Today I found myself thinking about the word normal.
I’ve often wished I was normal.
Yesterday I listened to the funeral and shared memories of a very dear, sweet lady. She suffered from many health issues—much like I do. Her husband said that over the last 25 years, she endured horrific pain and ongoing medical challenges, yet he could only recall 3 or 4 times when she ever said, “I wish I could be normal.” And even then, those moments didn’t last long.
She lived her life in gratitude.
People sharing their memories said she often thanked God just for waking up each morning.
That stuck with me. It got me thinking—not sure I’ll be able to put this into words, but I’ll try.
Who gets to decide what normal is?
For me, normal might look like splitting my day between my chair and my bed.
For you, it might be buzzing around—gardening, running errands, taking care of a busy household.
For me, normal might be a string of doctor’s appointments.
For you, it might be never setting foot in a clinic unless it’s for someone else.
For me, it might be longing to have company over and missing the joy of in-person fellowship.
For you, it might be having people around so often you dream of just one quiet day.
For me, normal might be missing church services and community events.
For you, it might be attending them so routinely that it doesn’t even feel like a choice.
For me, normal might mean being overweight and fighting my body.
For you, it might be not even understanding that struggle.
For me, it might be aching for a big family—children and grandchildren close by.
For you, it might be wondering what in the world you were thinking when you prayed for that big family!
For me, it’s missing my kids and craving more time with them.
For you, it might be taking for granted that yours live nearby.
For me, it’s the joy of helping women find the perfect bra.
For you, maybe it’s raising little ones full time or running a business.
For me, it’s living with physical pain every single day.
For you, it might be never having even a headache.
For me, it’s being adopted and walking the road of healing from trauma and abuse.
For you, it might be a childhood full of safety you never had to think twice about.
And on and on the list could go…
So again I ask, who defines normal?
I looked it up, just to be sure. The dictionary says things like:
> “Typical or routine.”
“Occurring naturally.”
“Free from impairment.”
“Within a safe or healthy range.”
By that definition, I’ll admit—my “normal” isn’t all that safe or healthy anymore.
But I’ll also say this: Neither is grief.
Neither is trauma.
Neither is raising a child with special needs, or caring for an elderly parent, or living with a broken heart.
And yet people do it every day. Quietly. Bravely. Beautifully.
Someone once told me that “normal is just a setting on the dryer.”
I’ve held onto that one for a long time.
Because sometimes, just when we get used to our normal, life happens.
We fall. We lose someone. We get a diagnosis. We change.
And then, a new normal begins.
So maybe I don’t want to be “normal” after all.
Maybe I want to be real.
Grateful. Present. Joyful when I can be, and gentle when I can’t.
Whatever your “normal” looks like today, I hope you give yourself grace.
You’re doing the best you can in the body, life, and story you’ve been given.
And that’s more than enough. 💖
