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Sharyn Morrow, CPACC Posts

Published 2026/11/13

Hearing in Mono: A Temporary Disability and a Permanent Reminder

For the past week and a half, I’ve been hearing the world in mono. Not by choice. It started with a sudden, spectacular stabbing pain in my left ear one night. By the next morning, I’d lost most of the hearing on that side. I hadn’t been sick. Nor had I been swimming. I’d never even had an ear infection before. I’m more of a sinus infection sort of person. Two visits to general practitioners, two different antibiotics, and a great deal of pain later, I finally got in to see an ENT specialist. She took one look inside my ear and said, “Oh no, you poor thing.”

Turns out I had a raging fungal infection. She proceeded to suction an appalling amount of crud out of my ear, a delightful procedure I subsequently learned is called an “aural toilet.” When I shared that terminology with friends, we agreed that Aural Toilet would be an excellent name for a punk band. I’m picturing their debut album, Discharge.

Once the excavation was complete, she packed my ear with an antifungal antibiotic concoction. At today’s follow-up, we added another fun discovery: a tiny perforation in my eardrum. So that’s where things stand. The pain has improved dramatically, my hearing has started to return, and I’m hopeful that both the infection and the perforation will resolve without lasting damage. In the meantime, my ear is once again packed full of pudding (ointment), everything sounds muffled, and there’s a persistent buzzing and ringing providing an unsolicited soundtrack. I’m getting a firsthand education in hearing loss that I hadn’t planned on.

Another disability for the collection

I already have a respectable collection of non-apparent disabilities. I’m autistic, have severe ADHD, chronic migraines, and occipital neuralgia. None of these is necessarily obvious to someone looking at me. They affect how I experience and navigate the world, but most people wouldn’t know about them unless I told them. Now I’ve added hearing loss to the pile. Hopefully temporarily.

And this one has been notable because of how abruptly it changed my ability to do things I normally take for granted. I work in accessibility. I spend a substantial part of my workday listening to screen readers, participating in video meetings, talking with clients, and working with blind and low-vision testers. Suddenly, all of that became more difficult. In video calls, I was struggling to follow conversations. I couldn’t reliably tell where sounds were coming from. Wearing a headset could be uncomfortable, and the sound quality changed depending on what was happening inside my ear.

Even ordinary entertainment required reconsideration. I’m a huge Godzilla fan, but I’ve held off on seeing Godzilla Minus Zero in the theater until this ear situation is sorted out. Would I be able to follow the dialogue? Would the volume be uncomfortable? And really, if I’m going to watch Godzilla stomp around I’d prefer to experience the destruction in stereo. I’ve been watching television with captions for years, but suddenly they became considerably more important. None of this was catastrophic. But it has been disruptive, exhausting, and occasionally isolating. And it happened overnight.

Disability isn’t a fixed category of people

One of the things I wish more people understood about accessibility is that disability isn’t some rare condition affecting a small, separate group of people. Disability is part of the human condition. Some disabilities are permanent. Many are temporary. Others are episodic or fluctuate over time. And some limitations are situational. Consider captions. A Deaf person may rely on them every day. Someone with temporary hearing loss, like myself, may suddenly need them. Someone watching a video on a noisy train or trying not to wake a sleeping child may benefit from them too. The experiences aren’t equivalent, but the accessibility feature may be exactly the same. Or consider keyboard accessibility. It’s essential for many people with permanent mobility disabilities, but it also helps someone recovering from a broken wrist.

Cognitive accessibility is particularly relevant to my autistic and ADHD brain, but clear instructions, predictable navigation, and manageable amounts of information also help people who are exhausted, distracted, or under stress. Plain language and clear organization can also make an enormous difference for someone reading in a language that isn’t their first. They may be perfectly capable of understanding complex ideas while still having to work harder to decipher unfamiliar vocabulary, idioms, or unnecessarily complicated instructions. Accessibility addresses a much wider range of human experiences than we often acknowledge.

A rather timely lesson in usability

As it happens, today is World Usability Day, which seems like particularly appropriate timing for this little adventure. We tend to talk about usability in terms of whether something is easy or intuitive to use. But easy for whom? Under what circumstances? With which abilities? An experience that works beautifully for someone one day may be frustrating or completely inaccessible to that same person the next. I’m currently a walking (and somewhat hard-of-hearing) reminder that the people using our products aren’t static, and neither are their abilities.

And while usability and accessibility aren’t interchangeable, they’re closely connected. Something can technically meet accessibility standards and still be frustrating or unnecessarily difficult to use. Likewise, something that seems wonderfully usable to one group of people may present insurmountable barriers to another. That’s why we need to consider a wide range of people, abilities, and circumstances when designing and evaluating experiences.

When the accessibility professional encounters the barriers

I’ve worked in digital accessibility for more than a decade. I understand the standards. I know how assistive technologies work. I can explain why captions, transcripts, accessible communication, and flexible interaction methods matter. Knowing all of that doesn’t make an accessibility barrier any less frustrating when I’m the one encountering it. There’s a difference between understanding a barrier professionally and having it unexpectedly interfere with your own day.

Of course, difficulty processing spoken information isn’t entirely new to me. I’ve always struggled to follow conversations when people talk over one another or there’s competing background noise. The clinician who diagnosed my neurodivergence also suspected I have an auditory processing disorder. So clear speech, captions, and written information were already important to me. Now, with hearing loss added to the mix, processing spoken information requires even more effort.

And my existing disabilities haven’t taken a vacation while this is happening. The ADHD is still ADHDing. My brain still processes information the way it does. Trying to compensate for hearing loss while managing pain, discomfort, and fatigue doesn’t exactly improve my cognitive bandwidth. Disabilities don’t politely take turns.

