I Bought a Rollator at 38 & I Have Feelings About It

There are purchases you get excited about: a new pair of shoes, a new pair of glasses, the perfect-fitting pair of jeans…you know, the fun stuff. Then, there are purchases you never imagined yourself researching at 38 years old.

For me, that was a rollator.

Not long ago, I was trying to wrap my head around needing a cane. That alone felt like a pretty big mental hurdle. I went from being the person who was constantly moving, working, doing, going, and pushing through (and all at a quick rate)… to realizing that sometimes just walking through a parking lot or standing somewhere for too long could take more out of me than it should.

So, I reluctantly bought a cane.

I used the cane.

It helped, somewhat.

And then I had to admit something I really didn’t want to admit:

Sometimes, the cane wasn’t enough.

When walking became something I had to think about.

Before the worsening of my fibromyalgia & POTS, I’d just walk. I didn’t think anything of it. I’d park my car and walk into a store, or I’d walk from one room to the other, or I’d walk to the mailbox and back. It didn’t include a strategy. It didn’t REQUIRE a strategy…..until it did.

Because suddenly I was calculating things like how far away is the entrance, will I have somewhere to sit, how long will I have to stand, will I be tired before I get to the entrance, how many Pace Points will this venture take, will there be anything to lean on……and eventually, should I bring my cane?

The cane helped, but it also made me realize how slow and cautious I had become…and I mean SLOW. On harder days, I still felt like I needed more stability. And, if I needed to sit down, a cane obviously wasn't going to solve that problem.

That's when the word rollator entered my search history…and wow, did it enter my search history.

The Great Rollator Research Project of Summer 2026

If you know me, you know I wasn't going to casually order the first walker I saw. Maybe, if it was under $100…but they’re not, so I researched, and researched.

I researched them like I was purchasing a vehicle. I learned more things matter than you may think, when purchasing a rollator. Things like overall weight, handle height, wheel size, seat height, between-handle width, how it folds, whether I could lift it myself with ease, whether it could maneuver easily, whether the seat was comfortable, and yes….whether I thought it was “cute”. Feel free to judge on the “cute factor”, but at 38-years old, it mattered to me. Because if something is going to become part of my daily life, I still want it to feel like me.

I’m only 5’3”. So, I looked at lightweight rollators, petite rollators, ultra-narrow rollators. I looked at NOVA models, Medline models, Vive models, ByACRE models. I compared models and measurements until I probably knew more about rollators than any 38-year-old woman ever planned to know. (By the way, I also learned that ByACRE is every young woman’s dream, but not every young woman’s budget. It’s definitely a new thought to think that I now have a “dream rollator”.)

I ultimately ended up with a NOVA rollator, and naturally, I already added a floral seat cover because apparently we're accessorizing mobility devices now.

And you know what? I'm kind of into it. I’m going to decorate the heck out of this thing.

But, the hardest part wasn't buying it.

The hard part was accepting that I might actually need it. But the hardest part…now that was bringing up the topic of a rollator walker with the most important person in my life…my amazing and loving husband. Trust me when I say, it’s not because I’m scared to talk to him. It’s not because he’s un-supportive or gives me a hard time. It’s entirely because I get stuck in my own head and I was scared that the choice to purchase a rollator looked like I was giving up.

There's a weird mental battle that happens when you're relatively young and start using mobility aids, or at least there was for me.

I kept wondering. Am I really in that bad of shape that I need this? Can I get away without it? But, I’m learning those aren’t the right questions.

These are the right questions: What does it cost me to walk without it? Will I be more safe with it?

I may technically make it through an outing without a rollator, but I have to move incredibly slowly, constantly look for somewhere to sit, lean against walls, push through dizziness or pain, and then completely crash afterward…

So, did I really "not need" the rollator? That's something I'm still learning. But I’ve also learned I’m far more confident in outings. Yes, plural. Because before the rollator, one outing was pushing it before I needed to rest again.

Now, the important facts I’ve learned.

Mobility aids aren't only for people who physically cannot take another step without them. You don’t have to wait until you feel “disabled enough” because what the heck does that even mean anyways?!

Sometimes they're for people who can walk but need help doing it safely. Sometimes they're about conserving energy (so one outing isn’t your limit per day). Sometimes they're about stability. Sometimes they're about having a seat before your body decides it desperately needs one. (And holy smokes is that a relief.) And sometimes they're the difference between participating and staying home.

The most important fact I learned…never be scared to tell my husband what I need. I need to remind myself to get out of my darn head. You want to know why? Because he didn’t get upset with me, he didn’t look down on me, he didn’t give me a hard time when I finally got the nerve to bring it up. Instead, he asked questions and he researched about it. Then, he went with me to the mobility store while I tested some out.

