Designing Beyond the Imaginary “Normal” Human Being

There’s a quiet assumption built into most spaces.

Not because designers don’t care.
Not because the knowledge doesn’t exist.

But because of what we’ve been taught to design for.

An imagined version of a “normal” human being.

The Body We Assume

This “normal” body is rarely defined out loud.

But it shows up everywhere.

A person who can:

Stand comfortably
Walk without assistance
Use stairs without hesitation
Open doors with standard strength
Move through spaces without thinking about it

A person who doesn’t need a wheelchair.
Or a cane.
Or a walker.
Or a rollator.

A person whose nervous system can tolerate lighting, noise, and movement without overwhelm.

A person whose body size fits standard clearances.

The Reality

That version of a human is only one version.

Real people exist across a wide range of experiences.

People who use wheelchairs.
People who use canes, walkers, or rollators.
People with larger bodies.
People with chronic pain or fatigue.
People whose energy changes day to day.
People who are neurodivergent and experience environments differently.

These are not edge cases.

They are part of being human.

The Knowledge Exists

In design, we are taught anthropometrics and ergonomics.

We study how bodies move.
We learn about reach ranges and clearances.
We understand how to create functional spaces.

There are also frameworks like universal design that expand beyond minimum standards.

So this isn’t a lack of knowledge.

Where the Gap Comes From

The gap comes from what gets prioritized.

Design doesn’t happen in ideal conditions.

It happens inside pressure.

Budgets.
Construction timelines.
Material costs.
Client expectations.

And often, speed and cost take priority.

Projects are expected to move quickly.
Decisions are made to stay on budget.
Details get simplified to keep things moving.

Accessibility becomes something that has to fit within those constraints.

Not something that defines the project.

The Role of Productivity

There’s another layer underneath all of this.

Our culture is built around productivity.

Efficiency.
Output.
Speed.

Spaces are often designed for people who can move quickly, function consistently, and keep up with that pace.

But many bodies don’t operate that way.

Some bodies need more time.
More space.
More support.
More rest.

When we design only for speed and efficiency, we design for a narrow range of people.

Where This Becomes Personal

I’ve experienced this from multiple sides.

As a caregiver, I saw how much effort movement actually takes.

Transfers.
Fatigue.
Balance.
Dignity.

As a designer, I understood how decisions get made.

What gets included.
What gets reduced.
What gets labeled as “extra.”

And now, as someone living with disability, I feel those decisions directly.

Spaces that technically work—but require more energy than I have.
Layouts that assume strength or stability that isn’t always there.
Environments that create strain instead of support.

Accessibility Is More Than Physical

Accessibility is often reduced to physical features.

Doorways.
Ramps.
Bathrooms.

But it also includes how a space feels.

Lighting.
Noise.
Flow.
Sensory load.

For neurodivergent people, these elements can determine whether a space is usable at all.

A space can meet every physical requirement
and still be overwhelming or inaccessible.

Social Acceptance Matters Too

Even when spaces are accessible, people still have to feel like they belong in them.

Using a wheelchair.
Using a cane.
Using a walker or rollator.

These should not stand out.

They should be normal.

Because when disability is visible and accepted in everyday spaces,
those spaces begin to evolve to support it.

And more people are able to participate.

Including in the workplace.

Participation Requires More Than Access

If we want more disabled and neurodivergent people to work, to engage, to be part of everyday life—

we have to look at the environments we’re asking them to enter.

Are they usable?
Are they supportive?
Are they designed with real bodies in mind?

Because when they aren’t, people are excluded.

Not because they lack ability.

But because the environment was never built to include them.

The Through Line

Looking back, this perspective has always been there.

Caregiving showed me what bodies need.
Design showed me how spaces are built.
Disability and neurodivergence show me where those two don’t fully align.

Looking Forward

The goal isn’t to design for a “normal” person.

Because that person doesn’t represent the full range of human experience.

The goal is to design beyond that.

To create spaces that account for different bodies, different needs, and different ways of moving through the world.

Even within constraints.

Even within budgets.

Even within timelines.

Because when we shift what we prioritize, we change who gets to participate.

If you’d like to read more reflections like this, you can explore the rest of the blog here:

www.restorativehealinghaven.com/the-restorative-blog