This weekend, some friends and I had a deep conversation about self-advocacy. For blind people like us, self-advocacy often means asking for what we need—things like Braille materials, accessible formats, or other accommodations—to fully participate in work, school, and life. It’s a skill that can make or break opportunities, but it’s also a heavy burden, one we carry quietly and constantly.
One friend shared her experience of choosing to attend a college that had no formal disability services office. She had to arrange everything herself: accessible books, note-takers, testing accommodations, and more. She’s proud of what she accomplished—and she should be—but it wasn’t easy. Another friend works today in a university disability services office. She said that while her office provides excellent services, it’s still up to the students to coordinate everything. They must advocate early, often, and with persistence to get the support they need.
Then there was my experience. I went to a university where the disability services office did almost everything for me. They coordinated my class schedule, ordered my books in accessible formats, proctored my tests, and generally worked behind the scenes to remove as many barriers as possible. After having an incredibly difficult experience in middle and high school—fighting for basic accommodations, constantly being misunderstood, and facing the mental toll that came with it—this approach felt like a blessing. I didn’t have to constantly fight just to participate. I could focus on learning and growing.
As we talked, it became clear that we weren’t arguing exactly, but we had strong feelings about what “ideal” looks like. I feel strongly that in 2025—almost fifty years after Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act began being enforced—we should be striving for the kind of experience I had. One where self-advocacy means simply asking and receiving, not fighting. Where access is built in, not bolted on. Where inclusion is a default, not a special accommodation.
My friends agreed, but they also raised an important point: strong self-advocacy skills, developed early in life, can determine your success in adulthood, including your financial success. In a world where barriers still exist, being able to ask, push, negotiate, and insist can be life-changing.
They’re absolutely right. But I also believe—maybe even more strongly—that problem-solving skills are even more crucial. When systems fail, when accommodations fall through, when people don’t know how to help, it’s our creativity, resourcefulness, and grit that carry us through.
Self-advocacy and problem-solving aren’t the same thing, but they’re deeply connected. And yet, I sometimes struggle with both.
The Emotional Weight of Advocacy
The truth is, I hate asking for accommodations. I can do it when I have to. I know the words to say. I know the laws. I know the rights that protect me. But every time I have to advocate for something that sighted people are simply handed without question, it stings. It reminds me that I am seen as “other,” that my needs are seen as extra, and that my participation is conditional. It makes me feel, even if only for a moment, like I’m worth less.
I don’t want that for myself—or for anyone else.
I dream of a world where I can walk into a restaurant and be offered a Braille menu, not have to request one. Where I can ask my bank for Braille statements as easily as a sighted customer opts for paperless billing. Where I can go to a professional conference and independently navigate the space, access all the session materials, and fully participate without having to call ahead, plead, or explain.
Right now, even when I advocate, the process can feel defeating. If I ask for a Braille menu, the server often doesn’t know if they have one. They disappear to check, return uncertain, and—if they do have one—it’s often outdated and missing specials or key information. It’s a small example, but it adds up. Every request is another moment of uncertainty, of awkwardness, of feeling like I’m asking for something unreasonable when I’m really just asking to be included.
I don’t want to have to be exceptional to be included. I want inclusion to be normal.
Building a Better World, Together
I fully recognize the power of self-advocacy. I teach it. I encourage it. I model it for others when I can. And I know how important it is to solve problems creatively when systems fall short. These are skills that have gotten me through college, into the workforce, and into leadership roles. They’re skills that every disabled person deserves to have.
But none of this means we should stop dreaming—and demanding—something better.
We deserve a world where accommodations are the norm, not the exception. Where our access needs aren’t viewed as burdens but simply as part of doing business. Where our financial potential is not limited by extra costs imposed by inaccessible systems, unnecessary hurdles, or implicit bias.
We deserve a world where having a disability doesn’t mean you have to work twice as hard for half the opportunities.
And until that world exists, we’re going to have to make hard choices.
Sometimes, self-advocacy is the right choice—pushing hard against systems that aren’t designed with us in mind. Sometimes, the better choice is to live, work, and study in places where we feel included, supported, and valued, even if those places are rare. Sometimes it’s about picking battles, preserving mental health, and choosing survival over struggle.
Honoring Each Other’s Choices
The most important thing is this: we have to give each other grace.
Everyone’s situation is different. Some of us have the emotional energy to fight every day. Some of us don’t. Some of us are seasoned advocates. Some of us are just beginning to learn how to ask for what we need. Some of us are building systems from scratch, while others are working to reform the systems we inherited.
It’s not about whether you’re good at self-advocacy. It’s not about whether you solve problems the “right” way. It’s about doing the best you can in a complicated, unfair, and sometimes hurtful world.
It’s about surviving, thriving, and paving the way for something better—for ourselves, and for those who come after us.
And it’s about dreaming of a future where asking for access doesn’t feel like a favor, but simply part of how the world works.
I’ll keep fighting for that world. I hope you will too.
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