Why inclusive design starts long before the first drawing is reviewed for code compliance.
Every design project starts somewhere.
A client has a vision. There's a budget, a program, an aesthetic direction, and a set of functional requirements that the design team needs to address.
We ask questions about how a space will be used, what activities need to happen there, how people will move through it, and what kind of experience we're trying to create.
But there's a question I think we need to be asking much earlier in that process.
Who are we actually designing for, and who might be excluded by the decisions we're making?
I'm an NCIDQ-certified interior designer, an accessibility advocate, and an ambulatory wheelchair user. My professional background includes commercial interior design, architectural products, and UX/UI development.
And one of the things I've become increasingly passionate about is the difference between designing a space that meets accessibility requirements and designing a space that genuinely works for disabled people.
Those two things are not always the same.
When Accessibility Becomes a Checklist
Accessibility is often discussed in terms of compliance.
Are the door clearances correct? Is there enough turning space? Are the accessible routes compliant? Do the restrooms meet the applicable standards?
These are important questions. Accessibility codes and standards establish essential requirements, and meeting those requirements is not optional.
But compliance alone doesn't tell us everything about how someone will experience a space.
A doorway might meet the required clearances while still being physically exhausting to operate.
A restroom might technically accommodate a wheelchair while requiring awkward maneuvering that makes independent use difficult.
A reception desk might have an accessible section, but that section might be positioned away from where staff actually interact with visitors.
And a building might have an accessible entrance that requires someone to take a completely different route from everyone else.
These aren't necessarily failures of dimensional compliance.
They're failures to fully consider the user experience.
And that's where I believe the design brief becomes so important.
What Changes When Accessibility Is a Design Priority?
A design brief establishes what a project is trying to accomplish.
When accessibility is included as a meaningful project objective, rather than something addressed primarily during code review, it begins influencing decisions throughout the design process.
During programming, we can consider a wider range of users and how they interact with the environment.
During space planning, we can think beyond whether someone can physically move through a space and consider whether they can navigate it comfortably and independently.
During material selection, we can evaluate glare, contrast, acoustics, surface transitions, and sensory experiences.
During furniture and product specification, we can consider different body sizes, mobility needs, dexterity, reach ranges, and methods of interaction.
And during design development, we can test whether our assumptions about usability are actually correct.
Accessibility becomes part of the design problem we're solving, rather than an additional requirement we're trying to accommodate.
That shift matters because decisions made early in a project influence what is possible later.
Once circulation patterns, architectural features, and major material selections have been established, correcting accessibility barriers can become significantly more complicated.
But when inclusive design is part of the project goals from the beginning, we have more opportunities to develop thoughtful, integrated solutions.
The Dot Experience: Designing Accessibility Into the Experience
One project that recently caught my attention is The Dot Experience, a new museum developed by the American Printing House for the Blind in Louisville, Kentucky.
Scheduled to open October 30, 2026, the museum has been designed around the idea that accessibility should shape the visitor experience from the beginning.
Rather than treating accessible exhibits as separate accommodations, the project incorporates tactile wayfinding, Braille, audio descriptions, American Sign Language, and multisensory interaction throughout the museum.
Visitors are encouraged to touch and explore exhibits, challenging the traditional museum model where many artifacts are experienced primarily through sight.
But what interests me most as a designer isn't simply the accessibility features themselves.
It's how accessibility influenced the design process.
The project involved people with different disabilities in evaluating prototypes and design decisions.
Participants reviewed everything from tactile exhibits and signage to material selections and physical layouts.
Their feedback informed changes before the final design was implemented.
This is a significant distinction.
Instead of assuming that designers could anticipate every accessibility need, the project created opportunities for disabled people to contribute their expertise directly.
And that brings me to one of the most important principles of disability-led design:
Nothing about us without us.
Designers bring valuable technical knowledge to a project. We understand codes, materials, construction, programming, and the many competing requirements that influence a built environment.
But technical expertise does not replace lived experience.
Both are necessary.
The Difference Between Knowing Accessibility and Experiencing It
My relationship with accessibility has changed significantly throughout my career.
Before becoming a wheelchair user, I understood accessibility primarily through my professional education and design experience.
I knew how to evaluate clearances, review standards, and consider the functional requirements of a space.
But becoming disabled introduced an entirely different perspective.
I began experiencing environments through a body that didn't always function the way those environments assumed it would.
Suddenly, I was noticing things that hadn't previously been part of my everyday experience.
The physical effort required to open a door while maneuvering a wheelchair.
The difficulty of accessing storage designed around standing reach ranges.
