Should you tell your boss about your disability?

It weighs heavily, the decision as to whether to reveal a hidden part of yourself that could fundamentally alter how others see you. It’s a choice that sits somewhere between vulnerability and strategy, between authenticity and self-preservation. But for the millions of workers living with invisible disabilities, it is less a philosophical musing than a daily reality.

The numbers tell a stark story. Research shows that 61% of disabled employees have experienced some form of workplace discrimination, yet less than 4% of companies report that employees have disclosed a mental or physical disability [1]. Meanwhile, 92% of businesses claim they encourage self-identification, and 95% say they have confidential processes for disclosure [2]. The gulf between intention and reality couldn’t be wider.

The authenticity paradox

Dr Ludmila Praslova, who has navigated disclosure decisions for over 25 years as an autistic woman initially misdiagnosed with depression, says it’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation. When she does reveal her health needs, “most people are considerate, but some have laughed in my face, dismissed the information, or even used it against me” [3].

This captures the central paradox. In an era where authenticity is supposedly prized above all else, with LinkedIn posts about vulnerability going viral and companies trumpetting their commitment to “bringing your whole self to work” every chance they get, the reality for those with disabilities remains fraught with risk. It’s as if we’ve created a world that celebrates difference in theory while remaining stubbornly suspicious of it in practice.

It’s not simply about whether to reveal who you are. It’s about the fact that authenticity itself has become a strategic choice with financial consequences. For many, being genuine has become an unaffordable luxury.

The cost of invisibility

Writing in HBR, Dr Paslova shares the story of Ali, whose experience illustrates the precarious nature of workplace disclosure. Working at an international consulting company, he initially found support when he confided in his department head about his long Covid symptoms — extreme fatigue and dizziness that interfered with travel. Accommodations were made, assigning him to remote consulting and research projects. But when a new department head arrived, colleagues began complaining about Ali being a “flake,” and he was met with suspicion of faking his illness. The additional stress caused his health to deteriorate, ultimately forcing his resignation [4].

This slow erosion of trust and understanding can occur when organisational memory shifts and former allies move on. It highlights one of the most insidious aspects of workplace discrimination: its chameleon-like ability to adapt and persist. While hostile ableism manifests in obvious ways such as rude treatment and bullying, benevolent ableism operates under the guise of protection. A boss might withhold information about leadership development opportunities “for the employee’s own good,” assuming they’ll face resentment if promoted. The result is the same: limited opportunities and stunted careers.

The economics of disclosure

For those weighing disclosure, the financial reality is sobering. Between 110 million and 190 million people worldwide experience disabilities, yet their unemployment rates remain historically higher than those without disabilities [5]. The World Health Organisation estimates that depression and anxiety alone cost the global economy $1 trillion annually due to productivity loss [6].

Paula Morgan, writing about disclosure strategies in Forbes, notes the uncomfortable reality that “some employers worry that people with disabilities will be less productive and more costly, even though the fact of the matter is that these workers are a dedicated, motivated pool of untapped talent” [7]. It’s a perception problem that persists despite evidence to the contrary; companies that actively hire people with disabilities see 14% higher retention rates and 33% lower interview-to-hire ratios [8].

The economic argument for inclusion is compelling, yet it often feels like shouting statistics into a hurricane of prejudice.

Timing and strategy

The timing of disclosure carries its own complexities. Caroline Casey, writing about the power of measurement in disability inclusion, emphasises that “what’s measured is managed” [9]. Yet measuring something and managing it compassionately are entirely different skills. The corporate world excels at the former while often struggling with the latter.

Rob Oliver, a Pennsylvania professional who uses a power wheelchair, conducted his own informal experiment, sometimes applying for roles without identifying as disabled. His findings were telling: “I found that I received a much better response from a resume that did not list disability-related items than from one that showed I have a disability” [10]. He received three times as many interview responses using the non-disability resume.

Oliver’s approach reflects a pragmatic understanding of bias. “My personal reason for not disclosing my disability is that I am a much better advocate for myself in person than my resume can be for me remotely,” he says. It’s a strategy born of necessity rather than choice, and of the recognition that first impressions often calcify into lasting judgements.

The network effect

One of the most innovative approaches to managing disclosure risk is what Dr Praslova calls creating a “network of disclosure”. In essence, this means sharing information with multiple people rather than relying on a single champion. As Ali’s story demonstrates, having limited support can backfire spectacularly when that person leaves or circumstances change.

