This article is part of a three-part guest series by Access Design Studio developer Callum Gamble. Drawing on his lived experience as an autistic advocate, Callum shares personal stories, practical insights, and the lessons he’s learned on his journey toward self-understanding and acceptance.
My autism diagnosis didn’t change who I was. It just finally gave me the missing pieces to the puzzle of who I’d always been.
Hey everyone, I’m Callum. I’m a developer at Access Design Studio, where my day job is making sure the internet is a welcoming place for people with disabilities and impairments – including those on the autism spectrum. I spend my days tweaking colour contrast, levelling up keyboard navigation, and making sure websites play nice with screen readers. It’s incredibly rewarding to know that the code I write knocks down digital barriers and opens up the web for everyone.
This article kicks off a three-part guest series where I’m opening up about my journey. Drawing from my lived experience as an autistic advocate, I’ll be sharing some personal stories, practical insights, and the lessons I’ve learned about self-understanding and acceptance along the way.
Before we dive into how I became a web accessibility advocate, let me take you back to where it all started.
I was born in Leeds, in the North of England, back in 1997. When I hit age three and still wasn’t talking – and seemed a bit checked out compared to other kids – my parents started to worry. After a bunch of doctor visits and assessments, I finally started piecing words together at age four and was diagnosed with a major communication disorder. Around the same time, my parents noticed a few other quirks. I was a constant fidgeter and would get absolutely hyper-focused on specific things – think streetlamps, caravans (camper trailers), and Formula 1 racing cars.
After a few more years of assessments, the diagnosis that finally made everything click arrived when I was eight: Asperger’s Syndrome, which sits on the autism spectrum.
Looking back, that diagnosis was honestly one of the best turning points of my life. It helped my parents get me the right support at school, gave my teachers a roadmap for how my brain works, and let me show everyone what I could do. Once the right adjustments were in place, my grades soared and my confidence skyrocketed. All it took was making the standard school curriculum accessible to someone who just thinks a little differently.
That momentum carried me all the way through university. I studied Creative Media Technology, specialising in graphic design and web development. The university had a fantastic grasp on autism and accessibility support, and I ended up graduating with a BSc (Hons) First Class degree (US GPA equivalent: 4.0 / A).
But the road wasn’t entirely smooth. Right after graduation, I took a developer role at a company that just didn’t understand autism or the basic adjustments I needed to succeed. It was a rough environment, and I had to walk away after three incredibly stressful weeks. My confidence took a massive hit. But what felt like a major setback at the time became the ultimate launchpad.
I decided to start my own company to lead by example, transforming myself into a web accessibility specialist and advocate. That tough job experience forced me to hit pause and figure out what I really wanted out of life. The answer? I wanted to help other people with disabilities navigate the digital world with ease, while building the confidence to feel accepted for who they are.
That mission eventually brought me to Access Design Studio, where I get to help organisations build better, more inclusive digital experiences every single day.
Stepping into this career also made me look inward and truly examine my own relationship with autism. One of the best things I ever did was sit down and read through my childhood diagnostic report, mapping the criteria directly to my adult behaviour. Instead of just viewing my quirks as obstacles, I used it to understand the literal mechanics of my mind.
The report spelled out my hurdles with social cues, my intense deep-dive interests, my need for clear structure, and the lingering insecurities I had about communication and body language. For the first time, the things that used to leave me feeling confused and isolated made perfect sense.
But then something even better happened: I started recognising my strengths.
I realised that my knack for retaining information, spotting tiny details, finding unusual patterns, and staying fiercely organised and reliable weren’t things I needed to mask or apologise for. They were incredibly valuable assets that had fuelled my success all along.
For years, I tried to tone down these traits just to blend into a neurotypical society. Today? No way. I genuinely love being a different thinker, and I’m so grateful for the unique perspective it gives me.
Receiving and exploring my diagnosis was one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever been handed. It gave me the self-awareness to design a life built entirely around my strengths.
Of course, I still face challenges. We all do. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that success isn’t about forcing yourself to fit into a mold. It’s about understanding who you are and leaning into what makes you unique.
We all deserve an equal playing field where our differences are valued and our individual strengths can shine. That’s exactly where accessibility – both online and out in the physical world – can change the game.
Stay tuned for Part 2, where I’ll be breaking down how I learned to tackle one of the biggest hurdles in my life: dealing with change.