The most beautiful part is (and trust me, I do not take this for granted)…..he never made me feel bad about it. He never made me feel like I was too disabled for my age. He never made me feel like I made an unnecessary purchase. He never made me feel like he was embarrassed by me. He made me feel so, so loved. He reminded me that this changes nothing, just that now, I come with “accessories”. (Writing this part brings happy tears to my eyes because I know how fortunate I am and that not everyone has this from their partner.)

Trying the rollator.

This was the part I couldn't fully understand from reading reviews. How would it actually feel? Not just physically, but emotionally. Would I feel awkward? Would everyone stare? Would I suddenly feel 40 years older? Would I hate pushing it? Would it actually help enough to make the awkwardness worth it?

But when I started testing them, my immediate realization was “Oh…wow…this is easy!” I turned to my husband and said, “Look babe! I can walk at a “normal” pace again! I’m so fast!”

I wasn't moving with the same tentative little steps I take with my cane. I had something stable in front of me. I had support on both sides. And maybe most importantly, I had a seat following me everywhere I went. That is a surprisingly big deal when standing itself can sometimes be the problem.

There was also a mental relief I wasn't expecting. I used to wonder when and where I could sit down. Now, the answer was literally right in front of me.

Does it feel weird? Yep. Sure does.

I'm not going to pretend I instantly became the poster child for mobility-aid confidence. I'm 38-years old. I know that I don't necessarily look like someone people expect to see using a rollator. And because fibromyalgia and dysautonomia symptoms can fluctuate so much, there are going to be times someone sees me walking without it after they've seen me using it.

That's something I'm learning to be okay with, too. Neighbors may quietly judge but I’m learning to not care.

Using a rollator doesn't mean I suddenly can't walk. Using a cane doesn't mean I can't walk without a cane.

Needing help on Tuesday doesn't mean my body will need the exact same help on Wednesday.

That's the whole thing about living with a chronic illness with an unpredictable body. My needs change. And as my needs change, the mobility aid changes with them.

The Part Nobody Warns You About

Once you get past the emotional part, there's also the very practical reality of learning how to use the thing. Is the handle height right? Am I standing too close? Am I standing too far away? Am I keeping my shoulders back with good posture? Is the seat the right height? Can I get it into my truck easily? How do I maneuver tight spaces? Is this model actually the right size for me? How do I enter and exit doors without that automatic button for disabled persons?

I have questioned ALL OF IT. I've taken pictures of myself standing with it just to analyze whether it fits correctly. And no, I’m not joking. I over-analyze EVERYTHING. I always have. Now, it’s just to the nth degree.

But each time I use it, it feels a little less foreign, a little less like a walker, and a little more like my sidekick. As my husband playfully says, I just come with accessories now.

Kinda chic to choose mobility over missing out.

It couldn’t be more true. And that's where I'm trying to land with all of this. Because what is worse — using a rollator at 38 or being forced to sit at home because I’m too tired or having to canceling the plans I wanted to keep or because I’m too afraid of being judged.

I don't want embarrassment to make decisions for me. I don’t want to be insecure. I want to be confident no matter what.

There’s no need for some imaginary rule about what disability is "supposed" to look like deciding how much of my life I get to participate in. And I definitely don't want to burn every ounce of energy I have proving to strangers that I can walk without help.

I know I can, slowly, but that is not the point. The point is what allows me to live more. If using a cane means I can walk farther, I'll use the cane. If using my rollator means I can stay somewhere longer, I'll use the rollator. If sitting on that little flowered seat for five minutes means I get another hour of enjoying my day? I'm sitting down.

I'm still learning my new normal.

I don't have a perfectly inspirational ending for this one. I'm still processing it. However, I can assure you that even if you have the same diagnosis’ as me, your “normal” may be completely different from mine, and it likely is. We’re all different. (Thank goodness because what a boring world it would be if we were all the same.)

There is grief involved in needing things at 38 that I never imagined I'd need. There is hesitation. There is self-consciousness. There are moments when I look at the rollator and think, How did we get here?

But there's something else growing alongside those feelings: gratitude.

Because that rollator isn't taking something away from me. It's giving something back. A little stability. A little independence. A little confidence. A place to rest. A little more conserved energy. And, more opportunities to say yes when my body might otherwise make me say no.

Maybe accepting help isn't giving in. Maybe adapting isn't losing. Maybe mobility aids aren't symbols of everything our bodies can't do. Maybe they're tools that help us keep doing the things we still can. So yes, I'm 38, I have a cane, I have a rollator, and I'm learning that neither one makes me less capable, less independent, or less me.

They're just helping me navigate this new version of my life. And if the rollator happens to have a cute floral seat? Well, even better.

Living life. Fighting chronic illness. And apparently accessorizing my rollator along the way.