Additionally, many of my peers, professors, and even some legal professionals have spoken to me as if I were a child, using a slower or more exaggerated tone, as if my physical disability meant I couldn’t comprehend complex legal concepts. Although I had experienced this before, I thought that law school would be different.
Perhaps the most eye-opening moments have been encounters with esteemed attorneys or judges visiting my law school. They hadn’t considered that someone with my disability could not only pursue a law degree but also thrive in such a demanding environment. Assumptions about disability remain deeply rooted.
One of the most significant challenges I’ve encountered has been professors’ lack of understanding about how the accommodations process works. For instance, some professors assume that my accommodations (extra time on exams or flexible attendance) are optional rather than legally mandated. Others may hesitate to ask questions or engage in meaningful dialogue with me about my needs, perhaps out of fear of saying the wrong thing or appearing insensitive. This lack of communication can result in accommodations being applied inconsistently or even forgotten entirely.
At my school, there’s an effort to keep accommodations anonymous to protect students’ privacy. As a result, professors often aren’t given enough information about what accommodations I need or how to implement them. The burden then falls on me to advocate for myself. I’ve had to repeatedly remind professors about my accommodations, explain their importance, and sometimes even correct misconceptions about how they should be implemented. Privacy is important, but it shouldn’t come at the expense of clear communication and effective implementation. The burden shouldn’t fall entirely on students to educate professors or explain accommodations in a high-stakes, fast-paced environment like law school.
Physical accessibility also remains a recurring challenge. Large events, such as career fairs, guest lectures, or networking receptions, are often held in spaces that don’t fully consider the needs of disabled attendees. For example, rooms are often arranged without accessible pathways, podiums and speaker areas are rarely wheelchair-accessible, and disabled attendees are seated off to the side or in segregated areas.
In addition, there are no guidelines about elevator use, such as prioritizing elevator access for disabled individuals. I’ve waited through multiple elevator cycles, making me late to class and adding unnecessary stress to an already rigorous environment. Other times, I’ve had to speak up and ask for space, which can feel burdensome and put me in a position of having to explain my need for priority.
Another challenge is that the classrooms with a few accessible seats are almost always positioned at the front or the back. Being seated at the front can draw attention to my disability, making me feel like a spectacle and singled out rather than included. Being seated at the back of the room also has drawbacks. It can create a sense of disconnection from the class; out of sight, out of mind. Seating should be designed to allow all students, including those with disabilities, to feel integrated in the learning experience.
Further, the social dynamic in law school has also been difficult to navigate. My differences in speech and movement have seemed to make others uncomfortable. I’ve learned to handle this in a few different ways. Sometimes, I’ll crack a joke to break the ice or ease the tension. Other times, I let people know what I need or how they can engage with me.
My experiences have taught me that meaningful integration of disabled individuals requires more than surface-level changes. It demands a shift in culture, infrastructure, and understanding. These challenges have fueled my passion for advocating for systemic change.
How have your multiple identities shaped your experience as a law student?
As a first-generation law student, I quickly realized that many keys to success in law school are nuanced and often unspoken. I knew law school would be competitive, but I wasn’t prepared for how the grading curve would add another layer of complexity to an already rigorous environment. For example, when I was preparing to apply, I struggled with navigating the LSAT process because I didn’t know when to take it, how to study efficiently, or how my score would affect my chances for scholarships. Unlike many of my peers, who seemed to have begun preparing for law school long before I even knew what the LSAT entailed, I was playing catch-up from the start. Accommodations for the LSAT complicated matters, as they required time-consuming processes to secure, further delaying my preparation.
While I was approved for accommodations before I scheduled my first LSAT, I quickly discovered that having accommodations approved was only the first hurdle. I took the LSAT three times, and during each administration, I encountered proctors who were unfamiliar with my approved accommodations. I had to repeatedly explain my accommodations during the exams themselves, which wasted precious testing time and created an alienating and stressful testing environment. For example, I was interrupted by proctors questioning the presence of my approved scribe or telling me I couldn’t speak during the exam—both of which were directly contrary to the accommodations I had been granted.
