Accessibility Failures in 2026: The Hidden Cost of Making Disabled People “Make It Work”

An American Sign Language interpreter provides interpretation during a White House press briefing, April 2021.

A disabled woman goes into Victoria’s Secret & Co. to try on clothes, and the accessible fitting room is full of junk.

To borrow a Biden-ism: Not a joke, folks.

Staff tells her it’ll be about 20 minutes while they clear it out, and before that, they tell her the regular rooms are “big enough” and make her try to fit her wheelchair in anyway. She later says the quiet part out loud: “I felt like a spectacle and an annoyance.”

It’s not just fitting rooms, either.

USA TODAY's Zach Wichter reports In 2024, airlines transported nearly 900,000 wheelchairs and scooters—and 1.26% were reported damaged or destroyed. That’s 11,357 mobility devices. People hear “1.26%” and shrug. Disabled people hear: don’t roll the dice with your body.

Let’s talk about education.

Researchers at UCLA are warning that when federal enforcement for special education gets unstable, schools can neglect annual IEP reviews and kids fall behind with less recourse for parents.

“The one thing that the IDEA does is it allows parents to have due process,” Connie Kasari, told the Daily Bruin.

Speaking of politics, Deaf advocates are fighting for ASL interpretation at publicly announced briefings, because some people would rather argue about “image” than acknowledge access is the law. The Progressive Magazine notes the argument being made against ASL interpretation is basically: it messes with the vibe. As quoted, lawyers argued that requiring interpretation “would severely intrude on the President’s prerogative to control the image he presents to the public.” The court’s response? Excluding deaf people is a “clear and present harm.”

I keep pulling on the same thread reading all of these headlines today.

We have a legal, fundamental, human right to exist. Disabled people are 20% of the population. If that makes you uncomfortable, interrogate your ableism.

Access is a thousand small daily calculations. Where do I have the energy to pick my battles? Where do I fight? Where do I go, all right, what workaround can I make because I’m too tired? Because in addition to fighting for access, we’re still living regular lives with doctor’s appointments, body aches, aging, family, jobs, trauma, all of it. And layering access fights on top.

There are days—I shouldn’t say this out loud—where the advocacy battle is so exhausting that I don’t want to leave my house. Then I get stuck in the loop: If I stay home, is that surrender? If I push through, am I burning myself down to prove I deserve to exist?

So here’s the takeaway:

Stop treating accessibility like storage. Stop treating it like a “special request” that only becomes real when a disabled person shows up and forces you to see them.

Where in your workplace, your store, your systems are you quietly betting disabled people won’t show up? Where are you asking us to “make it work” so you don’t have to change?

Why Being Disabled Is Not A Travel Hack

Freeze frame of a TikTok video with the caption “The time me and my friends used wheelchair assistance so we wouldn’t miss our flight back into the U.S.”

Happy 2026. Feeling pumped?

Everyone’s doing their New Year reset. “We’re gonna be better.” And disabled people are waking up to TikTok's about how being disabled is a travel hack and The Wall Street Journal highlighting the miracle of ‘Jetway Jesus.’

Being disabled is not travel hack. Flying while disabled is exhausting. It’s dehumanizing. It’s expensive. And it’s layered in ways most people never have to think about.

When I travel, I don’t just show up with a boarding pass. I travel with a wheelchair, and a printed, double-sided one-sheet I hand to every gate agent explaining how to handle it. Because I’ve answered the same questions a thousand times, and I’m tired of watching people guess with equipment my body depends on.

I travel with my service dog, Canine Companions® Lovey. Which means paperwork. Digital copies. Physical copies. Backups for the backups. Because I never know who’s going to demand proof, or what form of proof will suddenly be “required” today.

That’s before I even get to my body. The pain, the fatigue. the logistics. Whether my girlfriend is with me to help. What if something breaks? Will anyone listen? Just how tired am I going to be by the time we land? How much longer am I waiting to deplane? I’ve been sitting for hours with non-accessible airplane bathrooms.

So when I see people openly bragging about faking disability for pre-boarding or using their platforms to call it a “hack”, my brain short-circuits.

