The hidden accessibility traps undermining your message
We talk a lot about the visible side of digital accessibility — colour contrast, alt text, screen reader compatibility. But some of the biggest barriers in everyday communication are far quieter. They sit inside the words we choose, and they quietly shut people out.
Three of the worst offenders:
- Acronyms.
- Abbreviations.
- Emoji overload.
They turn up in emails, LinkedIn posts, team meetings, Slack messages and text threads. They feel harmless. They're not.
The acronym trap
Acronyms are supposed to save time. Often they do the opposite — confusing screen reader users, wrong-footing new team members, and turning a straightforward sentence into a guessing game.
Take "ADA." Is that the Americans with Disabilities Act, or the American Dental Association? "CMS" — Content Management System, or Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services? "QA" — Quality Assurance, or Question and Answer? Same letters, very different meaning.
It gets harder out loud. Some acronyms sound almost identical, and distinguishing letters like M and N is difficult for anyone in a noisy room — and much harder for people with hearing loss. Without visual cues or context, unexplained letters just land as noise.
Abbreviations: a private language
Reading a modern group chat can feel like decoding a script you were never handed:
"IDK what's up w/ our DEI strat rn, but tbh it's giving 🚩 vibes. TLDR: sus af. SMH."
That's not a parody. IDK, TLDR, BRB, SMH may be second nature to some of us, but they create real obstacles for:
- Screen reader users, who often hear them read out phonetically as nonsense.
- People with cognitive or language processing differences.
- Colleagues whose first language isn't English.
- Anyone who isn't fluent in internet shorthand — which is most of the working world.
There's a professional cost too. "SMH" might be shorthand for "shaking my head" in your head — to the person reading, it can just look dismissive.
Emoji overload
Used sparingly, emojis add warmth and tone. Used by the handful, they become a wall of visual noise — and a genuine barrier for people with low vision, cognitive differences, or anyone trying to scan a post in thirty seconds between meetings.
Consider this — and I've barely made it up:
"🚨🚨🚨 Big Announcement!!! I'm thrilled to join 🔥🔥🔥 Company X as Head of 💡 Innovation and 🌍 Strategy!!! #Grateful 🙏 #LevelUp 🆙 #LetsGo 🚀💪🎯💥💥💥"
A screen reader doesn't just say "emoji." It reads every single one out, by name:
"Collision symbol. Collision symbol. Collision symbol. Fire. Fire. Fire. Light bulb. Earth globe Europe-Africa. Folded hands. Up arrow. Rocket. Flexed biceps. Bullseye. Collision symbol. Collision symbol. Collision symbol."
Most people have checked out well before "flexed biceps." Low-vision users may not be able to make the symbols out at all. Neurodivergent readers may find the sheer density overstimulating. Everyone else just scrolls past.
Small changes that fix most of this
You don't need a rulebook. A handful of habits will lift the clarity of almost anything you send:
- Spell it out the first time. "The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) requires…" — and reintroduce the full term if it hasn't appeared for a few paragraphs.
- Don't let an emoji do a word's job. "I'm excited to start this new role 🚀" is clear. "🚀🚀🚀 NEW JOB!!!" is not.
- Keep emojis to one or two per section. If your post looks like a sticker book, take some out.
- Explain acronyms out loud. In meetings and talks, say the full phrase the first time. Don't assume the room speaks your jargon.
- Do a quick audit before you press send. Would this make sense to someone outside your team? Would a screen reader make sense of it? Is any of it filler?
Habits are hard — clarity is worth it
These shortcuts are deeply baked in. Nobody unlearns them overnight. But every time you slow down and say what you actually mean, more people can hear you — not just disabled colleagues and clients, but everyone you're trying to reach.
Clarity is an inclusion tool. It's also just better writing.
— Hannah