The way a seemingly small obstacle can interrupt an otherwise accessible route.
Or how a space might technically allow wheelchair access while making the experience unnecessarily difficult.
And because I also live with chronic illness and fluctuating physical capacity, I understand that accessibility isn't always about whether someone can physically perform a task.
Sometimes it's about how much energy that task requires.
I might be capable of standing to reach something, but that doesn't mean standing is a sustainable or accessible way for me to use the space.
I might be able to navigate a difficult entrance on a good day, but that doesn't mean the entrance is well designed.
The ability to accomplish something doesn't automatically mean the environment is accessible.
This perspective hasn't replaced my professional design knowledge.
It's expanded it.
And I believe the design industry benefits when disabled professionals are included in conversations about the environments we create.
Inclusive Design Is Also About Sensory and Cognitive Access
Physical accessibility is only one part of the conversation.
As an autistic designer, I'm also interested in how environments affect people with different sensory and cognitive needs.
Lighting, acoustics, visual complexity, wayfinding, and opportunities for environmental control can all influence whether someone can comfortably use a space.
But neuroinclusive design isn't about creating one universally calming environment.
Different people have different sensory needs.
Some people benefit from quiet, low-stimulation spaces. Others need movement, brighter lighting, or background sound.
And individual needs can change throughout the day.
That's why I believe choice and flexibility are so important.
Can people adjust their environment?
Are there multiple ways to participate?
Can someone access a quieter area without being isolated from the rest of the experience?
Is wayfinding intuitive and available through more than one form of communication?
And are those sensory accommodations also physically accessible?
These considerations are interconnected.
A person doesn't experience their mobility needs separately from their sensory needs, cognitive needs, or physical capacity.
We experience environments as whole people.
Our design decisions should reflect that.
What Designers Can Do Differently
I don't believe inclusive design requires every project to have an unlimited budget or an entirely new design methodology.
But it does require us to ask better questions.
At the beginning of a project, we can ask who is expected to use the space and whose experiences might be missing from the conversation.
We can involve disabled people in programming, design reviews, and user testing.
We can evaluate the effort required to use a space, rather than focusing exclusively on whether a task is technically possible.
We can consider multiple ways for people to navigate, interact, communicate, and participate.
And we can treat accessibility as a measure of design quality, not simply a regulatory obligation.
My background in UX/UI and architectural product development has reinforced how important this kind of thinking can be.
In user experience design, we don't assume an interface works simply because the designer believes it should.
We examine how people interact with it.
We identify friction points.
We test assumptions.
We refine the experience.
I believe we should approach the built environment with that same curiosity.
A floor plan can demonstrate that a space meets dimensional requirements.
But it cannot, by itself, tell us whether someone will feel comfortable, independent, or included while using that space.
For that, we need to understand the people we're designing for.
And ideally, we need those people involved in the process.
Accessibility Is Part of Good Design
I don't see accessibility as a limitation placed on creativity.
I see it as an opportunity to ask more meaningful questions about what we're creating and who gets to participate.
When accessibility is part of the design brief, we have the opportunity to create environments that are more adaptable, more intuitive, and more responsive to human diversity.
We also have the opportunity to challenge assumptions that have shaped the built environment for generations.
Assumptions about who can stand.
Who can see.
Who can hear.
Who can process sensory information.
Who has the physical capacity to navigate a space without assistance.
And who we imagine will be using the environments we design.
The Dot Experience is one example of what becomes possible when accessibility is treated as a foundational design objective.
But this approach shouldn't be limited to museums or high-profile projects.
It belongs in workplaces, healthcare environments, hospitality spaces, educational facilities, public buildings, and our homes.
Because disabled people aren't an unusual exception to the people we design for.
We're part of the population using these spaces every day.
Accessibility shouldn't be the final question we ask before a design is approved. It should be one of the first questions we ask when deciding what that design needs to accomplish.
And disabled people deserve to be part of answering that question.
Bringing Inclusive Design Into Your Organization
I'm an NCIDQ-certified designer, certified trauma recovery practitioner, and accessibility advocate whose work combines professional design experience with lived experience of disability and neurodivergence.
Through Restorative Healing Haven, I offer accessibility consulting and educational workshops that help organizations, designers, and decision-makers think beyond minimum compliance and explore what real-world accessibility can look like.
My work focuses on inclusive environments, disability-led design, sensory accessibility, and the importance of involving disabled people in the decisions that shape our built environment.
If your organization is interested in accessibility consulting, professional education, or bringing me in to speak, I welcome you to reach out.
Learn more about Accessibility Consulting & Speaking