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Having someone in your corner — someone who will shout with you rather than for you — is what real independence looks like. In Out of My Mind, this comes through in a father’s powerful line: “If Melody exceeds your expectations, why don’t you raise your expectations?” It’s a reminder that the problem often isn’t with disabled people themselves, but with the low expectations placed upon them. Watching this film felt somewhat reminiscent of my experiences in school, where at times it felt like I could only achieve what the system had deemed I could without consultation or thought that I might have bigger dreams.

From the start, the film makes it clear that Melody is underestimated. One of the sharpest lines comes from Mrs. V, who tells her: “You’re gonna have people taking care of you the rest of your life. At some point, you better learn that just because someone wipes your ass doesn’t mean you have to kiss theirs.” It’s a raw, uncomfortable, but powerful reminder — the issue isn’t Melody’s disability, it’s how others treat her and what they expect from her.
The film explores the different thoughts and feelings within Melody’s family as she transitions into a new school environment and begins to express her voice.

We also get Melody’s biting sense of humour in an early moment when she points out the limits of what people assume she needs help with: “You can wipe my arse, but you can’t hear me.” It’s raw, a little uncomfortable, and absolutely necessary — because it shows the gap between her physical needs and her intellectual, emotional, and social ones.

The casting of Phoebe-Rae Taylor, an actor with cerebral palsy, makes these lines hit even harder. They aren’t performed for pity or played as “inspiration” for others. Instead, they land with authenticity, reminding us that disabled people don’t need to be wrapped in sentimentality — they need to be heard.

Of course, the film isn’t flawless. Its storyline leans on the familiar “inspirational disability” arc we’ve seen in many big-budget productions. That framing risks centering non-disabled audiences rather than disabled voices. And because the film is based on a 2010 book, the school environment feels dated, reflecting older approaches to “special ed” that don’t always match today’s reality. Although the education system for disabled people isn’t perfect, it has improved — or at least sought to move forward.

One moment that really stands out is Melody’s assessment. Afterward, the doctor invites her parents into a separate room to discuss the results, leaving Melody outside. We see her growing frustrated at not being included or listened to — an experience many disabled people will recognise. The film uses the framing of her communication board effectively here, giving us insight into what she is thinking and feeling, even if others can’t hear it.

Following the assessment, Melody receives a new electronic communication device. With it, she is able to share her words directly in a way others finally pay attention to. Her first use of the device — greeting her dad — becomes an emotional moment for the family. It highlights both the long struggle they’ve faced to ensure she is heard, and the reality that Melody has always had a voice, even if others were too slow to listen.

But what Out of My Mind does well is highlight the real, everyday barriers disabled students face in education: being underestimated, sidelined, or excluded, regardless of their intelligence and abilities. It captures the frustration of being spoken over and the small but powerful victories of being taken seriously. In the film we are introduced to Dr. Katherine Post, a specialist who supports Melody’s education, becomes one of the first adults at school to genuinely listen to her.

At one point in the film, in the hallway, Melody tries to chat with classmates, but the conversation stalls—they’re unsure how to engage with her. Moments later, Dr. Katherine Post checks in with Melody, who responds via AAC. The scene underlines a different problem: even when Melody can answer, the present phrases and limited vocabulary on her device make nuance and emotion hard to convey. This is something which Dr. Katherine Post acknowledges helping to highlight how even when disabled people have a voice it is limited.

For me, the heart of the story is less about Melody “proving herself” and more about the people who choose to believe in her from the start. Her dad’s challenge about raising expectations is really a challenge to all of us. If disabled people keep “exceeding expectations,” maybe the expectations are the problem.

About halfway through the film, Melody decides she wants to join the try-outs for the school competition. When she enters the classroom where the students are practising, the teacher questions whether she truly understands what she’s asking to do. One student even dismisses her outright with the comment: “She’s from the special room.” It’s a sharp example of how disabled students are often reduced to labels rather than recognised for their abilities.

What makes the scene powerful is that the prejudice doesn’t go unchallenged. The assumption is pushed back against, and Melody is allowed to stay. It’s a small but meaningful win, showing both the resilience it takes for disabled students to put themselves forward, and how crucial it is that others in the room confront stigma instead of letting it slide.

Soon after, the results come in from the internal test to select students for the competition. Melody scores 100% — a perfect result. Instead of celebrating her achievement outright, some of the staff immediately question whether it was really her work, suggesting that her classroom aide must have helped her.

When the winning students are announced, Melody’s name isn’t even mentioned. Her achievement is erased in front of everyone, as though it doesn’t count. This moment highlights how disabled students can be excluded not because they lack ability, but because others refuse to acknowledge their capability. It’s a stark reminder that discrimination doesn’t always appear as open hostility — sometimes it’s the quiet decision to leave a name off a list.

I found myself thinking about my own time in school, and how my educational outcomes — like my predicted GCSE grades — were often decided for me. I was placed in classroom settings where my needs weren’t met, yet if I didn’t succeed, the blame was put on me.

Films like this may not be perfect, but they push the conversation forward. They remind us that inclusion isn’t about doing the bare minimum — it’s about listening, raising the bar, and making space for disabled people to thrive without having to fight so hard just to be seen.