Red Flags in Job Descriptions: What Disabled Applicants Notice

A digital illustration of the Washington Nationals logo prominently displayed in the center, surrounded by vibrant red, white, and blue accents. The background features a baseball diamond with dramatic lighting, creating a sense of energy and pride. The design emphasizes the team's colors and tradition in a bold and professional style

Today, I find myself reflecting on a troubling trend in job postings that claim inclusivity while subtly discouraging applicants with disabilities. A perfect example comes from a job description for a Communications Manager with the Washington Nationals. The LinkedIn algorithm suggested I'd be a top applicant. A chance to blend my love of communication and baseball? My interest was piqued. On the surface, it outlines standard communication responsibilities—drafting press releases, coordinating interviews, and managing media relations. All of these align perfectly with the skills expected of a professional communicator.

But then comes the Physical/Environmental Requirements section, which demands:

• Standing for long periods.
• Walking long distances.
• Climbing up and down stairs.
• Lifting up to 45 pounds.

For a role focused on media relations, where exactly does lifting 45 pounds come into play? These physical requirements raise serious questions.

Let’s unpack this: The job description explicitly states that the Washington Nationals are "dedicated to offering equal opportunity employment and advancement…including disability." Yet, these physical demands feel like unnecessary hurdles, particularly for disabled professionals. This disconnect is more than an oversight—it's a systemic issue. Arbitrary physical requirements often serve as a quiet signal that disabled applicants may not be fully welcome.

Job descriptions like this one, with their misaligned physical requirements, highlight a glaring gap between intention and execution. They inadvertently screen out highly qualified candidates, not because they lack the skills, but because the posting assumes physical ability is synonymous with competence.

Nowhere in my 15 years as a communications professional have I been asked to lift 45 pounds.

Employers must evaluate if physical demands are truly essential. Is there a genuine reason for a communications manager to climb stairs or carry heavy loads? If not, these requirements should be removed.

Companies claiming to value inclusivity need to ensure their job postings reflect that ethos. Accessibility isn’t just about wheelchairs and ramps—it’s about eliminating unnecessary barriers in hiring.

Postings should explicitly encourage applicants to discuss accommodations. A simple line—“We are happy to accommodate your needs to perform essential job functions”—can make a world of difference.

Language matters. If a company’s goal is true inclusivity, they must start by removing arbitrary barriers from their job descriptions. Let’s make sure equal opportunity is more than just a tagline.

We're clearly in the off-season and the Washington Nationals latest job posting is a strikeout. Hopefully their next Communications Manager can encourage the use of inclusive language.

Sebastian Stan’s Call to Normalize Disability: Hollywood’ Role in Cultural Change

Last night, Sebastian Stan stood on the Golden Globes stage and delivered an acceptance speech that was equal parts gratitude and a societal call for more disability inclusion in storytelling saying, “Our ignorance and discomfort around disability and disfigurement has to end. We have to normalize it and continue to expose ourselves and our children to it. [We should] encourage acceptance.”

We’ve come a long way in some ways, but the reality is that we still have miles to go. Disability is often treated as "other," whether it’s the barriers we face in accessing physical spaces, the battles we fight for workplace accommodations, or the simple dignity of being included in the stories society chooses to tell.

A Different Man brings that reality to life. It’s not just a film about disability—it’s a film with disabled voices at its core. This matters. Representation is the difference between being seen and being invisible.

And yet, disability remains woefully underrepresented. According to a 2022 GLAAD report, less than 4% of major studio films included disabled characters—and even fewer were played by actors with disabilities. Meanwhile, 20% of the population in the U.S. identifies as disabled. That disconnect doesn’t just hurt those of us in the disability community; it limits society as a whole. When stories exclude disability, they fail to reflect the full spectrum of human experience.

This isn’t just about Hollywood. It’s about workplaces that still treat accommodations like favors instead of rights. It’s about public spaces designed without us in mind. It’s about a culture that sees disability as something to overcome, rather than simply as part of life. As Stan put it, “These films are real and they’re necessary, and we can’t be afraid and look away.” That sentiment doesn’t just apply to film—it’s a challenge to all of us.

Disability will likely touch each of us, directly or indirectly, at some point in our lives. But we shouldn’t care about disability only because it might one day be our story. We should care because these stories are real, human, and powerful. They deserve to be told—not to inspire, but to be part of the fabric of who we are as a society.

Why Disability Representation in Media Is More Than Just a Moral Imperative

Marissa Bode as Nessarose in Wicked.

As we close out 2024, I can’t stop thinking about Wicked. Not just the dazzling sets, the soaring music, or the star-studded cast. No, what lingers most is Marissa Bode—her powerful, unapologetic portrayal of Nessarose. Here was a wheelchair user, playing a wheelchair user, in one of the year’s most anticipated films. Groundbreaking, yes. But it wasn’t without its challenges.

