The Jobs AI Can’t Replace and the Workers It’s Already Erasing

3D rendered digital human head outlined with neon contour lines that resemble a fingerprint's unique swirls, against a deep blue background.

AI isn’t replacing workers. Policy is.

And when cuts come, disabled employees are too often first in line. Not because we can’t do the work. But because we asked for accommodations, or a flexible schedule. Or the audacity to be seen as fully human in a system that was never built for us.

Amazon laid off 14,000 corporate staff, most weren’t on the warehouse floor. As Fortune reports, they were middle managers, analysts, people whose work once held institutional memory. And while AI was the scapegoat, the real driver was a quiet shift in values: replace people with productivity.

Let me say it plainly: Every time efficiency comes at the cost of someone’s humanity, you lose.

Because here’s what AI will never replace:

• A colleague who notices and acts
• A mentor who listens without needing to understand everything
• The gut sense that something feels off—and the courage to say so
• A disabled employee who sees the policy gap before it creates harm

Try feeding that into OpenAI.

Accessible workplaces don’t happen by default. They’re built, sustained, and protected often by non-disabled colleagues whose advocacy carries more weight, simply because of the math. When the 80% speak up, momentum shifts. But the burden shouldn’t fall solely on disabled people. We’ve been saying the same things for years. Now we need others to help carry it forward.

I’ve watched colleagues pushed out for asking too many questions, for requesting an accommodation, or for simply challenging the status quo. And I’ve watched those same institutions spin it. “Moving in a different direction,” “transitioning,” “resigned to pursue other opportunities.” But those of us inside? We know how to read between the lines.

Gartner projects that 1 in 5 organizations will eliminate half their management layers using AI by 2026. That is a loss of human infrastructure, especially for marginalized communities who rely on advocates inside the system to challenge the status quo.

DEI isn’t a brand strategy. It’s a values system. And when it disappears, it erases people. And voices. And momentum.

“You can certainly change your branding, but you can’t change your values without it having a resounding effect,” former Georgia state representative and candidate for governor Stacey Abrams told The Washington Post.

So as AI reshapes our workplaces, let’s ask better questions.

What stories about work and value do we need to unlearn? Are we innovating for everyone, or just for the most efficient few?

Innovation that forgets its people isn’t progress. It’s loss.

AI may generate text. It will never generate trust.

Let’s keep the human at the center of the future we’re building.

Not All Disabled Leaders Are Allies, And That’s the Conversation We Need to Have

A man in a wheelchair sits in a doorway high on a dark glass skyscraper, kicking away a golden ladder as pieces fall toward a crowd of people reaching upward beneath stormy skies.

As October wraps up, I keep circling back to something we rarely say out loud: not all disabled people are allies.

John Oliver once joked on HBO Last Week Tonight about former Rep. Madison Cawthorn that “being an asshole is truly accessible to everyone.” He wasn’t wrong. We like to assume disabled leaders automatically champion the disability community, that lived experience guarantees empathy.

But it doesn’t.

Governor Greg Abbott, a wheelchair user, has consistently pushed policies that harm disabled Texans. Senator John Fetterman, once celebrated for normalizing assistive technology and comfortable clothing on the Senate floor, now carries the label “Trump’s favorite Democrat.” Representation does not always translate to advocacy. Sometimes it just makes the betrayal sting more.

And I have seen that same pattern play out closer to home. Early in my federal career, when I first needed a telework accommodation, I turned to a senior colleague who was a respected disability advocate. I expected empathy. Instead, he looked me straight in the eye and said, “Keep your head down. Don’t fight this.”

That moment never left me. It might have been practical advice, but it was not allyship.

It taught me that proximity to power is not the same as solidarity, and that some of the hardest lessons come from people who should have known better.

We love to talk about inclusion in the workplace. The posters. The hashtags. The polished commitments to mental health and belonging. But the moment someone actually uses those systems, asks for flexibility, PTO, or an accommodation, the tone shifts. Suddenly inclusion has an asterisk. Suddenly the same people preaching wellness start whispering about fairness and team morale.

Genuine allyship is not about the company newsletter or the press release in October or the panel during Disability Pride Month. It is about the quiet, consistent work of believing people when they tell you what they need, without making them prove it. It is about creating systems where asking for help does not feel like a liability.

There is a hierarchy in disability culture we do not talk about enough. The visible versus the invisible. The acceptable versus the difficult. The wheelchair user makes a great photo op. The employee with PTSD, chronic pain, or neurodivergence gets side-eyed for needing too much. Passing privilege is real, and too many use it to climb the ladder only to kick it down behind them.

Having a disability does not make someone an ally. It does not even make them kind. Sometimes it just makes them powerful enough to prove they are not.

If allyship means anything, it is how we act when no one is watching, especially toward each other.

Awareness Doesn’t Pay The Rent

A warmly lit café stage with a vintage microphone under a spotlight, brick wall backdrop, empty chairs, and a steaming mug in the foreground.

Every October, the feeds light up.
Wheelchairs in perfect lighting,
hashtags dressed for a party.

“Awareness.”

That word rolls too easy off the tongue.
But awareness doesn’t pay the rent.
It doesn’t rewrite policy.
It doesn’t get you promoted, either.

I’ve worked in communications long enough to know.
Awareness is the appetizer,
not the meal.
It’s the press release,
not the practice.
The promise without the paycheck.

You want courage?
Alright, here’s one.
Try staying in a workplace that calls your exhaustion “grit.”
Try using your leave,
and watching your reputation shift while you heal.
Try asking for equity,
and hearing silence so heavy
you could hang your coat on it.

