Part 1: Rethinking Design Through an Accessible Lens
The moment that changed how I think about accessible design wasn't about memorizing six digits—it was about the exhausting dance between screens for two-factor authentication.
Switch to messages, try to memorize the code, switch back to the app, realize I'd forgotten the numbers, switch again... For those of us with ADHD and similar cognitive differences, our short-term recall works differently, making this seemingly simple task feel like an Olympic memory sport, each context switch burning through precious mental energy as those numbers slip away faster than our working memory can grasp them.
Then one day, after an iOS update, those verification codes simply appeared above my keyboard—exactly where I needed them. This tiny interface change showed me that sometimes the most impactful accessibility solutions aren't about grand gestures—they're about understanding and designing for the natural variations in how our brains process information, rather than expecting everyone to adapt to rigid systems.
That's the beauty of truly accessible design - it makes things better for everyone.
Recently, I watched a colleague struggling with a "modern" interface that used light grey text on a white background. They weren't having vision issues; they were trying to read necessary documentation on their phone while commuting home on a sunny afternoon. It reminded me that accessibility isn't about edge cases - it's about designing for real life.
When we talk about cognitive accessibility, we often focus on permanent conditions.
But consider how many people try to use our products while sleep-deprived, stressed, or distracted. The clear headings and structured content that help me process information on difficult days also help a new parent using our product at 3 AM, or a student trying to complete a task while worried about an upcoming exam.
I've started thinking about design in terms of energy expenditure. How much mental energy does someone need to spend figuring out where they are in our product? How many things do they need to remember as they move through a process? The solutions that help me manage cognitive load - like breaking tasks into clear steps, providing visual progress indicators, and offering consistent escape routes - turn out to be universally appreciated features.
Consider error messages. When I'm having a difficult focus day, a vague "something went wrong" message can derail my entire workflow. Now I think about error handling differently. Instead of just highlighting problems, we focus on providing clear paths forward. "Your session has expired. Click here to log back in without losing your work" is more than an error message - it's a lifeline for anyone who's been interrupted mid-task.
The tools for testing these experiences are already in our hands.
Try this: Take your phone outside on a sunny day. Open your product.
Can you still read everything?
Can you tap all the buttons accurately?
Now go back inside and try using it without your mouse.
Is it clear where you are on the page?
Can you accomplish what you need to?
These real-world tests often reveal more than hours of formal evaluation.
The impact extends beyond the screen. When we make our designs more accessible, we're not just helping people use our products - we're reducing frustration, preserving mental energy, and showing respect for our users' time and attention.
Every time we choose a clear heading over a clever one, every time we pick a readable font size over a trendy small one, we're saying "We care about your experience."
What you can do today:
Question every instance of small text in your designs. Is it legible for users with low vision or reading challenges?
Try completing key tasks using only keyboard navigation. Can you complete key tasks without using your mouse?
Ensure every icon has a text label. Is its purpose clear to users who rely on assistive technologies?
Read your error messages aloud. Do users clearly know what action they need to perform?
Ask "Who might we be excluding?" in every design review.
Remember, accessible design isn't about perfect solutions but continuous improvement.
Each small change we make helps someone have a better experience with our products. And often, the solutions that help users with specific needs end up making things better for everyone.
