When Inclusion Means Assimilation: Why We’re Done Playing ‘Normal’

Inclusion shouldn’t mean erasure. But for many disabled people, that’s exactly what it feels like.

We’re told to “blend in,” “mask,” “act normal.” We’re praised when we suppress our natural communication styles, sensory needs, or mobility tools. We’re rewarded for being palatable, not authentic.

This isn’t inclusion. It’s assimilation.

The Viral Lie of “Overcoming”

Take those viral videos—someone with a disability forcing themselves to walk across a graduation stage or down the aisle at their wedding. The crowd erupts in applause. Commenters call it “inspiring.” But what’s really being celebrated?

Not our joy. Not our autonomy. What’s being celebrated is our willingness to suffer for your comfort. We’re not honoring ourselves—we’re pleasing you.

That’s not acceptance. That’s coercion dressed up as courage.

The Mask of Speech

And then there’s the applause when Deaf kids learn to speak.

Not when they learn language. Not when they connect. But when they sound “normal.”

We’re praised for mastering speech, not for understanding. We’re celebrated for passing as hearing, even if it means we’re falling behind in school, missing jokes at dinner, and nodding through conversations we don’t actually hear.

We’re masking isolation with pronunciation.

Families beam with pride when we say “hello”—but don’t notice we’re lost in the rest of the sentence. Teachers reward us for speaking aloud, but don’t realize we’re missing half the lesson. And we’re told we’re “doing great” while silently wondering why we feel so alone.

This isn’t language access. It’s performance.

The Pressure to Mask Neurodivergence

Autistic people are often told to “tone it down,” “make eye contact,” “don’t be weird.” From childhood, they’re trained to suppress stimming, hide sensory overload, and mimic neurotypical behavior—even when it causes anxiety, burnout, and identity loss.

They’re praised for “passing,” not for thriving.

Masking becomes survival. But it’s also a slow erasure. The cost? Missed diagnoses, mental health crises, and a lifetime of pretending.

We don’t applaud neurotypical kids for being themselves—so why do we only celebrate autistic kids when they stop being themselves?

This isn’t inclusion. It’s assimilation with a smile.

The Cost of Conformity

From classrooms to workplaces, disabled folks are expected to perform neurotypicality, hide pain, and downplay access needs. We’re coached to smile through discomfort, to “not make a fuss,” to be grateful for crumbs.

But here’s the truth: inclusion that demands conformity isn’t inclusion at all. It’s a performance. And it’s exhausting.

What Real Inclusion Looks Like

Real inclusion doesn’t ask us to change who we are, it changes the environment around us.

It means ASL interpreters at every event, not just when someone requests one. It means captions that are accurate, not auto-generated. It means mobility aids are seen as tools of freedom, not symbols of tragedy. It means stimming is accepted, not shamed. It means disabled people are hired as leaders, not just consultants. It means access isn’t conditional on how “normal” we seem.

Real inclusion is proactive, not reactive. It’s built into the system—not bolted on as an afterthought. It centers disabled joy, disabled culture, and disabled autonomy.

So no, we won’t play “normal” anymore. We’ll be loud. We’ll be proud. We’ll be unapologetically disabled.

And if that makes you uncomfortable? Good. That’s where change begins.

Further Reading: Books That Challenge the “Normal” Narrative

If this piece resonated, here are some powerful reads that dig deeper into disability justice, identity, and the cost of assimilation:

• Disabililty Visibility by Alice Wong
• Loud Hands: Autistic People, Speaking by Autistic Self Advocacy Network
• Haben: The Deafblind Woman Who Conquered Harvard Law by Haben Girma
• The Pretty One by Keah Brown

If you want to include us, stop asking us to perform and start asking what we need to belong.