Accessibility shouldn’t depend on whether someone can prove they need it

We spend far too much time treating accessibility as a special accommodation for a narrowly defined group of people. Why should someone have to disclose a disability to get captions or explain why they need written instructions? Justify using a keyboard instead of a mouse? These options should be available from the jump.

Accessible design doesn’t eliminate every barrier, and it doesn’t replace individualized accommodations. But it reduces the number of situations in which someone has to ask for help just to participate. It also acknowledges something fundamental: people’s abilities and circumstances change. Sometimes gradually, over years. Sometimes temporarily, after an injury or illness. Sometimes overnight, because a fungus decides to set up housekeeping in your ear.

The point isn’t that everyone is disabled

There’s a popular accessibility argument that everyone experiences disability at some point, so accessibility benefits everyone. There’s truth in that, but it can also flatten important differences. My temporary hearing loss isn’t the same as someone’s lifelong experience of deafness. Situational limitations don’t necessarily carry the same barriers, discrimination, or consequences experienced by people with permanent disabilities. And accessibility doesn’t need to benefit absolutely everyone to be worth doing. Disabled people deserve equitable access because they’re people. Full stop.

The broader benefits of accessible design are an additional argument, not the justification for disabled people’s inclusion. What temporary and situational limitations demonstrate is how fragile our assumptions about ability really are. We design so many experiences around an imaginary person who can always see, hear, move, concentrate, remember, and process information in exactly the way we expect. That person doesn’t exist. Real people have bodies and brains. They get sick or injured. They age. Their abilities fluctuate or their environments change. And some of us have several of these things going on at once.

Back to hearing in stereo, hopefully

I miss my left ear. More precisely, I miss being able to hear properly out of it. I lost most of my hearing on that side practically overnight, and while some of it has started to return, things are still decidedly muffled, especially with my ear packed full of medication. And then there’s the persistent buzzing and ringing. Apparently, my left ear has decided that if it can’t reliably deliver sounds from the outside world, it’ll just generate its own soundtrack. Unfortunately, I don’t particularly care for the playlist.

Not that hearing has ever been entirely straightforward for me. Following conversations has always required extra effort, especially when people talk over one another or there’s background noise. But I’d really like to get back to my usual level of auditory processing difficulty rather than this enhanced edition.

I also miss not having to think about my ear every few minutes. And I would really like to stop having medical professionals put things in it or suck things out of it. With luck, the infection will clear, the tiny perforation will heal, the unsolicited soundtrack will stop, and this particular disability will become a strange little footnote in my medical history. But I’m not going to forget how quickly my circumstances changed.

I didn’t become a different person when I lost hearing in one ear. I already had disabilities and accessibility needs, even if they weren’t apparent to the people around me. What changed was the addition of another barrier, one that made things I already found challenging considerably more difficult. My need to participate in meetings, communicate with colleagues, enjoy entertainment, and go about my life didn’t change. My ability to do those things comfortably and effectively did.

That’s the thing about accessibility. It isn’t about designing for some hypothetical other person, or assuming that anyone’s abilities are fixed. It’s about designing for actual human beings, whose bodies, brains, abilities, and circumstances are wonderfully and sometimes spectacularly unpredictable. And occasionally full of fungus.

Specialized chair in the ENT office
Audiogram testing equipment
Sign that says please silence your phone
Medical illustration of the human ear
Soundproofed audiogram room with multiple monitors and headsets
Soundproofed audiogram room with multiple monitors and headsets and a chair with my sweater on it
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Published 2026/10/29

Years of Advocacy, and I Still Missed It

I’ve been an advocate for neurodivergent people for years, myself included. But especially for my autistic son. Countless psychological evaluations, IEP meetings, phone calls, emails to teachers and principals, and years spent advocating for the accommodations and support he needed.

But my son is an adult now. And sometimes, even after all these years, I find myself needing to relearn old lessons. We love hosting seasonal gatherings at our home, especially for Halloween and the winter solstice. And every time, I ask my son to help get the house ready for guests. It’s the same tasks every time. And every time, he looks at me blankly, waiting for me to tell him what to do next. So I give him one task, he completes it, and then waits for the next. I’ll admit, I’ve found this frustrating. These are things we’ve done together for years. Why doesn’t he just know what needs to be done by now? And then it finally occurred to me. Why haven’t I just made a checklist?

A simple, reusable list of everything that needs to happen before we have guests. Something he can reference independently instead of relying on me to direct every step. I asked him what he thought of the idea. His response? “I’ve been wanting that for years.” He’d never told me. And I’d never thought to ask.

Here I am, an autistic adult with ADHD, someone who has spent years advocating for accommodations and accessibility, and I’d overlooked something so simple in my own home. I know firsthand how helpful external structure can be. I know that executive functioning challenges don’t magically disappear just because a task is familiar. And I know that needing explicit instructions isn’t the same as being unwilling or unable to do something. Yet I’d fallen into the trap of assuming that because we’d done these tasks together so many times, he should just know what to do.

I’d been interpreting his need for direction as a lack of initiative. He’d been waiting for the structure that would allow him to take that initiative. And neither of us had communicated what we needed. The checklist benefits both of us. He gets clear expectations and the independence to work through tasks at his own pace. I no longer have to carry the mental load of remembering every task and directing each step while juggling everything else involved in hosting a party. It’s such a small adjustment, but it changes the experience for both of us.