This feeds a narrative disabled people have been fighting forever:
• we’re exaggerating.
• we’re gaming the system.
• we need to be watched.

And yes—non-visible disabilities are real. They are valid. We should never be policing people who need assistance but don’t “look disabled enough.”

This is people who know they don’t need it, saying so out loud, and monetizing it for clicks. And the fallout lands on us.

On the scrutiny when someone like me stands up out of a wheelchair.
On the unspoken question: Are you faking it?

So we over-perform legitimacy. We carry more documentation. We explain more than we should. We make ourselves calmer, nicer, because access feels conditional.

I don’t want to spend my energy explaining why basic decency is required.

I want to spend it reminding people that disabled folks matter. That we’re not inspiration. Not content. Not a punchline. Not a workaround.

We’re just people trying to get where we’re going.

If this is how we’re starting 2026? Arguing about whether disability is being “abused”—then yeah. I’m frustrated. And I’m not interested in pretending this is cute or funny.

So I’ll ask this instead:

Who gets believed?
Who gets blamed when systems fail?
And why is disabled existence still treated like an inconvenience people feel entitled to exploit?

Sit with that.

More People Are Asking For Accommodations—That's A Good Thing

Female college student sits in a library composing a paper. She appears tired with her hand on her forehead.

I’m bone tired. Tired in a way that comes from realizing the fight for access never actually ends. It just changes locations.

It starts in school, when you learn that if your disability isn’t obvious, you have to document every inch of it, defend it to people who aren’t medical professionals, and then brace yourself for the moment you’re approved but quietly judged anyway. I learned early that asking for what I was legally entitled to somehow made my education “less fair,” as if my access diluted the value of the degree instead of making it possible for me to earn it in the first place.

You carry it into adulthood, into workplaces where you are expected to be calm, articulate, strategic, and endlessly patient while proving you deserve the same tools everyone else takes for granted. If you’re competent, people assume you don’t really need accommodations. If you ask for them anyway, the narrative shifts to unfair advantage. You’re working twice as hard with fewer margins, and still managing other people’s comfort.

Today, two headlines landed at the same time. Keely Cat-Wells, founder of Making Space wrote in Forbes that disabled talent is one of the largest untapped workforces in the country, and that leaving us out is no longer just an equity issue but an economic one. We’re used to surviving and thriving in spaces that aren’t built for us, and so we bring unique solutions to the table. Preston Fore at Fortune meanwhile, focused on the rise in college students seeking disability accommodations, calling it a "phenomenon."

These stories are connected in a way many may not see.

More people asking for accommodations does not mean the system is being abused. It means stigma is finally loosening its grip. It means people are learning the language of their rights and realizing they don’t have to suffer quietly to belong. Accommodations are the difference between access and exclusion.

The real problem is not that too many people need accommodations. The problem is that we still treat access like a moral test instead of a design decision.

If we actually care about the future of work, we need to stop asking whether access is fair and start asking why it was ever optional in the first place. Accommodations are not burdens and they are not unfair advantages. They are lifelines that ensure equity and access.

AI Is Changing the Future of Work. Disabled Workers Already Know What That Feels Like.

A large robotic hand lifts a small human figure in a suit by the back of his jacket and drops him toward a wire wastebasket filled with crumpled paper. The background is a flat bright blue.

Everywhere I look, people seem afraid of becoming irrelevant thanks to AI.

Disabled people know that feeling better than anyone. We've lived in that tension our entire lives. Alice Wong called us the oracles. She was right. We learned to read the world differently because the world was never built with us in mind.

AI can close the gap or blow it wide open. I see signs of both already.

On one hand, technology has always been the thing that lets me move through a world that was not designed for my body or my needs. Uber, Instacart, Amazon, remote work, every one of these tools expanded my independence. AI has joined that list. It sharpens my thinking, helps me get unstuck, and pushes me to see ideas from angles I might have missed. It never replaces my judgment, but it challenges me in a way that feels useful.