My physical disability has also shaped my experience in significant ways. Living with cerebral palsy means I have always had to budget my time and energy carefully, allocating my resources based on my physical capacity at any given moment. This skill has served me well in many areas of life, but it posed unique challenges during my first year of law school, especially during finals. While my peers could devote countless hours to practice exams, late-night study sessions, or drafting and redrafting final papers, I had to work within the limitations of my physical endurance. I realized early on that it was impossible for me to physically write fast enough on exams or exhaust myself to the same degree as my peers, even if I shared their drive and dedication. This forced me to reframe my expectations around grades and redefine what success in law school means for me.
Success for me now means navigating this space authentically and unapologetically as a disabled person, even when the system doesn’t fully accommodate my needs. It’s about recognizing the value of my lived experiences and how they shape my perspective on the law. It’s about using my voice and experiences to advocate for systemic change. It’s about proving that disabled individuals belong in this profession rather than conforming to outdated norms but by carving out our own space. Existence is resistance.
You are the Director of Law School Relations for the National Disabled Law Students Association (NDLSA). How and why did you become involved with NDLSA? What does your role entail, and what have you learned in this role that you can bring to your legal career?
I became involved with NDLSA in March 2024 when I began volunteering with the Student Guide Workgroup. Every weekend, I collaborated with disabled law students from across the country to create a comprehensive guidebook designed to support disabled students pursuing law school. These meetings quickly became more than just a project for me—they felt like a think tank for addressing the unique challenges faced by disabled law students. For the first time, I found myself in a community where my experiences weren’t an anomaly, but a shared reality. We brainstormed solutions, shared strategies, and supported one another in ways that highlighted the transformative power of collective advocacy. Through this work, I came to understand the critical importance of NDLSA’s mission to ensure success for disabled law students nationwide through a disability justice lens.
After a few months as a volunteer, I knew I wanted to deepen my involvement with NDLSA. The position of Director of Law School Relations offered a natural next step, allowing me to build on the relationships and skills I had developed. In this role, I work closely with NDLSA’s member organizations, serving as a point of contact between NDLSA and law schools across the country. My responsibilities include communicating information about resources, advocating for accessibility improvements, and supporting member organizations in their efforts to foster inclusive environments for disabled law students. I also help promote NDLSA’s initiatives, such as events, workshops, and resource sharing, ensuring that our mission reaches as many students as possible.
This role has taught me invaluable lessons that I will carry into my legal career. I’ve learned the power of community and collaboration. Building relationships with disabled law students and advocates has shown me how collective efforts can amplify individual voices and create lasting change. I’ve also gained experience in advocacy and communication, both essential skills for a career in law. Whether it’s engaging with law school administrators to address accessibility issues or providing resources to students navigating their legal education, my work has reinforced the importance of persistence, empathy, and strategic thinking.
Have you found camaraderie with other law students with disabilities at your law school? What does that camaraderie look like?
The challenges of law school have a unique way of bringing students together, and this camaraderie has been especially meaningful for me as a disabled law student. During my first year, my cohort bonded quickly as we all faced the steep learning curve of law school together. I was fortunate to be part of a supportive group that shared resources, cheered each other on, and created an atmosphere of mutual encouragement. This shared experience of navigating a new and demanding environment was a unifying force, and it reminded me of the strength that comes from community.
That sense of connection extended to a core group of friends who have become great allies. Law school’s fast-paced social and academic environment can often feel overwhelming, but knowing I have a group of peers who will step in to help or support me at a moment’s notice has been invaluable. Whether it’s offering a listening ear, collaborating on assignments, or sharing a laugh during a tough day, this group has been a cornerstone of my law school experience.
One unique way camaraderie has manifested at my school is through shared advocacy for accessibility. When my law school moved to a new building a couple of years before I was admitted, several accessibility issues became apparent, including a lack of operable accessibility buttons on internal doors. The issue was so pervasive during my first year that it became a frequent conversation starter in the hallways. When one student encountered an impassable door, another would step in to help and often crack a joke about the situation. These everyday moments of shared frustration and mutual support eventually snowballed into collective action. The Student Bar Association took notice, formally raised the issue with administrators, and played a key role in prompting improvements.