This is something I think about often in my professional accessibility work, too. We sometimes assume that because a process seems straightforward to us, it should be equally straightforward to everyone else. When someone struggles, we may focus on what they’re not doing rather than examining whether we’ve given them the tools and information they need to succeed. Accessibility isn’t always about complicated technology or sweeping changes. Sometimes it’s about recognizing an unnecessary barrier and finding a practical way to remove it. And advocating for someone doesn’t mean we always know what they need. Even when we’ve known them their entire life. Even when we share some of the same neurodivergent experiences. We still need to ask. And we need to make room for answers we might not expect.

Sometimes the most meaningful accommodation is also the simplest. We just have to recognize the need for it.

A young bearded man at a pumpkin carving party scooping out pumpkin guts into a bowl
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Published 2026/07/28

Disability Pride Month 2026: Progress, Pride, and the Work Ahead

Every July, Disability Pride Month gives me an opportunity to reflect on how far we’ve come and how much work remains. This year feels a little different.

Professionally, I’ve spent this year leading accessibility projects, mentoring new accessibility professionals, and working directly with organizations that genuinely want to build better digital experiences. Every customer who asks thoughtful questions, every developer willing to learn, and every intern who grows into a more confident tester reminds me that accessibility is ultimately about people.

Personally, disability has never been just something I advocate for. It’s something I live every day. I’m AuDHD (autistic with ADHD) and live with chronic pain. I’m also the parent of a disabled adult son who continues to navigate a job market that wasn’t built with disability in mind.

Why Accessibility Matters

Those experiences shape how I approach accessibility. Standards like the ADA and WCAG matter because they create accountability. However, compliance has never been the finish line.

The real goal is making sure people with disabilities can fully participate in every aspect of life, including education, employment, healthcare, shopping, government services, and community.

As someone who spends every day helping organizations build more accessible products, I’m reminded that our work isn’t simply about removing barriers. It’s about creating opportunities for disabled people to learn, work, create, connect, and lead.

Progress Isn’t Guaranteed

Thirty-six years after the Americans with Disabilities Act became law, we’ve made meaningful progress. At the same time, recent developments remind us that progress requires continued attention and advocacy.

This year, the compliance deadlines for the ADA Title II digital accessibility rule were extended by one year. The Department of Health and Human Services also delayed the Section 504 web and mobile accessibility compliance deadlines for organizations it regulates.

While these decisions give organizations more time to prepare, they don’t change the reality that millions of people with disabilities need accessible digital experiences today. Accessibility shouldn’t be driven solely by a compliance calendar. It’s about ensuring equal access every day.

Disability-Led Innovation

Fortunately, there are countless examples of disabled people leading innovation and creating positive change.

One story that particularly inspired me was Small Talk ASL, an interactive American Sign Language learning app created by former Disney animator Josh Staub in collaboration with Deaf creators. Even more inspiring was their commitment to keep the app free forever because communication should never depend on someone’s ability to pay.

I was equally moved by chef Lay Alston’s story in The New York Times. After a spinal cord injury changed her life, she returned to her first love: bringing people together around a meal. Rather than seeing disability as the end of her career, she reimagined what hospitality could look like and continues building community around food.

These aren’t stories about “overcoming” disability. They’re stories about disabled people shaping the world through their expertise, creativity, lived experience, and leadership.

Looking Ahead

Disability Pride Month isn’t just about celebrating disability. It’s about recognizing the contributions disabled people make every day in our workplaces, schools, communities, and culture. Accessibility isn’t the end goal. Participation is.

When we build accessible products, services, and experiences, we create opportunities for disabled people to learn, work, create, connect, and lead. That’s how we move beyond compliance and build a world where disability is recognized as a source of expertise, innovation, and strength. I’m proud to do this work, and even prouder to be part of the disability community.

Happy Disability Pride Month, and happy 36th anniversary to the ADA. Let’s keep listening to disabled voices, learning from disabled creators, and building a world where everyone belongs.

A young autistic man wearing a KN95 mask posing for a photo with their AuDHD parent who is also wearing a mask.
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Published 2026/04/20

I’m Speaking at Minnebar 20

I’ll be speaking at Minnebar again this year and I hope you’ll join me.

My session is called “When Disability Is Misread: Safety in High-Stress Systems.”

If you have a disability or care about someone who does, this session is for you.

Register for Minnebar

Minnebar is free, community-driven, and one of the best events in the Twin Cities.

If you’re planning to attend, register to get tickets. After you register, please select my session so I know you’re planning to attend.

Why this session

Accessibility is often framed as usability or compliance. In some situations, it is about safety.

People communicate and respond differently under stress. What may look like noncompliance can be a disability-related response. When systems misread that, situations can escalate quickly.

What we’ll cover

This will be a discussion, not a lecture. We’ll talk about:

  • How disability is misinterpreted in high-stress environments
  • Why those misreads happen
  • What can change in design and communication
  • Practical ways to reduce harm

Join the conversation

Minnebar works because people show up and participate. If this topic resonates with you, register, select the session, and come be part of it.

Minnebar 20
Saturday, May 2, 2026
Best Buy HQ, Minneapolis

I’d love to see you there.

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Published 2026/02/26

Before, During, and After

Accessibility Does Not Stop at the Screen

I have spent more than thirty years working in the digital space. For the last eleven years, I have focused specifically on accessibility. Before that, I worked across nearly every part of the software development lifecycle, from design and development to testing, remediation, and delivery.

Today, I help organizations reduce risk, strengthen governance, and build systems that account for disability and the full spectrum of human variability.

I think about WCAG. I think about keyboard access. I think about cognitive load, predictable navigation, and plain language. I focus on reducing user frustration. Most importantly, I think about how small design decisions either create dignity or cause barriers.

Over time, that mindset has shaped how I evaluate every system I encounter. When systems assume speed, precision, and uniform behavior, they exclude people. When systems account for variability, they reduce harm.

