Applying for College as a Wheelchair User

Like many high school seniors, I spent the last year preparing for my future, which, for me, meant going through the college application process. “Process” is an understatement to describe this enormous task: For months I researched schools and filled out applications until I was breathless, only to be rewarded with waiting and wondering what the verdict would be. Many of my friends were going through this process too, but because I use a wheelchair, I learned how having a disability can complicate applying to college.

As I progressed into my senior year, I felt a little envious of my peers who didn’t have to consider the existence of ramps or buttons on doors or the strength of a college’s disability services office in making their decisions. In fact, when I told stories of my college visits to my peers, very few even knew what a disability resource center was. Surprisingly, getting to know such offices was even more important to me than seeing a campus, as working with them would be one of the main ways I would facilitate my inclusion at school.

Making four-year decisions based on ramps, not sororities, and on pragmatic considerations rather than purely on chance, was frustrating, to say the least. I vividly remember a conversation with the DRC at one of my top schools, where it was revealed that part of the “admitted student program” (the very mechanism the school relies on to convince students to attend) was being held in an inaccessible location. Pro tip for enrollment managers and other higher education professionals: That’s right. No The way to convince someone with a disability to pay tuition. Plus, that school only had one accessible dorm and a poor transportation system for disabled people, so it was clear I wouldn’t be enrolling, even though I had managed to get in.

Explaining to people without disabilities that inaccessibility deprives us of opportunity is difficult. My attempts were often met with blank stares or a well-meaning but unhelpful “that sucks” from my classmates and other friends. Finding information about the experiences of students with disabilities (or spaces to connect with a given university’s disability community) was also difficult. At many schools, the administration left the visibility of the disability experience up to students. This made finding information a matter of luck and often made me feel like I was missing out. Alternating between valid anger and pep talks, I turned to my community to remind me that, especially in 2024, inaccessibility is a choice and that I deserved to choose a school that chose me and was able and willing to support me.

Thankfully, I live in the age of the internet, where another type of accessibility (informational) is always within my reach. And, though I never thought I would do this, I am rooting for Reddit. I tried my best to maintain boundaries with this website known for being a cesspool of negativity. But I was lucky enough to find something beautiful in this online space: students with disabilities who Shared stories They told me how their institutions managed access and inclusion, so I could learn from them. I never commented (because, again, there are limits), but I loved the chance to stay connected and supported by former disabled students by reading their words of affirmation or shame about their universities.

Now, as I finish the process, I hold on to the hope I find in being able to choose my own future. I want to thank the disability community that supported me, both metaphorically and literally. I want to thank the disabled pioneers who fought for their own right to have an education, because I probably wouldn’t be here writing this article without their groundbreaking advocacy. We’ve gone from being denied access to education in the decades before I was born, to me now writing every “How will you contribute to University X?” essay about how I will help create a greater disabled community on campus.

It’s only because we’ve come so far that I had the privilege of feeling upset about having to fill out another application. Reading the stories of the “Rolling Quads” — the disabled students who pioneered the first American student-run disability services office — reminded me that I was part of a legacy and that my voice and perspectives matter.

Finally, my final thank you to the disabled community is for the lesson I learned in this process: adaptation is necessary and even beneficial when we all do it together. I know that college will likely bring new challenges, and I feel not only prepared to face them, but I welcome them. As a disabled person, I am always adapting to make room in the world. Now, with the support of my community, I can’t wait to see how I create the college world of my dreams.

New Mobility’s college guide, Wheels on Campus, offers an in-depth look at accessibility and inclusion in higher education. We surveyed hundreds of colleges and interviewed more than 80 wheelchair-using students and disability services leaders to identify 20 colleges and universities that are creating wheelchair-friendly campuses and cultures.