Who Gets To Be Normal?

Rethinking inclusion, difference, and the idea of a “perfect” human

You walk into a room—a familiar place, maybe even filled with familiar faces—yet your heart rate begins to rise, and your nervous system goes on high alert.

Unsettling thoughts take over.
You start noticing glances, heads turning.
A quiet discomfort grows inside you until one thought becomes overwhelming:

I do not belong here.

It’s deeply uncomfortable—sometimes even humiliating.

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At the end of the day, most of us cope by trying to forget the moment entirely. We reassure ourselves that we’re better off outside that group, that our values and personalities are simply different.

But I need to tell you something that may feel uncomfortable at first. I hope you’ll stay with me long enough for it to make sense.

For many people with disabilities, this feeling of not belonging is not occasional—it is constant.

And when they are very young, it is often their parents, caregivers, and loved ones who carry the weight of that exclusion, protecting them while being hurt themselves.

A friend of mine, Anna | Tender & True , once shared a heartbreaking story: her little boy—born with a limb difference—was mocked by a group of older children:

As I tried to comfort her, I found myself reflecting on something difficult, but important.

Pre-teens and teenagers are especially sensitive to peer pressure. In those moments, they may mock someone who is visibly different as a way to gain social approval. They may perceive it as low-risk—after all, the child is “just a baby,” unlikely to understand what is happening.

But Anna’s story—beyond its raw and painful reality—reveals something even more unsettling.

For years, we have been trying, with varying degrees of success, to build a more inclusive society.

These efforts are most visible in education and in the workplace, where different tools, methods, and support systems are used to promote inclusion.

But inclusion is not just about tools.

At its core, it requires a shift in mindset—one that must take place across all levels of society.

And it cannot stop at symbolic gestures: letting children try a wheelchair for a day, or inviting people with disabilities to speak on a stage.

These moments may raise awareness—but they do not necessarily change hearts.

Real change does not begin with people with disabilities.

It begins with us.

With how we see ourselves.

Because we live in a world where the idea of what is “normal”—the accepted and often idealized image of human existence—is incredibly narrow.

Even you and I likely don’t fully fit into it.

We carry silent expectations about how people should look, how they should live, how they should spend their time.

But these ideals are not a true reflection of reality.

Real people are changing.
Real bodies are imperfect.
Real lives are complex.

And this is all very normal.

Each person is a unique universe—including those who live with visible differences, use a wheelchair, or communicate in ways we may not immediately understand.

We are not perfect dolls living in perfect homes.

And our societies cannot become truly accepting until we expand what we consider “normal”—or better yet, until we begin to see the full spectrum of human existence as simply human.

Until then, children with visible differences may still be mocked by others who have internalized a narrow and unrealistic image of what a “perfect” human should be.

And many people with visible differences will continue to enter rooms feeling like outsiders—even in places that celebrate inclusion on paper.

And this is where the real work begins.

Closer than we might think.

It begins with how we see ourselves.

With accepting who we are.

And from there, learning to accept one another.

With limb differences—or without.

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If this resonated with you, I would truly love to hear your thoughts or experiences.
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