My ADA Story: Accident to Advocacy

Upon acquiring my disability, which includes an incomplete spinal cord injury from a car accident, I had no idea I was entering a world shaped by the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA). The law existed, yes, but its presence didn’t guarantee its practice. I soon discovered that adherence requires not just awareness, but action.

Before the accident, I was working in the entertainment industry and had just been promoted to lead my department at a Fortune 500 media conglomerate. My career was accelerating; however, that day, I was blessed to have lived through my accident.

After months of medical recovery, all I wanted was to return to life, to reintegrate into my community and continue doing what I loved. However, I encountered a world of barriers instead. There were stairs, but no ramps. Interviews, but no access requirements. There were auditions, but no stages with ramps. Doors that said “welcome,” but weren’t wide enough to let me through.

What surprised me most wasn’t the accident itself; it was the barriers that followed it. That was the moment I saw something deeper, and the moment I decided to advocate for myself as well as others. The ADA was the law, yet most people treated it like a suggestion. Or worse, ignored it entirely.

Since those early days, I’ve worked to turn awareness into action, first by organizing through The Paradigm Organization, a non-profit funded by myself to mobilize authentic inclusion in fashion and media, and now by leading a multimedia social enterprise, Shifting Creative Paradigms, where I spotlight accessibility and disability leadership through film, television, and music. Projects like Pasadena Media’s Access For All: Integrating Accessibility, a groundbreaking pop culture TV show that I produced and co-created, are helping redefine what accessibility looks like by showing that it isn’t just about compliance, but also about culture.

The ADA was passed in 1990 to remove barriers—not just physical ones, but social ones too. The kind of barriers that make you feel invisible. Thirty-five years later, it’s clear: a law can be passed, but it still takes action to make access real. Not performative. Not symbolic. Real.

And yet, the ADA reminds us that change is possible. It also offers a vision, opportunity, and momentum to build something even better.

The ADA in Action

The ADA affects almost everything: whether I can get into a venue, finish a degree, or speak on a panel without pain. When it’s working, you almost don’t notice it. But when it's missing? You feel it everywhere.

I didn’t grow up disabled. So when I acquired my disability, I learned quickly how invisible access can be, and how powerful it is when it’s actually there.

Here’s how the ADA shows up in real life for me, and how it’s connected to the different sections covered in the ADA:

Workplaces (Title I)

After my injury, returning to work meant I needed a few things: flexible scheduling, a workstation that fit my body, and time for medical appointments. I wasn’t asking to work less. I was asking to work fairly so that my condition did not worsen.

Schools and Testing (Title II)

In grad school, I received accommodations that made it possible to succeed: extended deadlines, flexible participation, and a quiet room for exams. Without them, the door to higher education might’ve quietly closed behind me.

Venues and Events (Title III)

A seat with a clear line of sight for concerts. A ramp instead of a single step. A restroom I can actually use. These aren’t luxuries—they’re the difference between being welcomed and being left outside.

Communication (Title IV)

Captions on a livestream. An accessible website. A transcript I can read at my own pace. These are small things with a big message: you belong here.

Visibility (Title V)

The ADA doesn’t just give me rights—it gives me room. Room to show up as a Black, disabled woman and not be erased. I use that room to speak, to design, to direct, to tell stories that center people like me. Still, stories like ours are often edited out due to structural and attitudinal barriers. The ADA, especially Titles II and III, helps me advocate for our space in the story by requiring access and inclusion in public life. While it does not mandate authentic storytelling, it gives us the right to be in the rooms where stories are made, and the tools to challenge exclusion when we are not. When people like me get through those doors, we can start to shift both systems and attitudes.

It’s important to reflect not only on how far we’ve come but also on the ongoing barriers we still face. The ADA opened doors, both literally and figuratively, but building a truly welcoming and accessible society requires more than law. It takes visibility, representation, and community. One theme for the ADA is “We Belong Here, and We’re Here to Stay,” which reminds us that our stories are not side notes. They are central to every space we move through. Disability pride is not just about access, but about belonging, dignity, and culture. It’s about being unapologetically present, not only in July, but in every month, conversation, classroom, boardroom, and story.

The ADA is not just a law—it's a call to action. As we honor its legacy and the people it serves, let us also commit to its future by ensuring it is upheld in practice, not just in theory. Change happens when we become the change. Stay engaged. Ask about and amplify disabilities different from your own to stay informed and to create accessible spaces. Keep learning, keep pushing, and keep showing up.