Marissa Bode didn’t just act; she fought. When trolls flooded social media with ableist remarks, mocking her disability, she spoke out. “Disability is not fictional,” she said. Simple words. Monumental truth. And yet, the backlash she faced underscores a harsh reality: representation is still fragile, progress still precarious .

Why does this matter? Consider the numbers. In the U.S., disabled people make up 28.7% of the viewing audience. Globally, we’re talking about over 1 billion people. Yet, only 1.9% of speaking characters in the top 100 films have disabilities. That statistic hasn’t budged since 2015. Hollywood isn’t just lagging—it’s stuck .

But when representation is done right, it’s transformative. Take CODA. Its portrayal of the deaf community swept awards season, proving that diverse stories resonate deeply. Writer Siân Heder told Variety's Randee Dawn: “People can smell authenticity… Tell these stories because they’re fun, they’re entertaining—and they’re sexy.” Inclusion isn’t a risk; it’s an opportunity .

So what’s next? What do we want for 2025? I dream of a year when Marissa Bode’s story isn’t exceptional but ordinary. When disability representation doesn’t make headlines because it’s normal. When studios stop seeing accessibility as a logistical headache and start seeing it as a creative necessity.

Representation matters because it changes how society views us—disabled people. It normalizes our existence, shatters stereotypes, and inspires a generation to see themselves not as “other” but as integral to the human experience. It also matters because it’s good business. Let’s not ignore the power of a billion-person market.

But let’s be clear: representation alone won’t solve ableism. True inclusion requires more. It requires disabled voices at every level—writers, directors, crew members. It demands accessible sets, thoughtful storytelling, and a willingness to challenge the status quo. Hollywood can’t just open the door; it has to invite us in and let us stay.

As I look toward 2025, I’m optimistic but not complacent. The progress we’ve seen in 2024 with films like Wicked is encouraging, but it’s not the finish line. It’s a starting point. Let’s amplify these stories, hold gatekeepers accountable, and create a world where the next Marissa Bode doesn’t have to fight just to be seen.

Representation isn’t just about who gets to tell the story—it’s about who gets to be part of the story. Let’s make 2025 the year we get this right.

Why 'Dateable' is the Book Every Disabled Person Needs

Book cover of "Dateable: Swiping Right, Hooking Up, and Settling Down While Chronically Ill and Disabled" by Jessica Slice and Caroline Cupp. The background features a gradient of pastel colors including yellow, blue, and green. The title is in bold yellow text, with the subtitle and authors' names in smaller white and green text respectively.

Today, I am reflecting on the incredible opportunity to be featured in the transformative book, "Dateable" by Jessica Slice and Caroline Cupp. This book is a definitive primer on dating with a disability, and I couldn't be more grateful for the chance to contribute to this important text.

Representation in media and literature is crucial for people with disabilities. "Dateable" fills a significant gap by addressing the unique challenges and triumphs we face in the dating world. The book tackles the lack of representation and role models that can prevent us from seeing ourselves as desirable, romantic, and dateable. As the authors poignantly state, "There are huge numbers of disabled people dating, hooking up, and marrying. But if we don’t see that playing out on-screen, especially if we operate in actual communities made up of predominantly nondisabled people, it can feel like we’re the only ones on earth trying to figure this out."

One of the key themes in "Dateable" is the struggle against internalized ableism and the complicated questions around disclosing one's disability in the context of dating. The book explores the trauma of dating apps, the biases they perpetuate, and the often painful interactions that come with them. The chapter "S*?! (AHEM, STUFF) PEOPLE SAY" features my own story, an anecdote encapsulating the absurdity and the humor that often accompany dating with a disability. The book uses humor to address serious topics, making them more accessible and relatable. I often speak about my medical history and experiences, but having one of my favorite stories immortalized in print, with its perfect mix of humor and reality, is truly special.

"Dateable" provides a platform to advocate for disability rights and awareness. The book doesn't shy away from difficult topics like the fetishization of disability, the need for open communication and consent, and the challenges of navigating sex and relationships with various disabilities. It shines a light on the broader societal changes needed to foster a more inclusive understanding of dating with a disability.

"Dateable" is the book I wish I had when I was younger, coming to terms with my body, its limitations, and what it would mean for my life in the dating space. It’s a book that every disabled person should read, regardless of where they are in their dating journey. It reminds us that our disability makes us just as human, dateable, and desirable as anyone else. Our dating lives may be more complicated, but we deserve to be represented, talked about, and yes, sexualized. We date, we love, we break up, we struggle just like everybody else, and this book puts all of that front and center unapologetically.

Thank you, Jessica and Caroline, for putting this book into the world. It was so needed and could not have come at a more perfect time.