While the tools have improved, the system around them has not. Disabled unemployment is at 8.7%, still nearly twice the national average according to the latest jobs report from the Bureau of Labor Statistics. That's partially due to AI-driven hiring systems screening out candidates before a human ever sees a résumé. Systems built on training data that rarely includes disabled people. They are shaped by teams who often do not understand disability, workplace bias, or accessibility in practice. When the ground shifts, we tend to be the first ones hit.

I want people to understand that AI is neither miracle nor menace. It is a force multiplier amplifying whatever framework you build around it. If the framework is inequity, then inequity scales. If the framework is access, then access grows.

The real danger is creating the future of work without the people who need these tools the most.

What are you noticing in the workplace as AI becomes part of your workflow?

Remote Work Is a Lifeline for Disabled Workers. Why Are Leaders Still Ignoring That?

A person types on a laptop at an outdoor table. Only their hands and forearms are visible. A takeaway coffee cup sits nearby, and sunlight casts strong shadows across the green tabletop.

I’ve always said remote work kept my career sustainable long before COVID made it acceptable. That part gets lost. Remote work didn’t appear in 2020. It only became socially acceptable when everyone needed it.

That says something about disability.

When disabled people ask for something, it becomes a special exception.
When the majority needs the same thing, it becomes innovative and essential.

Now here we are in 2025, watching companies announce return-to-office requirements in the guise of “team spirit” and culture. The Wall Street Journal points to concerns about learning, innovation, and collaboration slipping in hybrid environments. A recent article from YourTango noted a worker quitting in the middle of a meeting when HR told them that rising commuting costs were simply the price of being a team player.

Let me tell you what team spirit looks like from my reality.

It is pouring rain. My wheelchair has powered components that cannot get soaked. Canine Companions® Lovey is with me and I am responsible for her safety. The “just grab an umbrella” solution that non-disabled people rely on is not an option. Something as routine as weather can dismantle an entire workday before it starts.

Or I’m relying on the Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority (WMATA). One broken elevator is enough to shut down my commute completely. That happened often when I lived in DC. None of this is about drama, it’s the reality of disability few recognize.

Remote work gives me the ability to spend my energy on the job you hired me to do. Without it, I burn through that energy just getting to the building. At home, I can manage chronic pain, sensory triggers, migraines, ADHD, and all the other invisible mechanics of disability without performing them in front of coworkers who don’t know how to respond.

People tell me disability makes them uncomfortable when it is visible. The same people often insist that remote work does not count as real work. That contradiction is impossible to ignore.

If you want genuine team spirit, here is where it starts:

1. Believe disabled employees when we tell you what we need.
2. Treat accommodations as responsibilities rather than obstacles.
3. Write policies that include disabled voices from the beginning.

Disabled employees are putting in extraordinary effort every single day. We are often working three times as hard for half the credit within systems that were not built to include us. And we still deliver.

So the question I keep coming back to is simple:
Why are we still having this conversation in 2025?

What Happens When Accessibility Is Built In Instead of Bolted On?

Marissa Bode performs during a take of Katherine Craft’s film “The Hog Queen,” filmed this summer in Van Nuys.

(Carlin Stiehl / Los Angeles Times)

Imagine asking a hiring manager in the middle of a job interview, “What’s your line-item budget for accessibility?”
And then just… watching their face.

Most people wouldn’t know what to do with that question. They’ve never had to think about it.

That’s what struck me reading about The Hog Queen in the Los Angeles Times this morning, a short film backed by the Inevitable Foundation, where access wasn’t an afterthought. They made it part of the plan, and wrote into the budget as part of the expectation.

And I thought: what if that was true in every workplace?

I’ve worked in spaces where access was built in, and I’ve worked in ones where it wasn’t. You can feel the difference in your body. When I don’t have to fight for access, when I’m not mentally running through who to email or what barrier to fix, I end the day with energy left to actually do my job. I can lead, I can build, and I can advocate for others instead of just surviving the space I’m in.

That’s what accessibility done right does. It multiplies energy, and turns it into impact.

Yet we keep treating it like a favor to negotiate after the offer’s signed.