My involvement with the Disabled Law Students Association (DLSA) has also been a source of camaraderie and advocacy. I joined as a 1L Representative during my first year and was later elected President. This year, our focus has been on fostering social connections and highlighting the unique challenges of being disabled in law school. By creating spaces where students can share their experiences more openly, we aim to demystify the struggles that often accompany disability and law school. Through casual meetups or structured events, DLSA has provided a sense of belonging and a platform for empowerment.
You have been an advocate for disability rights since childhood and you want to work in disability civil rights law. Can you tell me about a childhood experience that influenced your decision to go to law school and focus on disability civil rights law?
It’s hard to pinpoint just one experience that influenced my decision to go to law school and focus on disability civil rights law, as ableism and discrimination have been consistent realities throughout my life. However, the most formative experiences came from my time in the public education system, where I encountered significant barriers to access.
These experiences planted the seed of a question that would guide me for years: how could I help dismantle these barriers for others? The answer came through my growing awareness of the law as a powerful tool for systemic change. I saw how legal advocacy could amplify the voices of those who had been silenced, challenge entrenched discrimination, and create pathways for equity and inclusion.
What advice would you give to law schools about creating a welcoming, inclusive, and accessible environment for law students with disabilities? To prospective students with disabilities?
Law schools need to start by making accessibility a real priority, not just something they do to check a box. One of the biggest things schools can do is simplify the process for requesting accommodations. Right now, it’s often way more complicated than it needs to be. Students shouldn’t have to jump through endless hoops just to get the support they need—law school is already hard enough.
Law schools need to make the accommodations process easier and less stressful for students. For a lot of law students, this is the first time they’re requesting accommodations, and the current system can feel overwhelming. Schools should have a centralized accessibility office to handle everything in one place, so students don’t have to juggle multiple people or explain their needs over and over. They could also accept prior accommodations plans and stop requiring constant renewals. Using simple online tools to submit and track requests—and automatically inform professors—would make a huge difference. Once accommodations are approved, they should stay in place throughout law school unless something changes. Schools should also make common accommodations, like extra exam time, easier to request without all the extra steps.
On top of that, law schools should prepare students for bar exam accommodations by offering clear guidance on how to navigate that process. Bar prep resources should include a section on requesting accommodations, including deadlines and tips for handling the extensive documentation requirements.
It’s also important to normalize disability and accommodations in the classroom. Professors should talk about accommodations openly, include statements in their syllabi, and make students feel comfortable coming forward. Schools should provide disability awareness training for faculty and staff so they understand how to better support disabled students.
Physical accessibility matters too. Schools should regularly check their buildings to make sure they’re easy for everyone to navigate—things like working elevators, accessible seating, and clear signage aren’t optional. Networking events, social activities, and career fairs should be held in spaces that are easy for everyone to access. Making these changes shows disabled students that they’re valued and included.
Finally, schools should support disability-focused student organizations. Groups like these help disabled students find community and advocate for the changes they need. Law schools can provide funding for events, workshops, and advocacy initiatives, as well as administrative support, such as access to meeting spaces and help with event planning. Representation is key, so disability must be included in all diversity discussions and initiatives. Schools should actively promote these groups, highlight opportunities tailored for disabled students, and connect them with disabled attorneys and mentors to inspire career growth and provide real-world perspectives. Law schools can also partner with these organizations to host events focused on accessibility, educate faculty and staff on inclusion, and ensure administrative leaders are engaging with and addressing the needs of disabled students.
To students with disabilities thinking about law school: don’t let the challenges scare you off. It’s tough, but your presence matters. The more of us there are in law school and the legal profession, the more things will change for the better. The legal field desperately needs people who understand disability issues firsthand, whether it’s fighting for accessibility, influencing policy, or reshaping the way the law approaches equity. The more of us there are in law schools, courtrooms, and boardrooms, the more things will change for the better. It’s not an easy journey, but it’s a necessary one, and there’s a growing community of disabled law students and lawyers here to support you.
If you’ve never had accommodations before, know that there’s nothing wrong with asking for them. They’re there to help level the playing field, not to give you an advantage. Don’t feel ashamed to advocate for what you need. Also, find mentors or student groups who can help you navigate the process. You don’t have to do it alone.
Being disabled gives you a perspective that’s valuable in law school and the legal world. You understand things about equity, advocacy, and resilience that others might not. Own that. It’s your strength, and it’s something that can make a real difference in how you approach your studies and, eventually, your career.
