Living with chronic pain has changed the way I move through the world. Sometimes literally.
I don’t walk very well anymore. Every trip to the grocery store, every doctor’s appointment, every afternoon running errands means quietly evaluating things that many people never have to think about. Where can I park? Is there a curb cut nearby? How far am I going to have to walk? Is there a place to sit if I need to stop for a few minutes?
Accessibility isn’t an abstract concept when you live like this. It’s the difference between something being inconvenient and something being impossible.
The frustrating part is that so much of the world feels like it was designed to technically comply with the rules rather than genuinely welcome the people those rules were meant to help. There might be a wheelchair ramp leading onto the sidewalk, but it isn’t anywhere near the accessible parking spaces. Yes, the building has checked the box. Yes, the requirement has been met. But it still feels like someone asked, “What’s the absolute minimum we have to do?”
You notice those things when you’re the person making that longer trip.
The thing is, I haven’t always applied that same mindset to the things I’ve built.
I’ve been working on a new WordPress theme called Abbeville, named after a small town not far from where I live. In the past, I built themes for one person: me. If I liked the typography, if I liked the layout, if it worked on my computer, that was enough. I never really stopped to think about how someone else might experience it because I never intended anyone else to use it.
This time is different.
For the first time, I’m seriously considering releasing one of my themes publicly. That changes the responsibility that comes with it. Suddenly I’m not designing for myself anymore. I’m designing for people I will probably never meet, people using screen readers, people navigating with a keyboard instead of a mouse, people with low vision, color blindness, cognitive disabilities, or mobility limitations. People who experience the web differently than I do.
There’s a certain irony in realizing this.
Here I am, someone who spends a good portion of his life wishing the physical world were more accessible, and yet I never put much thought into making my own little corner of the digital world more accessible. That realization stings a little. Maybe that makes me a hypocrite. Or maybe it just means I’m still learning. I’d rather think it’s the latter.
Accessibility isn’t a feature you tack on at the end of a project. It’s a way of thinking. It’s asking whether the person on the other side of the screen can use what you’ve created with the same ease that you can. It’s recognizing that “works for me” isn’t the same thing as “works for everyone.”
I don’t know if Abbeville will ever become a popular theme. It may never be downloaded by more than a handful of people. But if I do release it, I want to know I made an honest effort. I want someone who relies on assistive technology to feel like they were considered from the beginning instead of accommodated as an afterthought.
I’ve spent enough time navigating a world that often settles for “good enough.”
I don’t want my work to do the same.