We get hired for the photo,
not the promotion.
We’re celebrated when we show up,
forgotten when we speak up.
That’s not inclusion.
That’s PR with better lighting and a diversity hashtag on top.

For every disabled person you see,
there are three you don’t.
Chronic pain.
Neurodivergence.
PTSD.
Autoimmune conditions.
Invisible doesn’t mean imaginary.
It just means the world stopped looking.

One in four Americans lives with a disability.
That’s not a metaphor.
That’s the CDC talking.
Only four percent disclose.
That’s fear talking.
And fear—
fear’s got a corner office and a pension plan.

Here’s the truth.
I don’t want awareness anymore.
I want accountability.
I want leaders who ask what barriers to remove
before we hit them.
I want promotions that don’t come
with an asterisk
and a whisper.
I want policy written by the people who live it,
not by the ones who still think
“disability”
is a bad word.

Inclusion isn’t a month.
It’s not October’s costume.
It’s the budget.
It’s the boardroom.
It’s the elevator you send back down.

So when the hashtags fade
and the banners come down,
don’t just call me resilient.
Ask yourself why I had to be.

Because awareness is easy.
Action
Action is everything.

Creative, Inclusive Workspaces: What We Can All Learn from the Adaptive Umbrella Workshop

Ryan presents via Zoom at a workshop on creating inclusive workspaces.

As we kick off National Disability Employment Awareness Month, yesterday I had the incredible honor of delivering the closing keynote address at the Adaptive Umbrella Workshop, hosted by the Bloomfield Township Public Library. This workshop focused on fostering creative, inclusive workspaces, and it was a privilege to share my thoughts on how we can create environments where everyone feels like they belong.

I've seen firsthand how conversations around diversity, equity, inclusion, and access are often treated like checkboxes—something to do out of obligation rather than a genuine effort to celebrate difference. During the workshop, we talked about how true inclusion goes beyond merely checking off boxes; it’s about cultivating a culture where disability isn’t a dirty word or something to dance around.

We discussed how equity, not just equality, must be the goal. Equity recognizes that everyone needs different tools to succeed. The idea that reasonable accommodations—whether it’s telework, flexible schedules, or assistive technology—are “special” or “unfair” is still prevalent in many workplaces. But these accommodations are about creating a level playing field.

In the federal government, where I've worked for over a decade, telework has been a game-changer, especially during the pandemic. But it isn’t just about the pandemic—it’s about offering flexibility for employees who navigate complex physical and invisible disabilities like chronic pain. Accommodations like these are about empowerment, not favoritism.

Another important topic we tackled was the disclosure of invisible disabilities. A 2023 study by the SHRM revealed that 47% of employees with invisible disabilities haven’t disclosed them to their employers. This comes from a place of fear—fear that disclosure will harm career prospects or lead to workplace stigma. Employers must create safe spaces where employees feel empowered to disclose if they choose to, without fearing repercussions.

Finally, we talked about resentment. Sadly, workplace accommodations are often misunderstood, leading to friction among coworkers who don’t see or understand the need. But as I shared during my keynote: It’s not the manager’s job to justify accommodations to other employees. Accommodations are about equity.

This workshop reminded me that building inclusive workspaces is an ongoing process. It’s about continuous education, open conversations, and creative solutions. The more we talk about what inclusion really looks like, the better we get at building work environments that uplift everyone, not just a select few.

A huge thank you to Jennifer Taggart and the Bloomfield Township Public Library for hosting such an important event, and to everyone who attended and asked thought-provoking questions. Your engagement fuels the work we’re doing to create a more equitable future.

The Pandemic's Impact on Workplace Inclusion: Lessons from the RVO Health Panel

A Zoom screenshot showing Disability Advocate Ryan Honick, and fellow RVO Health panelists, Alina Sharon, Ryan McKenna, Robin Hough, and Jessica Simon as part of a DEI in the workplace discussion.

Yesterday, as part of National Disability Employment Awareness Month, I had the distinct honor of joining a panel with the dynamic team from RVO Health. The topic? A subject close to my heart: diversity, equity, inclusion, and access in the workplace, especially in the light of the pandemic and its aftermath.

Firstly, I'd like to extend my heartfelt gratitude to Alina Sharon, Ryan McKenna, Robin Hough, and Jess (Leavitt) Simon. The depth of our conversation, the insights shared, and the commitment to fostering an inclusive environment was truly commendable. It's not every day that you get to be part of such an enlightening discussion, and I am continually encouraged by the positive steps that RVO Health is taking.

I've seen firsthand the challenges and opportunities that come with fostering an inclusive environment. The pandemic has only heightened the need for workplaces to be more adaptable, understanding, and inclusive. Jess (Leavitt) Simon captured this sentiment perfectly, stating, "We can't unring the bell of COVID. COVID completely disrupted and changed the way of work. The employers that are going to retain and attract the best talent are going to have to figure out how to do it differently." 

From my personal journey, I know the importance of conversations like these to deepen understanding and empathy and truly make a difference. True inclusivity begins as a cultural attitude and a commitment to continual dialogue about the needs and contributions of every employee. The pandemic brought to light the importance of mental health, flexibility, and the need for employers to be more understanding and accommodating.

RVO Health's commitment to these values is evident, and I am excited to see the strides they will make in the future. The panel discussion was a testament to the fact that when organizations and individuals come together with a shared vision, real change is possible.

To everyone who joined us for the panel, thank you for being part of this important conversation. Let's continue to push boundaries, challenge norms, and create workplaces where everyone feels valued and included.