But accessibility does not stop at the screen.

Some systems carry consequences far greater than a broken checkout flow or an inaccessible PDF. Law enforcement is one of them. And too often, that system operates without accounting for how disabled people process, communicate, regulate, and respond under stress.

And for disabled people, that system often operates without accounting for how we process, communicate, regulate, and respond under stress.

When Misinterpretation Becomes Harm

In digital accessibility, we frequently identify mismatches between user needs and system expectations. When a system demands rapid processing speed, perfect recall, direct eye contact, or immediate compliance, disabled users are penalized.

Similarly, law enforcement interactions often rely on narrow assumptions about “normal” behavior. Officers may expect quick answers, steady tone, direct gaze, and immediate response. Yet many disabled people process language more slowly. Many of us avoid eye contact when overwhelmed. Some of us shut down under stress. Others require additional time before responding.

When authority misinterprets those behaviors as defiance or suspicion, situations escalate.

Unlike a website defect, the consequences are not inconvenience. They can include restraint, arrest, injury, or worse.

From a governance perspective, this represents unmanaged risk. From a human perspective, it represents preventable harm.

Why This Feels Personal

For me, this issue is not abstract.

As an AuDHDer, I understand what stress does to processing speed. I know how quickly my nervous system can overload. I have experienced how easily people misread my communication style in low stakes environments. I know what it feels like to search for words while someone expects an immediate response. I know how shutdown can look like refusal to someone who does not understand what is happening internally.

I am also the parent of an autistic adult. That perspective sharpens everything.

When I think about law enforcement interactions, I do not only think about governance frameworks or compliance obligations. I think about my child and his friends navigating a world that often interprets difference as defiance. I think about how sensory overload, delayed processing, flat affect, or literal interpretation could be misread in a moment that demands instant compliance. I think about how quickly a misunderstanding could escalate simply because someone in authority does not recognize disability.

Aliya Rahman’s story brought those fears into sharp focus.

Aliya is a Bangladeshi American software engineer and disability rights advocate who is autistic and has a traumatic brain injury. After federal agents forcibly removed her from her vehicle during an immigration enforcement operation in Minneapolis, she testified publicly about the experience. She described repeatedly informing agents that she was disabled and needed medical care. According to her account, those disclosures did not change how she was treated. She later lost consciousness while in custody and was released without charges.

She later testified before Congress about what happened. In her public testimony, which is available on YouTube, she spoke clearly and directly about the encounter. She described the physical force used against her, the dismissal of her disability, and the lasting impact of the incident. She did not present herself as a statistic. She spoke as a disabled person whose rights and safety were compromised in real time.

Subsequently, Capitol Police arrested her at the State of the Union after she stood silently in the gallery.

Watching her testimony and then seeing that arrest forced me to confront how quickly disability can intersect with power, politics, and enforcement. Standing silently. Processing differently. Responding slowly. These are not crimes. Yet in high stakes environments, they can trigger consequences when systems prioritize control over accommodation.

Her story transformed the issue from policy into proximity. It reminded me that when systems ignore disability, they do not merely inconvenience people. They expose them to physical danger. They dismiss explicit disclosures. They escalate instead of de-escalate.

As both a disabled person and the parent of a disabled adult, I cannot treat that reality as theoretical. It informs how I prepare. It shapes how I advocate. It reinforces why accessibility must extend beyond software and into every system that shapes authority, accountability, and safety.

The Weight of Helplessness

At the same time, watching federal agents use force against marginalized people can leave many of us feeling helpless.

We see large scale enforcement actions unfold. We see power exercised unevenly. We understand how small individual voices can feel in comparison to institutional machinery.

I feel that weight too.

Nevertheless, my work in accessibility has taught me that risk mitigation does not require perfection. Instead, it requires layered safeguards, documentation, and intentional design.

Preparation is not surrender. Preparation is strategy.

Before: Reduce Ambiguity

In digital accessibility, we design proactively. We do not wait for users to encounter barriers before we act.

Applying that same mindset, preparation for law enforcement interactions can include:

  • Learning your legal rights and practicing how to assert them clearly
  • Carrying a disability information card that explains communication needs
  • Identifying emergency contacts and legal resources in advance
  • Role playing scenarios to reduce cognitive load under stress

Admittedly, these steps do not eliminate systemic inequity. But they reduce ambiguity in moments where ambiguity escalates risk. They provide language ready for use. They give supporters a plan instead of panic.

In high stress moments, clarity reduces risk. Clear language under stress protects you. Predefined contacts reduce decision fatigue. A prepared script lowers cognitive load. This is defensive design for real life.

During: Make Accommodation Explicit

When stress rises, executive functioning drops. This physiological response affects everyone, and it can affect neurodivergent people and people with brain injuries more intensely.

If it feels safe to do so, state clearly, “I have a disability and I need you to speak slowly.” Ask for one instruction at a time. Request repetition or written clarification. Repeat instructions back to confirm understanding.

These are reasonable accommodations. Clarity changes outcomes.

Furthermore, clear and direct statements protect legal boundaries. Ask, “Am I free to leave?” Say, “I want a lawyer.” Short sentences carry power.

From a governance standpoint, explicit requests also create documentation. Documentation supports accountability.

After: Document and Recover

Following any high stress interaction, documentation matters.

Record names, badge numbers, timelines, witness information, and medical impacts. Note the exact language used when requesting accommodation. Preserve any supporting evidence.

Just as we rely on audit findings to drive remediation in digital systems, evidence strengthens accountability in physical systems.

Equally important, recovery matters.