Here’s the truth. Most accommodations cost less than $100. What’s expensive is losing good people because a workplace couldn’t be bothered. You don’t save money by skipping access. You just spend more replacing the people you burned out.

If you’re in leadership, start here:

✅ Ask your employees what they need.
✅ Trust them.
✅ Budget for it.
✅ And make it standard.

If you really want to know what your organization values, look at your budget.
If accessibility isn’t on the ledger, it’s not in your culture.
Accessibility should be as normal as a lunch break.
As obvious as a door that opens when you push it.
Show me your budget, and I’ll show you your values.

What Real Leaders Understand About Power And Trust

A black-and-white photo of a man in a suit pointing directly toward the camera, mid-sentence, conveying authority or confrontation.

When I hear a CEO say “get on board or quit,” my brain freezes.

I sit there for a minute, stunned that this even needs to be said.

What that really means is: Don’t question us. Don’t need anything. Don’t exist differently.

We’ve reached a point in workplace culture where control is being sold as leadership.

That’s not strength. It certainly isn't leadership.

As Sarah E. Needleman K. and Julia Hornstein recently wrote in Business Insider, the new mantra from companies like Palantir Technologies, GitHub, AT&T, Shopify and Coinbase is clear:

Embrace the company’s politics, its AI, its in-office mandate—or leave.

That’s control disguised as “efficiency.”

Let’s pause on that for a second, because this has nothing to do with work style and everything to do with power.

A real leader asks, how do I bring more people in?
A fearful one asks, how do I push people out?

Disabled employees—including me—are told to “prove” we can do the jobs we’ve already been hired to do.

We get accommodations approved one year, then re-fought the next because a new manager wants to “tighten culture.”

Meanwhile, as Kandiss Edwards at Black Enterprise Magazine noted, even showing up has a price tag now, about $55 a day for workers asked to return to the office.

That control? Someone’s paying for it.

Here’s the thing.

If you don’t trust your employees, look in the mirror and ask why.

Trust isn’t a perk.
It’s infrastructure.
It’s how access works.
Access isn’t extra. It’s how we exist.

If you’re leading with surveillance instead of support, you’re not leading.

The upfront cost? Turnover. Morale. But nothing gets tarnished faster than reputation and legacy. Something that takes decades to build and mere minutes to destroy.

At some point, people remember how you made them feel.
They remember if you led through fear or through trust.

So before you demand loyalty, ask yourself this:

What kind of culture are you loyal to?
And what does that loyalty cost the people you lead?

Inclusion Isn't A Debate: Why SHRM Got It Wrong

Slide titled ‘The Business Case You Can’t Ignore’ showing three statistics on disability inclusion: 25% of the population are people with disabilities, 30% workforce growth among disabled workers since the pandemic, and 100% future risk that aging or life circumstances will affect everyone’s abilities.

Inclusion isn't optional. Shocking I know.

We make up 25% of the population. We’re the largest minority in the world, and yet, every time a company “forgets” to plan for us, it’s not an oversight. It’s a decision. It’s saying: we don’t care to include a quarter of humanity.

And if you live long enough, disability will find you.

I joke sometimes that it’s like a mafia threat. “it’s coming for you.” But it’s true. We are all just temporarily pre-disabled. So when organizations treat inclusion like an experiment instead of a responsibility, what they’re really doing is gambling against their own future selves and interests.

That’s what makes the latest headlines so maddening.

Shaun Heasley, writing for Disability Scoop cites a report from SHRM noting workforce participation for people with disabilities is up 30% since the pandemic. Wendi Safstrom, president of the SHRM Foundation, calling it “a testament to what’s possible when organizations commit to inclusion and flexibility.”

She’s right. Remote work gave us the ability to get things done without burning half our energy fighting the world just to show up.

And somehow, in the same breath, SHRM handed the microphone to Robby Starbuck, a man who calls DEI “poison” and takes credit for dismantling inclusion programs at major corporations including Ford Motor Company, Harley-Davidson Motor Company, and Walmart. [H/t caroline colvin per HR Dive.]

