For over five decades, I have lived with a disability, a journey shaped by persistence and the collaborative support of those around me. During this time, I completed both high school and college, established a fulfilling career, and achieved home ownership. These milestones reflect the importance of accessible opportunities and the collective efforts that have made inclusion and participation possible.
From an early age, my family instilled a mindset of possibility. Obstacles were never endpoints. If there was a mountain in my path, the approach was simple: climb it, go around it, or go through it. There was always a way. That philosophy became my compass.
So imagine my surprise when, during a quiet conversation, someone close to me said, “We wondered if you would get here.” This was someone who had walked much of the journey alongside me. The words were offered with affection and were meant to acknowledge the experiences I had navigated and the progress I had made. Even so, they lingered with me in an unexpected way. They weren’t offensive, but they did prompt a deeper reflection. I began to consider what had truly made this journey possible from the start.
What if I had grown up hearing, “You can’t”? What if the expectations had been lower, the encouragement more cautious, the belief more conditional? The word “can’t”—when repeated enough times—becomes more than a limitation. It becomes a boundary, an invisible fence around what a person believes is possible. Over time, it doesn’t just shape opportunities—it shapes identity.
I’ve seen how the word “can’t” can quietly shape the experiences of others—bright, capable individuals who were not given the tools, the trust, or the opportunity to try. It can be found in the quiet resignation of someone who has stopped asking for more, perhaps having learned over time not to expect access or opportunity. It’s present in the paths not taken, when no one ever said, “You should,” or “You could.” The influence of “can’t” is often subtle, but it can linger. Over time, it can subtly limit possibilities, shaping both the path a person is able to follow and who they have the chance to become.
I am here because I was surrounded by people who viewed challenges through a lens of possibility. Their belief didn’t eliminate the barriers—but it shaped how I approached them. It encouraged me to look for openings where others might see only walls. I am deeply grateful for that foundation. It influenced not just the path I followed, but how I’ve come to understand what’s possible—for myself and for others.
Still, I find myself reflecting on what happens to those who are not met with the same perspective. What becomes of someone who grows up under the shadow of doubt, surrounded by more restrictions than encouragement? The word “can’t” may seem simple, but over time, it closes doors—internally and externally. It narrows vision, limits choices, and eventually reshapes a person’s sense of what is even worth reaching for. I think often about the lives that could have unfolded differently if someone had simply said, “Let’s see what’s possible.”
These reflections remain with me. They remind me that creating space for possibility—for the chance to try, to strive, to belong—is not a matter of idealism. It is a matter of equity, of dignity. My story should not stand out; it should be one of many. And that will only happen when we replace the quiet doubt of “can’t” with a shared commitment to “let’s find a way.”
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I love this article! I love the image of the invisible fence of limitations. As a special Ed teacher, I found the extremes, meaning parents who didn’t know how to be versus those who did everything they could to make their kids “fit in the box.” This idea of acceptance that there may be some limitations, doesn’t mean an individual can’t soar. Unfortunately, acceptance doesn’t come easy to many and not enough families have effective resources. We are NOT a proactive society, we focus on symptoms not the person.