Trauma responses are physiological. Shaking, shutdown, confusion, emotional flooding. These reactions signal a nervous system under threat. Therefore, build in care. Seek support. Allow time to regulate.

Accessibility includes psychological safety.

For My Community

Many of you reading this design systems, influence governance, and shape institutional practice.

Consequently, law enforcement interactions are also design questions:

  • What behaviors does the system define as compliant?
  • Whose communication styles does it privilege?
  • Who receives patience?
  • Who receives force?

We must advocate for disability informed training, stronger oversight, and meaningful accountability. At the same time, we can prepare ourselves and our communities.

Holding systemic advocacy and individual preparedness together is not contradictory. It is responsible.

Accessibility Is About Safety

Ultimately, I often describe accessibility as a way to reduce user frustration. That work matters deeply.

Yet accessibility also protects safety and dignity in physical systems.

As a parent of an autistic adult, I can’t treat this issue as theoretical. I think about how my child moves through the world. I think about how quickly difference can be misinterpreted. I think about how a stressful interaction could escalate if authority fails to recognize disability.

Preparation will not dismantle injustice on its own. It will not eliminate power imbalances. However, it can increase clarity. It can strengthen networks. It can replace panic with planning.

I will continue to push for stronger governance and meaningful accountability. Simultaneously, I will prepare the people I love. I will share tools. I will teach clear language. I will document when systems fail.

If we believe accessibility is about dignity, then we must extend that belief beyond the browser.

Accessibility does not stop at the screen. It reaches into every system that shapes how we live, move, and remain safe.

U.S. Capitol Police arrested Aliyah Rahman after she stood and refused to sit down during President Donald Trump's State of the Union address. Rahman was Rep. Ilhan Omar's guest at the event Tuesday. (Photo by Frank Thorp V for NBC News)
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Published 2026/01/27

A Measure of Humanity

What’s Happening?

Operation Metro Surge is an ongoing initiative conducted by the United States Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), purportedly aimed at apprehending and deporting immigrants. Initially, federal agents targeted Minneapolis (where I live) and Saint Paul (where I grew up and raised my son for his first 12 years) then expanded to all of Minnesota. Tragically, federal agents killed two civilians, United States citizens Renée Good and Alex Pretti, during this operation. ICE continues to stop, harass, and detain people regardless of their citizenship status.

Federal immigration enforcement has disrupted daily life in Minnesota: schools have closed or switched to virtual learning, and people fear leaving their homes or going to work. Community members in Minnesota are actively organizing and responding to these challenges.

On Friday, January 23rd, over 1,000 Minnesota-based businesses closed in protest, and tens of thousands of people gathered in sub-zero weather to march against the operation. Likewise, the governor and attorney general of Minnesota have publicly challenged the operation, asserting that its primary purpose appears to be retribution instead of immigration enforcement.

The Atlantic has a good piece about the Minnesotan pushback against ICE. The Stand With Minnesota website is a comprehensive collection of resources to support Minnesotan community members who need assistance. And today the Minneapolis Foundation announced the activation of a new, responsive fund to focus on meeting the urgent needs of small businesses in our community right now.

The Accessibility Connection

This blog focuses on accessibility and disability. In the next three sections, I’ll explain how ICE operations connect to those topics.

  1. The case of disabled son Wael and his caregiver father, Maher Tarabishi 
  2. What Deaf and Hard of Hearing People Need to Know About ICE
  3. Federal agents have been deploying chemical agents that can be disabling situationally, temporarily, and possibly in the long-term


The tragic case of Wael and Maher Tarabishi 

I’m highlighting the case of a family in Texas, but this is happening all over the United States as Trump revives family separations as a retaliatory tactic to punish.

ICE detains Texas father as son’s health declines: ‘Don’t forget about me’
A 62-year-old father named Maher Tarabishi visited the ICE field office in Dallas, Texas, on 28 October as he has done each year for 17 years. Tarabishi, originally from Jordan, is in the US on a supervision order. Even though his asylum claim was denied, the US government allowed him to remain in the country because he is the primary caretaker for his son, Wael, who was diagnosed at four years old with a progressive muscle disorder called Pompe disease.

The Guardian

Maher Tarabishi remains in ICE detention at the Bluebonnet Detention Center in Anson, Texas. Meanwhile, his son Wael, a U.S. citizen, passed away last Friday, January 23rd at the age of 30. As Wael’s health worsened, the Tarabishi family petitioned for Maher’s release so he could resume caring for his son. When that request failed, they asked that Maher at least be allowed to say goodbye. However, authorities denied both requests. Now, the family is pleading for Maher’s release so he can attend Wael’s funeral, although they have little faith that ICE will grant this final request.

If you can, please consider donating to help support the Tarabishi family as they are facing unexpected and overwhelming financial expenses, including emergency medical costs, legal fees, lost income, and basic living needs.

A side-by-side image showing Wael Tarabishi with his father, Maher, at two points in time: on the left, Wael as a young child sitting with his father outdoors; on the right, Wael as an adult seated in a wheelchair next to his father, both dressed formally and indoors.

What Deaf and Hard of Hearing People Need to Know About ICE

I came across an instagram reel full of helpful information, asking the question “What if ICE gives you a command, but you’re deaf?”

David: 50,000 of us just marched in Minneapolis to say that what ICE is doing here is not okay, but less than 24 hours later, they shot and killed Alex Pretti in our neighborhood.

Bri: We’re deaf and we’re concerned because ICE relies on verbal compliance, which many of us can’t hear or give.

The law says deaf people are entitled to effective communication when dealing with law enforcement, but based on what we’ve seen the last few weeks here in Minneapolis, ICE doesn’t always respect people’s rights (an understatement, tbh), and that has impacted deaf people, especially deaf people of color.

