Hi! I’m Jess Carmichael. Some folks already know me, but some don’t. For those who don’t, I’m the Communications Coordinator at NEW, which also means I create and handle our graphic design, brand, and social media.
I have been a graphic designer for over seventeen (17) years. I am hearing impaired and have a neurodevelopmental learning disability called dyscalculia – I’ve known this about myself for a long time. But it wasn’t until the thirteenth (13th) year of my career that I was diagnosed with autism.
Often, I explain autism as a very lonely experience. Autistic people are not a monolith, but for many of us, it can feel like looking through the window of a store. You can see everything inside. You can see what is for sale and watch other people shopping. But you can’t go into the store yourself. You’re always on the outside looking in, trying twice as hard to make sense of everything.
I can only speak for myself, but being autistic has never felt like a “superpower.” The world often feels like it’s turned up too high. Conversations move quickly and are filled with hints, sarcasm, and unspoken rules that I’m expected to somehow understand without anyone ever explaining them. By the time I figure out what someone meant, the moment has already passed, despite spending endless hours in therapy to try to get better at it.
There is also a constant level of effort that many people never see. The effort to mask. The effort to interpret facial expressions. The effort to remember eye contact, tone of voice, body language, and timing in conversation. Things that come naturally to others can require intense concentration for me, and that level of effort can be exhausting.
It can also be isolating. When you miss social cues or misunderstand a situation, people sometimes assume you are rude, disinterested, or difficult. In reality, you might be trying harder than anyone else in the room just to keep up.
For many years, I didn’t know why things felt so difficult. I only knew that I was constantly working to navigate a world that didn’t seem designed for someone like me. Receiving my diagnosis didn’t make the challenges disappear, but it did give me language and understanding. It helped me realize I was trying so hard to exist in environments that weren’t built with neurodivergent people in mind.
Being autistic is part of who I am, but it has not been easy. It means experiencing the world differently, sometimes beautifully, but often in ways that are overwhelming and misunderstood. And for many of us, the hardest part isn’t being autistic. It’s living in a world that rarely slows down long enough to understand what that actually feels like.
Receiving my diagnosis, though, was actually a blessing. It helped me understand what I need in order to do my best work. I need written instructions, clear expectations, and direct communication. If someone is hinting at something they want me to do, you can bet I am probably going to miss that social cue.
For years, many of my managers, coworkers, and leaders made me feel like I wasn’t capable enough, smart enough, or trying hard enough. I experienced a lot of trauma that left me with very low confidence in myself and my abilities. I remember once applying for a senior graphic designer position, and a colleague said to me, “Are you sure you could even do that? Is this really a good idea?” That sentence still lives with me.
But then one day, something finally changed for me! I came to work at NEW, and it felt like light was finally let into the cracks where years of pain and trauma had been sitting. NEW is the most accessible and accommodating workplace I have ever experienced. For the first time in my career, I feel accepted and appreciated for who I am. And guess what? This environment has helped to cultivate some of my best work yet, because I can finally be “me”. I am finally unlearning that I don’t have to mask who I am.
Looking back, I realize I spent most of my career in workplaces that were, even if I didn’t know it at the time, extremely inaccessible to me. Many workplaces, especially years ago, were not built with neurodivergent people in mind. I tried hard to fit into the workplaces I was in, but I simply didn’t. And I was bullied for it.
Accessibility is woven into everything we do at NEW, even in how we design our materials. Our choices are intentional and connected to our human-centered values.
For example, our colors are selected using accessibility tools that help us ensure strong contrast between text and graphics so they are easier for everyone to read. We also write our materials at a third (3rd) grade reading level, because that is the average reading level in the United States. Clear communication helps make information accessible to more people.
Even our main font, Martin, connects back to our value of Justice, “We believe that repairing harm – to people and planet – requires addressing the root causes of inequity – systems and structures.”
Martin is a sans-serif typeface designed by Tré Seals of Vocal Type in 2016. It was inspired by the “I AM A MAN” protest signs used during the 1968 Memphis sanitation workers’ strike. After nine (9) years in development, the font stands as a tribute to the Civil Rights movement, carrying the spirit of those historic signs into modern design and communication.
I wanted to share this both from my personal experience as a disabled person and from my perspective as someone who works in communications and design.
The way we share information matters. When we take the time to think about accessibility, we create spaces where more people can participate, understand, and feel like they belong.
My hope is that this encourages you to take a closer look at the materials, language, and design choices in your own work. Small changes can open doors for people who may have been standing outside for a long time.