The network approach recognises a fundamental truth about organisational life: people move, priorities shift, and institutional memory can be frustratingly short. By involving managers, HR representatives, accessibility officers and trusted colleagues, employees create multiple touchpoints for support and accountability.

This strategy also acknowledges the psychology of commitment. Research shows that people who make commitments known to others are more likely to honour them [11]. When accommodations are discussed across multiple stakeholders, any single party finds it harder to renege on their promises.

The tech revolution

The rise of HR technology is beginning to address some of the structural barriers to disclosure. Hannah Olson, diagnosed with chronic Lyme disease at 20, created Disclo after experiencing workplace discrimination that forced her to leave a job. Her platform acts as a third-party verifier, authenticating disabilities and required accommodations without employees having to disclose medical details directly to employers [12].

It’s a simple solution to a complex problem, removing the personal awkwardness and potential for bias from what should be a straightforward administrative process. By automating verification and streamlining accommodation requests, technology can strip away some of the emotional landmines that make disclosure so fraught.

The generational shift

Perhaps the most promising development is generational change. Writing in Forbes, Christine Michel Carter notes that “Gen Z is demanding more from their employers regarding delivering what they say” [13]. This generation has grown up with greater awareness of mental health issues and neurodiversity, potentially creating workplaces where disclosure feels less risky.

The numbers support this optimism. Depression and anxiety have been added to the Voluntary Self-Identification of Disability Form, reflecting growing recognition that mental health conditions are legitimate disabilities deserving of accommodation [14]. In the US, while only 19% of adults are diagnosed with anxiety disorders, the actual numbers experiencing symptoms are likely much higher, suggesting a vast population of potential allies in normalising these conversations. [15]

The human element

Amid all the statistics and strategies, it’s worth remembering that disclosure is fundamentally about human connection. Cameron Emily Craddock Howe, a Virginia working mother with ADHD and dyslexia, believes her disability doesn’t define her, so she has no issue marking yes on the Voluntary Self-Identification of Disability Form. “It helps immediately establish a trusting relationship with a potential employer,” she says. “Being upfront about my disability helps ensure I get what I need to be successful in my job. It’s a win-win for me and the employer” [16].

Her confidence is admirable. But it also highlights the inequality inherent in these decisions. Some people, by virtue of their circumstances, disability type, or personal resources, can afford to be bold in ways others cannot.

Janice Gassam Asare, founder of BWG Business Solutions, a consultancy that provides guidance and education for workplaces looking to foster more equitable environments, frames the decision around a crucial question: “Has your condition impacted your ability to do your job or do you expect it to impact your ability to do your job?” [17]. If the answer is yes, disclosure becomes less about choice and more about necessity. In Ireland, the Employment Equality Acts 1998–2015 require employers to take appropriate measures to accommodate the needs of people with disabilities, provided the employer is aware of the need and the accommodation does not impose a disproportionate burden.

Looking forward

The landscape of disability disclosure is slowly shifting. Companies are beginning to understand that inclusion isn’t just about legal compliance or moral obligation but about accessing talent and perspectives that can drive innovation and growth. The pandemic’s normalisation of flexible working arrangements has inadvertently created accommodations that benefit everyone, not just those with disabilities.

Yet progress remains frustratingly uneven. As Denise Brodey notes, “only 4% of employees disclose a disability, but new HR tools and training could upend that trend” [18]. The gap between policy and practice persists, suggesting that systemic change requires more than good intentions and better software.

The choice

The decision to disclose a disability will likely remain deeply personal for the foreseeable future. What’s changing is the context in which these decisions are made. Better technology, evolving attitudes, and stronger legal frameworks are creating conditions where disclosure might become less risky and more routine.

But perhaps the most important shift is in how we frame these conversations. Instead of asking whether people should disclose their disabilities, we might ask how we can create workplaces where such disclosure feels safe, supported, and genuinely welcomed. The responsibility shouldn’t rest solely on individuals to reveal their vulnerabilities. It should rest on organisations to prove themselves worthy of that trust.

Until then, each person must navigate their own path through the invisible dilemma, weighing authenticity against security, and hoping that in choosing to be themselves, they don’t sacrifice their futures. In a world increasingly dominated by artificial intelligence and algorithmic decision-making, perhaps our humanity, in all its messy, complicated, diverse forms, is exactly what the workplace needs most. The choice of whether to disclose may be personal, but the obligation to create disclosure-safe environments is collective.