Screenshots of news articles appear on-screen with the headlines: “Deaf Mongolian immigrant held by ICE in California for 4 months with no access to interpreter,” “Deaf Utah man files federal civil rights lawsuit after encounter with ICE agents outside SLCC,” and “Deaf, mute and terrified: ICE arrests DACA recipient and ships him to Texas.”

David: And most recently, here in Minnesota, a Black deaf man—Ike Murinagi—was wrongfully sent to a detention facility in El Paso. It’s important to stay aware of what’s happening around us and to share information with each other. We’ve included several resources in the caption to help answer questions like the one above, but our list seems small. If you know of more resources in ASL, let us know, we’ll continue to update this post.

From the signsofgoodfood account on instagram

Useful Resources


Federal agents are heavily deploying chemical irritants. What are the health consequences?

The morning of Jan. 24, after agents killed 37-year-old Alex Pretti in south Minneapolis, agents and State Patrol officers deployed thick clouds of several types of tear gas on the crowd surrounding the scene. Residents found empty canisters afterward listing ingredients including capsaicin, the active component that gives chili peppers their heat.

Gift link for the Star Tribune article: Munitions experts say ingredients can vary and can be considered proprietary

Crowd-control munitions

Tear gas and pepper spray are among a range of substances known as less-lethal crowd control agents. Chemical irritants can injure any part of the body, including eyes, skin, lungs, and mucus membranes.

Green smoke, not considered an irritant Potent oleoresin capsicum derived pepper spray Older gas no longer used in the U.S. Newer, most common variation of tear gas Hexachloro-ethane is very toxic, corrosive and carcinogenic, dull gray in color. Mark Boswell, The Minnesota Star Tribune

If you or someone you know develops health concerns or questions after exposure to gases, there are two reporting resources you can use, in addition to consulting your healthcare provider. See the following:

As you document potential exposure, focus on the key terms “adverse reactions” to “unknown chemical agents.” Authorities might request a blood sample for the Minnesota Department of Health lab to analyze. Currently, researchers have limited data on how these chemical agents affect health when deployed this way. So I want people to know how they can contribute to science and help characterize the physical health harms ICE is causing in our community, including documenting adverse reactions to unknown chemical agents.

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Published 2025/11/13

My Time to Fly*

The Early Years

When I first became a parent, I couldn’t imagine what my child’s adulthood would look like. Even more so as he became a toddler then pre-schooler then kindergartner who was largely non-verbal. I worried about his support needs and what his future might hold. Thankfully, he blossomed at a small charter school Kindergarten through 4th Grade. And now talks my ear off, mostly about his areas of interests. And I do the same since we are both autistic.

Young Adulthood

High school wasn’t without its hiccups. But in his senior year he became Homecoming King. When I was growing up, it would have been unlikely for an autistic student to achieve such a level of popularity. This milestone was exciting for both of us. He still has his crown. And when he started college, he found his friend group in an amazing anime club. He’s got a great social life.

The Era of Underemployment

Unfortunately, work has been more difficult. He started his first job in January 2020. He loved it! But he was laid off just a few months later due to the COVID pandemic. I told him not to worry about working and to focus on college. However, after college graduation, it took nearly six months of applications and interviews to be hired into a service industry job.

His place of employment isn’t far from home for someone who drives, but my son has a history of petit mal seizures. He has a driver’s permit but no license. I intentionally purchased our home near a major bus line. But it takes at least an hour of public transportation each way, which is difficult during Minnesotan winters. He’s been employed there for a year and a half but just barely. They’ve been cutting more of his shifts since Spring. He’s been looking for a service industry job closer to home but receives no response to most applications. If he does receive a response, it’s a rejection. It has been discouraging. He has work experience under his belt along with food handling certification. I would suspect bias against him due to his autism, but he’s being ghosted or rejected before any interactions have occurred.

An Arbitrary Age

Pre-COVID, I’d hoped my son would find full-time employment, with benefits, after he graduated from college. That has not been the case. Then the inevitable happened. He aged out of my insurance in September. That age is currently 26. If I wanted, I could add a romantic partner to my employer-based health insurance but I’m not allowed to keep my most important family member, my son, on my coverage. Instead I’ve spent the last several months attempting to help him get enrolled in Medical Assistance. But we have encountered barrier after barrier.

Functional and Accessibility Errors

  • I attempted to create his account on MNsure.com but received a vague and unhelpful error message of “Online Service Problems“
  • My therapist recommended a health insurance broker who could help us navigate this nonsense so I made an appointment.
    • We encountered the error message because my son does not have a credit score. And that’s how the system validates a person’s identity. Yay, capitalism.
    • Someone at MNSure had to manually create my son’s account.
    • Our helper submitted all the documents that were requested of us. We thought.
      • Weeks later, we found out the request for account creation was denied for not having the proper signature. The broker apologized. She saw that the top of the policy states, “an image of a handwritten signature transmitted electronically, such as by fax, secure email or text message.” But missed that later in the policy it states “the consumer uses a pen to write, ‘I, (consumer’s full name), understand that I am signing MNsure’s Account Request Form to create an online account.’ The consumer then includes a handwritten signature below the statement and writes the date.”
    • We resubmitted with the full statement.
    • Several more weeks later, success! The MNsure account was created.
  • We then logged into the MNSure account to apply for Medical Assistance (this is how it’s set up in Minnesota). Only to encounter another error message:
There is one error in this form: The Social Security number you entered is not valid. Please check your number and try again.