Platforming that isn’t “viewpoint diversity.” Inclusion is not a debate topic any more than hiring women or people of color is a debate topic.

Every time an organization gives oxygen to anti-DEI voices, it tells us that our humanity is optional. And shame on any HR association that claims leadership while legitimizing that message.

Meanwhile, POLITICO reports that a federal judge had to order the White House to restore sign-language interpreters at press briefings, writing that “closed captioning and transcripts are insufficient alternatives.”

Because inclusion is optional, right?

Here’s the truth: every accommodation I’ve ever received has saved my career. I’ve spent my whole life negotiating with a body that doesn’t always cooperate. You think I can’t negotiate a work deadline? Please. I’ve been running logistics with chronic pain as a project manager my entire life.

To every HR leader who still calls inclusion a “buzzword,” you’re outing yourself as short-sighted. Inclusion isn’t charity. It’s how you tell your people they matter. It’s how you make the space you occupy, and ultimately leave on this planet better than you found it.

If your company’s culture falls apart the instant nobody's looking, or your accessibility policies look good on paper but collapse in practice, if your leaders talk about inclusion but can’t describe it without pausing to find the right words, we see you. You aren’t fooling us.

Do the right thing. Being a good human has only upsides.

When the Playground Becomes the Boardroom: How Bullying Grows Up

I read this story about a third grader in New Jersey. Teacher filmed her without consent. Passed the video around to make fun of her learning disability. A grown adult did that.

I felt sick.

We love to say bullying builds character. It doesn’t. It builds fear. It builds silence. It builds the habit of making yourself smaller so other people don’t have to feel uncomfortable.

The same lie we hand kids shows up at work. We call it "Culture.” “Fit.” “Professionalism.”

If nobody calls it out early, the people who mock you grow up thinking it’s leadership.

I asked a professor once for an accommodation. He asked how my “disease” was doing. Out loud. In front of thirty classmates. Cerebral palsy isn’t a disease. I still remember every second of that silence.

Now I’m an adult and people still film me with my Canine Companions® Lovey. They don’t ask. They snap a photo or record, smile, and walk away.

Once it’s online, I lose control. That’s the part nobody thinks about.

The story hit me because it’s all connected.

We’re told to be calm when our rights are debated. Smile through it. Stay professional. Because if we get angry, we’re “too emotional.” If we stay quiet, we’re “not assertive enough.”

We don’t need more awareness months. We need decency.

Teach kids empathy now, and maybe one day the workplace won’t look so much like the classroom.

NDEAM Is Over, but the Access Horror Show Runs Year-Round

An open spellbook glows with swirling blue magic that forms accessibility symbols, including a wheelchair icon and braille dots. The book rests on a wooden table surrounded by candles, pumpkins, and old scrolls, blending Halloween imagery with a sense of inclusive design and possibility.

They put a spell on you. Now that the calendar has flipped, do you care?

NDEAM is over, but the access horror show runs year-round.

The barriers are still right where we left them.

Feels about right, doesn’t it?

I spent the last day of NDEAM, which also happened to be Halloween, recording an episode of DisabilityEmpowermentNow with Keith Russell Murfee-DeConcini.

Keith asked thoughtful, generous questions, and we went there into the messy, human stuff. I call myself a Disability Advocate, Speaker, and Professional Persuader because most days are a negotiation between what is and what should be.

As I'm fond of saying: I’m not fighting because I enjoy the fight. I’m fighting so I can stop fighting.

As an advocate, my goal is to put myself out of business.

Since it was Halloween, we talked about masks and the stories we’re asked to wear. Every time we advocate for accessibility, I think about who decided what “normal” was in the first place. If normal is a choice, we can make a better one. One that doesn’t rank disabilities by visibility. One that assumes talent shows up in every kind of body and brain.

Now that NDEAM has wrapped, here’s the quiet part said out loud. It’s not enough to hire disabled people. We need to be in every room, at every level, shaping how access actually works. Accountability matters. Policies need enforcement and equity to move beyond optics.

Access is a 24/7 responsibility.

Episode release date coming soon. Follow Disability Empowerment Now and Keith to catch it when it drops.