In his famous paper “What Is It Like To Be A Bat?”, Thomas Nagel argues that reductively modeling internal experience is fundamentally different from modeling other phenomena, using the example of bat sonar:

I have said that the essence of the belief that bats have experience is that there is something that it is like to be a bat. Now we know that most bats (the microchiroptera, to be precise) perceive the external world primarily by sonar, or echolocation, detecting the reflections, from objects within range, of their own rapid, subtly modulated, high-frequency shrieks. Their brains are designed to correlate the outgoing impulses with the subsequent echoes, and the information thus acquired enables bats to make precise discriminations of distance, size, shape, motion, and texture comparable to those we make by vision. But bat sonar, though clearly a form of perception, is not similar in its operation to any sense that we possess, and there is no reason to suppose that it is subjectively like anything we can experience or imagine. This appears to create difficulties for the notion of what it is like to be a bat. We must consider whether any method will permit us to extrapolate to the inner life of the bat from our own case, and if not, what alternative methods there may be for understanding the notion.
Which would be an interesting argument if humans were incapable of using sonar. But that turns out to not be the case. There's a great episode of NPR's Invisibilia where they interview Daniel Kish, who advocates for teaching blind children how to echolocate by clicking their tongues. It turns out that blind children will naturally click, but they are discouraged from doing so by teachers and parents who think that clicking is weird. I highly recommend listening to the whole thing since it's both interesting and well-produced, but here's the relevant chunk of the transcript:

Lulu Miller:It's true! I'll put it another way. He thinks their world looks a lot like your peripheral vision. So imagine that you're texting on your cellphone walking down the street. OK, you're looking at that screen. Now, what does the street look like to you? Youknow, you can see people coming at you. You can see cars. You can see trees. But you couldn't read a sign. That, he thinks, is Daniel's world.
Daniel Kish: I can honestly, honestly say that I do not feel blind.
Alix Spiegel: So what does Lore say about this? Does she think that the echolocators are actually seeing?
Lulu Miller: Well--
Lore Thaler: That's almost philosophical, isn't it?
Lulu Miller: Lore asks the only people on Earth who can know-- people who use to see. You know, is what they're experiencing comparable?
Brian Bushway: Yeah, oh yeah... I became totally blind at the age of 14.
Lulu Miller: But once he learned echolocation--
Brian Bushway: Just [SNAP] like that!
Lulu Miller: --the world around him, although blurrier and colorless, appeared again.
Brian Bushway: Things are real. I mean, it's as real as looking at it.
Alix Spiegel: Wait, wait, wait. So Lulu, does every blind person have this?
Lulu Miller: No. And that's the thing-- Lore has looked at the brains of people who do not echolocate, and though there's definitely some activity in the visual cortex, it's simply not as active. Which brings me back to Daniel's teaching methods. The thing about echolocation is, yes, you can learn it when you get older. But it gets so much harder with age, which is why Daniel doesn't give a damn about making a little kid cry, because he thinks at the other end of those tears is sight.
The fact that constructing a sense of space through sound is “the same” as constructing it through vision should not really be that surprising. Sighted people still use hearing to identify the positions of things in space. Events can sound far away or close up. Along with proprioception, hearing and sound both contribute to an integrated sense of where things are in relation to you.

Nagel's argument stems from a supposedly observed physical difference between people and bats: bats have sonar, and humans don't. Not only does this turn out to be incorrect on its own, it also privileges a particular form of difference. While it seems obvious that different sensory capacities should affect internal experiences, what about other capacities for action? Some people can curl their tongue up and others can't. Some people are paralyzed and others aren't. Some people are chess grandmasters and others aren't. Roughly speaking, beginners see the board in terms of the positions of the individual pieces, whereas grandmasters "chunk" the board into patterns relevant to game play. Since both of these forms of thought are "visual" in some sense, surely the beginner should be able to conceptualize what it must be like to be the grandmaster. But if that were true, why couldn't the beginner simply imagine the grandmaster's thoughts and use that style to win?

Once you ditch the assumption that humans are “the same,” the question of how you can conceive of the bat's experience extends to other people.

In fact, since your capacities and preferences change over time, it might be impossible for you to imagine what you have been like or will be like in the future. This is a common symptom of depression, where people find it impossible to remember what it was like to feel emotions. Yet we make generalizations all the time, from our current experiences to our past experiences and the experiences of other humans. Nagel himself made a generalization in asserting that people couldn't learn sonar.

We cannot ask whether experiences are fundamentally different or fundamentally the same in some objective sense, but we can pick individual components of experience and see whether they correlate. This is not a special feature of describing experience, but rather a general feature of making models about the world. For instance, in a factory that produces chairs, all the chairs are supposed to be “the same” in the properties that we care about controlling, but they are different at some level of description (whether the pattern of the wood grain or the individual molecules). In the same way that objects are not completely constrained by manufacturing specifications, internal experience is not completely constrained by any set of properties or abilities. This lack of proper constraint turns out to work in both directions, where people with the same external capacities have different internal experiences, and people with different external capacities have the same internal experiences.