On Hold

My son has been uninsured since the end of September. I am anxious to resolve this situation. This morning we spent two hours on hold and a handful of minutes actually speaking with someone. Only to learn this latest error was because I’d entered the dashes in my son’s Social Security Number. Which is the usual format. But the form had been built without a required format or help text or a helpful error message. I’ve been a web developer for decades and an accessibility professional for the last 10+ years. I’m annoyed that I didn’t figure this out on my own but it is a clear accessibility failure. Particularly WCAG 3.3.1 Error Identification and WCAG 3.3.2 Labels or Instructions. The site needs to:

  • Provide necessary instructions that are as specific as possible with the errors so that users can take necessary action.
  • Provide instructions with the form fields that require specific data or a specific format.

If I am experiencing this much difficulty navigating the application process, I can only imagine how much more challenging it may be for individuals with greater support needs, those who speak English as a second language, caregivers, individuals working multiple jobs, or those with any combination of these circumstances. It’s 2025! It’s not that difficult to build or rebuild / remediate these components to be more usable.

Are We There Yet?

We have gotten much closer to our goal. I am thankful he has no pre-existing medical conditions or prescriptions, other than an epi-pen for a bee sting allergy. But I won’t fully relax until we receive confirmation my kid is enrolled in Medical Assistance with all of his selections chosen. I hope we won’t encounter any additional barriers on that journey. Wish us luck!

* The title of this post comes from a piece of hold music by Harriet Goldberg that we heard over and over again this morning. I shazamed it and it turns out there is an interesting story behind the song.

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Published 2025/09/09

Inaugural AuDHD Day, September 9th

What is AuDHD?

AuDHD is a term used by people who are both autistic and have ADHD.
It’s not yet a formal diagnosis in medical systems, but many people recognise the crossover in their lived experience. They might be diagnosed separately with autism and ADHD, or just feel that both neurotypes describe their reality. The term gives language to something that otherwise gets missed, mislabelled, or misunderstood. Because being both autistic and ADHD often means living with a complex, beautiful mix of traits that don’t always fit existing boxes.

While ADHD and autism are distinct conditions, they commonly co-occur. It’s believed that 50-70% of autistic people also have ADHD.

It was only in 2019 that the International Classification of Diseases (ICD-11) recognised that a person could have both ADHD and autism.

— From AuDHD.com

AuDHD Day Combined ADHD & Autism Awareness

My personal path

I have a formal diagnosis of Autism Level 1 with Severe ADHD. I received my diagnosis at the age of 50. That makes me one of the many folks now identifying with AuDHD, thanks to increased awareness, improved diagnostic methods, and broadened definition of the conditions.

Twice exceptional (exceptional ability + disability)

Early on, I was identified as having unique needs. But I was identified as a gifted child rather than an autistic one, or one with ADHD. I received no supports — other than being taken on cool field trips once in a while. Some classmates, almost always boys, were frequently reprimanded for their short attention spans and frequent outbursts. In grade school, one kid flipped over his desk over more than once. That behavior alarmed me and I associated it with my limited understanding of ADHD at the time.

I internalized my emotions and neurodivergent traits and became highly anxious. Teachers scolded me for daydreaming, but I usually had the correct response when called upon. I could come up with answers intuitively, without showing my work. And would have to reverse engineer to illustrate how one would reach a certain solution, even when the solutions themselves came to me effortlessly. Later the dreaded phrase “high potential, underachiever” would appear on my report cards. Without taking into account any other support needs I might have, or what was going on at home.

Why has there been an increase in diagnosis of adults?

People go undiagnosed for all manner of reasons. The stereotype of autism as a male condition (the diagnosis was 4x more common in males than females) is one factor. Teachers might notice the boy who constantly walks the playground perimeter while the rest play football, but overlook the girl who copies everything about a school friend in an effort to fit in. Such masking occurs in all genders and is damaging in itself.

—The Guardian


Before 2013, when the DSM-5 was released, ADHD and autism were officially mutually exclusive. If you had one, you could not be diagnosed with the other. Since then there have been:

The Zebra Analogy

I’ve had people question my decision to pursue a diagnosis. Asking “why bother? You’ve made it this far in life.”

“Why do you need a label?” Because there is comfort in knowing that you are a normal zebra, not a strange horse. Because you can’t find a community of other zebras, can’t learn what makes a zebra thrive, what brings [you] a zebra joy, if you don’t know you are a zebra and you are learning solely from horses. It is near impossible to be happy and mentally healthy if you’re spending all your life thinking you’re a failed horse, having others tell you you are a failed horse, when all along you could be thriving and understood if everyone, including you, just knew you were a zebra.

— ADHD UK’s Zebra Analogy

Diagnosis (formal or self-diagnosis) is a framework for self-compassion, advocacy, and empowerment. Don’t let others delegitimize your concerns.

Life with AuDHD

I lived too much of my life without understanding what made me different. Raising my now-adult son, who is autistic, helped me find my way. But it’s only been the last 10+ years that I really started getting to the bottom of it. Before that, I was a solo parent with three jobs and very little bandwidth for much else. I was frequently overwhelmed and exhausted. Pursuing a formal diagnosis is a privilege I do not take lightly. But there are so many resources available now; self-diagnosis is valid. If you’re spending a lot of time reading about autism or ADHD, or joining us over at Neurodivergent TikTok or instagram, etc. wondering if you are one of us, you most likely are. I doubt neurotypical people spend much time wondering if they are neurodivergent or not. But what do I know, I am neurodivergent!

I appreciate the studiesshowthings instagram account. It’s a married couple with one neurotypical partner and one AuDHD partner. Their reel today was particularly relevant to me:

People who are autistic and ADHD (50% of people with ADHD are also autistic) – the AuDHD brain wakes up in a fist fight every day because the ADHD brain craves novelty. And the autistic brain craves consistency. The autistic neurotype wants things to be predictable and certain. The ADHD neurotype wants things to be novel and interesting at all times. You can see how this can create a problem. A thousand things a day trigger the fight or flight response. It’s easy for the AuDHD neurotype to feel overwhelmed.

