My Accessibility Journey (Part 1): When Accessibility Felt Bigger Than I Was
Author: Gabrielle Likavec, Teaching & Learning Consultant, Office of Curriculum & Instructional Support.
When I began teaching in higher education, I was fortunate to start at a community college that took accessibility seriously.
Accessibility wasn't treated as an optional enhancement or a specialized concern. It was simply part of how we approached teaching and learning. Faculty talked about accessible documents. Captioned videos were expected. Student support services were visible and integrated into the fabric of the institution. There was a shared understanding that students arrived with different backgrounds, needs, experiences, and goals, and that our responsibility as educators was to create learning environments that anticipated those differences rather than accommodating them after the fact.
At the time, I appreciated that commitment, but if I am being honest, I do not think I fully understood it. Like many new instructors, I was focused on surviving my first semester. I was learning how to design assignments, facilitate discussions, grade efficiently, and balance teaching with the other demands of academic life. Accessibility felt important, but it also felt like one more thing I needed to learn in a profession that already seemed to require mastery of hundreds of things at once.
What I understood then was that accessibility mattered. What I did not yet understand was why accessibility often felt so overwhelming, even though I believed deeply in its importance.
Most educators I know care deeply about their students and want to create inclusive, supportive learning experiences. The challenge is rarely a lack of commitment. More often, it is the feeling that accessibility represents an impossibly large task.
I suspect part of the challenge is that accessibility often comes to our attention through a list of dos and don’ts. We learn about heading structures, alternative text, color contrast, captions, transcripts, accessible PDFs, screen readers, Blackboard Ally scores, federal regulations, and institutional policies. Each item is important. Yet taken together, they can create the impression that accessibility is primarily a technical problem to solve.
For a long time, that was how I thought about it. Accessibility felt like a collection of standards I needed to master before I could confidently say I was doing it well. The more I learned, the more aware I became of how much I did not know.
As strange as it sounds, learning more about accessibility initially made me feel less, not more, capable.
Working with faculty over the years has helped me realize that I was not alone in that feeling. I have sat with instructors who genuinely wanted to improve the accessibility of their courses but felt paralyzed by where to begin. Some worried that years of accumulated course materials would need to be rebuilt from scratch. Others assumed accessibility required specialized technical expertise they did not possess. Still others quietly wondered whether they had enough time to do any of it well.
I recognized those concerns because I had experienced them myself. The irony, of course, is that the very people who care most about their students are often the people who feel most overwhelmed by accessibility expectations.
The most important lesson I have learned on my accessibility journey has very little to do with technology. It is this: Accessibility is not a destination.
For years, I treated accessibility as though it were a finish line. I imagined there would eventually be a point where every document was perfect, every video was captioned, every piece of content met every standard, and every potential barrier had been eliminated.
The problem with that mindset is that it makes accessibility feel perpetually out of reach. There is always another document. Another course. Another revision. Another opportunity for improvement.
Eventually, I realized that accessibility is much more like teaching itself. Good teaching is never finished. We revise, reflect, adapt, and improve over time. Accessibility works the same way.
It is not about perfection...It is about progress.
What I know now that I wish I knew then
I wish I had known that progress counts
When I first encountered conversations about digital accessibility, I often felt caught between doing everything and doing nothing. The scope of accessibility seemed so large that it was difficult to know where to begin. If I couldn't immediately make every document, presentation, video, and course site fully accessible, it was easy to feel as though any effort would be insufficient. Looking back, I wish I had understood that accessibility is built through incremental progress. Every accessible document, every captioned video, every thoughtfully structured Blackboard page reduces barriers for students. Those small improvements matter. In fact, they are how meaningful change happens. Accessibility is not a project that is ever fully completed; it is an ongoing practice of making our learning environment more inclusive, one decision at a time.
I wish I had known that most accessibility improvements help more students than I realized
Early in my career, I tended to think about accessibility primarily in terms of accommodation for students with disabilities. While that remains an essential part of the conversation, I have come to realize that accessible design benefits a much broader range of learners. Captions help students who are studying in noisy environments, reviewing material in quiet spaces, or learning English as an additional language. Well-organized documents with clear headings help busy students quickly locate information. Consistent course navigation reduces frustration and cognitive load for everyone. The more I learned about accessibility, the more I realized that many of the practices intended to remove barriers for some students ultimately create a better learning experience for all students. Accessibility and good teaching are often far more closely connected than I once understood.
I wish I had known that I didn't have to learn everything alone
One of the misconceptions I carried for a long time was that becoming more accessible meant becoming an expert. I assumed I needed to understand every guideline, every tool, and every potential challenge before I could confidently improve my own materials or support others. Over time, I learned that accessibility is a shared responsibility and that none of us are expected to navigate it alone. Throughout my career, I have learned from instructional designers, disability services professionals, librarians, colleagues, technology specialists, and accessibility advocates who generously shared their expertise. More importantly, I have learned that asking questions is not a sign of inadequacy; it is an essential part of the process. Accessibility work is strengthened through collaboration, and some of the most meaningful progress happens when we learn alongside one another rather than trying to figure everything out ourselves.
Looking ahead
When I think back to my first years teaching in higher ed, I realize that the institution was teaching me something larger than accessibility standards. It taught me to think differently about students. Not as a group of learners who would all encounter my materials in the same way, but as individuals who would engage with those materials from different circumstances, through different technologies, with different strengths, needs, and experiences. That lesson has stayed with me throughout my career, even as my understanding of accessibility has continued to evolve.
Today, accessibility still feels important. It still feels complex at times. But it no longer feels bigger than I am. Instead, it feels like what it has always been: an ongoing commitment to removing barriers, one decision at a time.
And that is a journey worth taking.