How blind and low-vision users experience websites through screen readers — and why accessible design matters.

I don’t see your website the way you do.

You open a page and your eyes take everything in at once: the logo, the layout, the main heading, the colors. Your brain understands the structure without effort.

I arrive with a voice in my ear.
My screen reader becomes my vision. Sound becomes my navigation. Headings become my map. A keyboard becomes my mouse.

And every time I visit a new site, I’m quietly asking the same question:

“Did whoever built this remember I exist?”

When Headings Disappear for Screen Readers

There’s a ritual I follow every time I land on a new website.

I load a page.
I let the screen reader speak a few lines.
Then I check for headings — my version of a website’s table of contents.

If the headings are done right, I instantly know where to go:
Shop, Pricing, FAQ, Contact, Log In.

But many websites aren’t built with accessibility for blind and low-vision users in mind.

You may see big bold titles like “Features” or “Testimonials,” but if they’re not coded properly as H2 or H3 headings, my screen reader reads them as nothing. Just random text floating in space.

So I start walking the page line by line:

• Marketing paragraphs I don’t need
• Sliders I can’t control yet
• Buttons with no context

It’s like someone handed me a 20-page brochure with all the section titles ripped out. Eventually I might find what I need, but by then I’m exhausted and thinking:

“Does this website really want me here?”

The Menu That Exists Only for Sight

I navigate websites using a keyboard, not a mouse. Tab, Enter, Escape, Arrow Keys — these are my tools.

Recently, I opened a website with a full-screen menu. At least, that’s what my sighted friend told me.

Here’s what it sounded like to me:

Tab, tab, tab.
“Menu, button.”

I hit Enter.
Silence. No change in the screen reader. No new items announced.

I tab again, and suddenly I’m inside the page behind the menu — even though the menu is covering everything visually.

The menu existed for your eyes.
For my ears, it never opened.

A door that works for some, and stays locked for others.

The Sale I Couldn’t Hear

Once, I missed a major sale because it was announced inside an image — without any alt text.

My screen reader didn’t say “50% off weekend sale.”
It said:

“Image: hero_final_3.png.”

That was the sale.

Everyone else saw a promotion.
I heard a meaningless file name.

Then came the icons:

• You see a bell and think notifications
• You see a gear and think settings
• You see a question mark and think help

My screen reader gives me:

“Button. Button. Button.”

Pressing them is like reaching into a mystery box.
You hope for something useful, but you might delete something important instead.

Icons don’t need sight — they need labels.

Walking a Page with No Landmarks

On the web, landmarks are signs for blind users.
Header, main, navigation, footer — these let me jump around instantly.

Without them, the entire page becomes one giant hallway with no doors. I start at the top every time and walk past:

• Logos
• Promos
• Banners
• Extra banners
• More promos

Just to reach what I actually came for.

Worse, sometimes a popup appears visually — asking for consent or offering a discount — but if the screen reader isn’t told it exists, I’ll never know it’s there. I keep trying to talk to the page behind it, stuck in a conversation that can’t move forward.

Designers often think we need accessibility features to “help us.”
In reality, we just need websites to introduce themselves properly.

Forms That Go Silent at the Most Important Moment

Forms are where trust happens — where I pay, sign up, or contact you.

But many websites fail us right when it matters most.

I reach a text field.

“Edit text.”

That’s all I hear.
No label. No name. No clue what the field is for.

You see “Email,” or “Name,” or “Phone Number.”
I guess.

Then I press submit. The page reloads. You see:

Please enter a valid email address.

I hear nothing.
There’s no announcement. No error. Just silence.

So I start searching again, guessing which field was wrong, wishing for a hint, and wondering if I should just give up.

Sometimes I do.

And then business owners wonder why blind users don’t convert.

Being Seen in the Design

I’m not asking you to make a website about accessibility.

I’m asking you to build a website that doesn’t forget people.

When a site is built with accessibility in mind, I feel it instantly:

• Headings are real and ready when I call for them
• Icons and images speak with alt text
• The keyboard can take me anywhere
• Landmarks guide me around the page
• Forms talk to me when something goes wrong

It doesn’t feel like special treatment.
It feels like being expected.

A site that “sees” blind users isn’t visually different.
It’s coded differently.

If you build or design websites, you have the ability to choose whether people like me can use what you create independently.

We may never see your work.

But we will experience every line of it.

With our ears.

— Vision Adventurers

Learn more about our accessibility adventures at Vision Adventurers:
https://www.visionadventurers.com