Creating a Forever Home: Why Accessibility is Essential for Everyone

Why Accessibility Isn't About Disability

Imagine you're designing your forever home. The place where you'll celebrate birthdays, host holidays, raise children, welcome grandchildren, and hopefully grow old.

You picture carrying your spouse across the threshold. You imagine family dinners, Christmas mornings, backyard barbecues, and decades of memories.

Now imagine breaking your leg, or needing surgery, or caring for an aging parent, or helping your spouse navigate a mobility challenge you never saw coming.

Would your home still work for you? Most people never ask that question.

And that's exactly the problem.

When most people hear the word accessibility, they think about wheelchair ramps, handicap parking spaces, or larger bathroom stalls.

To be completely honest, that's what I thought too.

Before our daughter Bowie was born, I had no personal experience with accessibility needs. I considered myself an empathetic person, but accessibility simply wasn't something I spent much time thinking about.

What I didn't realize then was that accessibility isn't a niche issue. It's a life issue.

Like many people, I assumed accessibility existed for a small percentage of the population. What I understand now is that accessibility touches far more people than most of us realize, and chances are, at some point in your life, you will be part of that community too.

Maybe through your own experience.

Maybe through someone you love.

Maybe through aging, injury, caregiving, surgery, or simply living long enough to experience the reality that our bodies change.

Our daughter Bowie changed my understanding of all of this.

As our family began navigating cerebral palsy, cortical visual impairment, therapies, equipment, travel, and everyday life, I started noticing things I had never paid attention to before.

When we arrived somewhere new, I wasn't looking at the décor anymore. I was wondering whether Bowie could get through the doorway comfortably. Whether there was enough room to maneuver her equipment. Whether there were unexpected floor transitions, stairs, tight hallways, or sensory challenges that would turn a simple outing into a logistical puzzle.

I started seeing spaces differently. Not because I wanted to, because I had to.

One of the biggest lessons I've learned is that there is a massive difference between something being accessible on paper and accessible in real life.

Over the years, we have stayed in vacation rentals that were listed as accessible only to discover significant barriers once we arrived.

On one particularly important trip to Boston, we arrived at a condo that had a massive staircase at the center of the unit. The bedrooms were located on different levels, making the space unusable for our family. We ultimately had to be relocated to another property. Technically, someone may have considered that space accessible.

In practice, it wasn't.

We've encountered inaccessible showers, challenging bathroom layouts, cramped restaurants, narrow pathways, and countless situations where family and friends' homes required us to physically lift Bowie in or out of her wheelchair simply to participate.

These aren't dramatic stories. They're everyday stories.

And that's exactly the point.

Accessibility challenges are often hidden in the details.

At some point, those challenges became so common that we purchased a Sprinter van simply to have the privacy, space, and flexibility necessary to enjoy a day out comfortably as a family.

Most people never think about those things, until they have to.

But I don't want this conversation to focus only on what doesn't work.

Because we've also experienced places that got it right.

One of our favorite family vacations was a week at Disneyland and Disney California Adventure while staying at Pixar Place Hotel.

For the first time in a long time, it felt like someone had actually thought through the experience.

Our room featured wide hallways, a roll-in shower, lower bed heights, and a lowered dining area. Disneyland offered accommodations that helped us manage sensory needs, and many attractions provided roll-on access.

Nothing about those features felt excessive.

Nothing about them felt institutional.

They simply removed barriers.

And because those barriers were removed, our family was able to focus on what everyone else was focusing on: Making memories.

That's when it really clicked for me.

Accessibility isn't about lowering quality.

It's not about sacrificing beauty.

It's not about creating spaces that feel clinical or sterile.

It's about removing unnecessary obstacles so people can participate more fully in life.

And the more I thought about it, the more I realized accessibility isn't really about disability at all.

It's about humanity.

Think about your dream home again.

The one where you see yourself growing old.

The one where you plan to host decades worth of holidays.

The one where your kids come back to visit someday.

The one where life is supposed to happen.

Now ask yourself a simple question. Do you expect your body will always function exactly as it does today? Most of us know the answer is no.

Life changes.

Maybe you need surgery. Maybe you break a leg.

Maybe your spouse needs a walker.

Maybe your parents need additional support.

Maybe your child has needs you never anticipated.

Maybe your grandmother arrives for Thanksgiving in a wheelchair and suddenly can't get through the front door or use the bathroom comfortably.

None of those situations are unusual. They're life.

So why do we continue building homes around the assumption that none of those things will ever happen?

Why do we treat accessibility as a specialty feature instead of intelligent planning?

Many of the things that make a home more accessible are surprisingly simple.

A slightly wider doorway. Hallways that allow someone to move comfortably through the home. A bedroom and full bathroom on the main floor if the home has multiple levels.

These decisions rarely make a home feel clinical. In fact, most people would probably describe them as more functional, more open, and even more luxurious.

The difference is that when they're incorporated from the beginning, they're relatively easy. When they're added later, they can become incredibly expensive, or impossible.

Accessibility isn't about catering to a small percentage of people.

It's about bettering humanity and preparing for real life.

If I were speaking to a couple building their forever home today, I would ask them if they plan to grow old there. The answer is almost always yes.

Then I would ask them to think about the promises they've made to each other. To be there through life's twists and turns. Through sickness and health. Through the unexpected.

Because none of us know what the future holds.

Maybe your story unfolds exactly as planned.

Maybe it doesn't.

But statistically speaking, you, someone you love, or someone who visits your home will likely experience mobility challenges at some point.

So why wouldn't you build thoughtfully the first time?

Why wouldn't you create a home that can adapt with your life instead of forcing your life to adapt to it?

You may never need those features.

But if you do, you'll never regret having them.

Because accessibility isn't about catering to a small percentage of people.

It's about bettering humanity and preparing for real life.

Accessibility isn't about disability.

It's about life.

Colë Alexander

Founder, OONAH