— studiesshowthings

Avoiding Overhwelm

The beginning of the pandemic was life-changing for me. I mourned those whose lives were lost or negatively impacted, but I found lockdown to be a reprieve. I have been a full-time tech worker since I was 18 years old and didn’t realize how burned out I was. And everything changed. Working from home full-time has been miraculous for my neurotype. I learned three critical things:

  • Understanding my neurotype / self-knowledge
    • Identifying needs and triggers
    • Knowing my strengths and challenges
  • Clear communication
    • Using direct, clear language
    • Preparing for important conversations in advance
    • Saying no
  • Energy management
    • Take breaks
    • Have self-compassion
    • Foster a support network
      • A trusted therapist
      • Friends and family who are also neurodivergent
      • Neurodivergent slack and social media communities

These things have helped me advocate for myself and set healthy boundaries to prevent overwhelm.

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Published 2025/07/23

Disability Pride Month 2025

Despite the grim state of things in the US, it is still Disability Pride Month. And I have multiple non-apparent disabilities: Endometriosis, migraines, occipital neuralgia, misophonia, autism + ADHD (sometimes shortened to AuDHD). One aspect that is less commonly discussed is proprioception.

Proprioception

My understanding of proprioception began when my son was diagnosed with autism. It is one of many factors that motivated me to pursue an autism assessment for myself. Proprioception, often referred to as the body’s “sixth sense,” is awareness of one’s body position and movement in space. It encompasses sensations such as muscle contraction and stretching, as well as deep pressure or squeezing.

My son tends to be under-responsive to proprioceptive stimuli, while I experience hypersensitivity:
“Individuals who are oversensitive to proprioception may have difficulty comprehending where their body is relative to other objects.”

After I went to the gym last night, I fumbled my giant container of protein shake powder and spilled it all over the floor. This morning I knocked my coffee mug over. I often find my phone and other objects slipping from my hands. This clumsiness can be a nuisance. But I’ve also dropped vital prescription medication while trying to take it and even fumbled entire bottles of prescription meds.

Other aspects of hypersensitivity can be more difficult

  1. Increased pain perception. While some autistic people may exhibit a higher tolerance for certain types of pain, many experience heightened pain sensitivity and may feel pain more intensely than others. This can manifest as a lower pain threshold or a prolonged experience of pain, even from stimuli that might others might find tolerable.
  2. Heightened tactile sensitivity. Autistic people may experience heightened sensitivity to touch, pressure, and movement. This can lead to increased awareness of physical contact and, in some cases, discomfort or pain from specific textures of clothing or being jostled in crowds. Crowds are particularly tough for me due to my height (barely five feet tall).
  3. Increased sensitivity to certain sounds. Sounds might seem louder to an autistic person, which might make them react to sounds more strongly. This is where my misophonia comes into play, personally.

Working with my neurologist, a physical therapist, and a personal trainer have helped manage these sensitivities to some extent but not everyone has access to these resources. Family members, friends, coworkers, and classmates have teased me about my clumsiness. I encourage others to consider the impact before commenting on someone else’s clumsiness or sensitivities.

A black and white mug sitting on a table with a black and white fabric tablecloth. A large amount of the coffee in the mug has been spilled onto the tablecloth.
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Published 2025/05/11

Choose Your Own Adventure

In the Twin Cities, we are fortunate to have a wonderful organization called Minnestar:

Minnestar exists to build, nurture and engage those interested in technology through meaningful connection. Our goal is to promote connections that help our community learn from each other, build their businesses, and start new entrepreneurial ventures. We aim to foster a thriving and connected tech community for all in Minnesota.

— Minnestar’s About Us page

They put on the annual Minnebar unconference. I have been attending since the early days. Earlier in my career, I had issues with self-confidence and imposter syndrome. I never imagined I could be a presenter at Minnebar. It took decades of working in tech with years of running training sessions, teaching web development at the college level, and years of therapy. Then I realized I could, in fact, successfully present a session at Minnebar. I actually submitted my presentation idea while I was attending another event, the CSUN Assistive Technology Conference. The full title of my talk is a mouthful. Choose Your Own Adventure: Pros and Cons of a Formal Autism / ADHD Diagnosis vs Self-Diagnosis. Growing up, I was a huge fan of the Choose Your Own Adventure books.

The stories are formatted so that, after a few pages of reading, the protagonist faces two or three options, each of which leads to further pages and further options, and so on until they arrive at one of the many story endings.

Wikipedia

I submitted my talk idea before the United States Secretary of Health and Human Services, RFK Jr., ramped up his misinformation campaign about autism and suggested creating a national registry to track those of us with ASD. What he and the Trump administration are doing is dangerous and wrong. I modified my talk somewhat in light of these developments. I delivered this talk in person on May 3rd, 2025 and went over these very real choose your own adventure options, walking through the Pros and Cons of:

  • A formal diagnosis through health insurance
  • A formal diagnosis through a private provider (out of pocket)
  • Self-diagnosis via vetted, trustworthy resources

While balancing the privacy implications of each with their potential benefits. I didn’t record my talk but I am sharing the slides. Last year I was invited to deliver a variation of this talk to another company’s Neurodivergent Employee Resource Group. I would be happy to speak to this or related topics at other organizations. Feel free to reach out to me at info@sharynmorrow.com.

Speaker Sharyn Morrow standing behind a tall podium while presenting to a full room of attendees.
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