When the process to get accommodations is difficult and disconnected, students with disabilities cannot reach their full potential.
The number of college students reporting disabilities has risen sharply – up more than 50% over the past decade, according to a recent New York Times analysis.
The response from institutions has been predictable. Some see long-overdue progress. Others question whether accommodations are being overused.
But that debate misses the more urgent issue: For too long, getting support in higher education has been unnecessarily difficult.
A computer science student at Pace University who is on the autism spectrum is graduating this spring with honors after developing market-ready software.
That outcome didn’t happen by accident. With coordinated support from faculty and accessibility services, the student was given the opportunity to demonstrate their knowledge in ways that went beyond traditional classroom expectations.
What is remarkable is not the accommodation itself, but how rare it is for systems to work this well.
Anyone who has ever worked in disability services – or lived with a disability – knows that accessing support is seldom straightforward. It often takes years of advocacy, extensive documentation and significant financial resources. Even then, the process does not always result in services that truly meet an individual’s needs.
Higher education tends to add another layer of complexity – policies can feel opaque, processes can feel clinical, systems can feel disconnected from the lived reality of students. Too often, the focus remains on verifying a diagnosis rather than understanding the person.
For many students with disabilities, the fight for support begins in childhood and follows them into college. K-12 systems, though imperfect, at least offer some continuity. Colleges do not. Students must navigate unfamiliar policies, understand federal protections like the Americans with Disabilities Act and Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act, and advocate for themselves in entirely new environments.
Some persist. Others, exhausted, opt out – not because they lack ability but because the system demands too much.
The recent spike in college students reporting disabilities should not be viewed with suspicion. It should be understood as a sign of greater awareness, reduced stigma and a growing willingness to seek support.
The question is whether higher education is prepared to meet that moment.
Over the past two decades, some institutions have begun to rethink their approaches. Even the shift in language from “disability services” to “student accessibility services” reflects a deeper change – a move away from deficit-based thinking and toward a student-centered model.
At its best, that shift is not cosmetic. It is structural. It means replacing complicated, adversarial processes with systems that are transparent and accessible. It means maintaining academic standards while ensuring that students have a fair opportunity to meet them. It means recognizing disability as a natural part of human diversity, not an exception to be managed.
At Pace University, where we both serve as leaders in student accessibility services, this approach has meant prioritizing clarity, relationships and access. Students are still required to meet academic expectations, documentation is still reviewed, accommodations are still evaluated carefully. But the system is humanistic – designed to support students, not to deter them.
When students believe the process will be clear and fair, they are more likely to seek support early. And early engagement leads to better outcomes – stronger academic performance, higher retention and increased likelihood of graduation.
When accessibility is done well, it changes the learning environment itself. Students develop stronger collaboration skills, classrooms become more inclusive, peers gain a better understanding of different ways of thinking and learning.
In the case of the student at Pace, success was not just individual. It expanded what others could see and value. That is the real promise of accessibility.
None of this requires lowering standards. Students who use accessibility services are admitted on their own academic merit. They are not required to disclose disabilities during admissions, and they are not obligated to use accommodations once enrolled. The process remains student-driven.
When that process is unnecessarily difficult, it sends a clear message – that support is burdensome, conditional or even suspect.
That message shapes who asks for help. It shapes who persists. And it shapes who succeeds.
The rise in students reporting disabilities is not a problem to be solved. It is a reality to be met.
The question is whether institutions will continue to treat accessibility as a matter of compliance or recognize it as a core component of equity.
When they do, the results speak for themselves. And not just for the students who receive support but for the communities they will go on to shape.
