Here’s what I learned from experience—not from Pinterest boards or product catalogs—but from actually living through it.

In one of my apartments, the main living area had luxury vinyl plank floors, and I felt the difference immediately.

After struggling with carpet in my first unit, LVP felt like the first flooring that actually supported me, not slowed me down.

Most importantly? It gave me back time and energy. I wasn’t fighting the floor. I was finally able to focus on living in the space, not working around it.

If you’re in an apartment or about to move into one, look for listings that mention LVP or ask your landlord about it. It’s one of the most wheelchair-friendly surfaces out there—and a lifesaver during recovery.

In another apartment, the kitchen and bathroom were tiled—standard square ceramic with older grout. At first, I thought it would be a win. Smooth surface, easy cleanup, right?

Not exactly.

However, I also visited an apartment with large-format porcelain tile, barely any grout, and a matte finish—and that was a completely different experience.

Easy to roll, more traction, less visual clutter. If tile is in the unit, ask how it’s laid, sealed, and finished. It makes or breaks the experience.

• Too much drag: My wheels would sink into the fibers. I burned out my left arm trying to cross the room. It felt like rolling through mud.

• Unstable for transfers: Even a small shift in pressure made me tilt unpredictably. That meant extra caution during every movement—especially when I was still learning my body’s limits.

• Impossible to clean well: With limited grip strength and no second hand, vacuuming was a major task. And spills? They just soaked in.

Later, I lived in a unit with low-pile, tight-weave carpet in the bedroom. It was still extra work—but manageable. If you’re stuck with carpet, that kind is the only version that won’t sabotage your mobility.

Even better? Try placing hard-surface runners or interlocking tiles in key areas like under your desk, around the bed, or near transfer zones.

If your apartment has carpet, you're not out of luck—but you'll need to work around it to preserve your energy.

I didn’t have cork floors in any of my rentals—but I got to try it in a therapy center and a friend’s home, and I never forgot the feel of it.

• Softer than LVP or tile: My transfers felt more stable because there was just a bit of give, but not so much that I lost balance.

• Quiet, warm, and comforting: No echoes. No cold shock during nighttime rolls. No creaking wheels or clicks from footplates.

• Safe traction: Even when the floor was damp, it didn’t feel risky.

I underestimated thresholds—until they started interrupting every room I tried to enter.

In one apartment, the entry to the bathroom had a raised metal edge that caught my front wheels every single time.

• Threw off balance and timing: I had to lean forward or pop my front casters just to get through.

• Dangerous during fatigue or wet transfers: One misjudged roll and I’d be halfway stuck in the doorframe.

• Created mental load: I had to remember where every bump was, how to brace, and what angle to approach.

I ended up using portable threshold ramps in several places. They weren’t beautiful, but they worked. And I placed colored tape on edges to make elevation changes more visible—especially important when tired or overstimulated.

When I turned a massive challenge into a whole new way of living, my apartment became the first environment I had to truly master.

And the floors? They weren’t just “part of the design.”

They were part of my daily experience, my safety, my comfort, and my independence.

I don’t live in an apartment anymore, but everything I learned there still guides me today. Whether you’re newly injured, long-term disabled, or just living life differently now—don’t underestimate the power of the ground beneath your wheels.