Why do I care about accessibility in the first place?

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, but I wanted to share something that’s been on my mind: Why do I care about accessibility in the first place?

A colleague once asked me and other designers, “Who’s your hero?” At the time, I couldn’t answer. I hadn’t really thought about it—not just who inspires me, but what drives me, shapes who I am, and influences the decisions I make. After reflecting on it, I realized it was because I was looking for role models and positive memories. But the truth is, most of my childhood memories are negative. Not that they are bad—those moments just shaped me in ways I didn't realize before, and I now value them for how they've helped me become who I am today.

It became clear to me that my heroes are my immigrant parents. But my heroes are not who they were in Korea, their home country. My heroes are who they became when they came to America.

I watched them face struggles every day—feeling excluded, facing barriers, and always overwhelmed. They came here for a better life, education, and opportunities for us. But the reality was very different. They worked endlessly, with no weekends or holidays off, and barely received permission to take time off when my mom’s parents passed away, only managing to use the two weeks of vacation they had accrued.

The emotional struggles were even harder to witness. They had to ask for favors from people they barely knew, face moments of shame, and feel like burdens. Slowly, I saw their confidence fade, their spirits dimming little by little.

They had to fill out endless forms—mostly online and in English—and it often felt like they were drowning in paperwork. Whether it was applying for unemployment benefits with EDD, renewing their driver’s license at the DMV, our school enrollment forms, or trying to access healthcare services, everything required navigating a maze of forms in English. On top of that, they needed to find someone to translate it all. This language barrier made everything feel even more complicated and overwhelming.

My brother and I? When they asked us for help, we were terrible—acting like we didn’t understand what they were going through. The truth is, we were struggling with language and felt lost ourselves. Nobody had the emotional bandwidth for calm conversations, so we ended up speaking with anger and frustration. Instead of helping, we added to their stress. We were so focused on our problems at school that we drifted away from them.

This is why accessibility matters so much to me. It’s personal. It’s about removing barriers and simplifying things for people going through the same struggles our family faced. It’s about making things easier, forgiving, understanding, welcoming, and more human for everyone—especially those often overlooked.

When I design, I always think of my immigrant parents and family. The struggles with language and navigating systems shape how I approach creating user experiences that are simple, intuitive, and accessible. So, others facing similar challenges have one less thing to worry about.

To everyone supporting the elegantly Accessible newsletter, thank you. We’ve been quiet for a while, taking time to grow and prepare for what’s next. Your support means so much to us as we navigate this journey together.

Here’s to continuing thoughtfully, with purpose, and with heart. ❤️