What happens when the dream in front of you feels out of reach?

If you work in disability services, education, or nonprofit programming, you’ve likely witnessed the heartbreak of untapped potential—times when a person’s worth or capability is dismissed, not just by others, but by themselves.

But you’ve also seen the opposite: the spark that ignites when someone breaks through their fear, challenges what’s “expected,” and discovers what they’re truly capable of.

This blog is an invitation—to shift your lens. To see limitations not as stop signs, but as starting lines. Not as weaknesses, but as opportunities for creativity, compassion, and connection.

🚧 What If the Limitation Isn’t the Problem?

Here’s a truth that might surprise you:

Limitations are rarely the problem.
How we respond to them is.

I’ve lived with cerebral palsy all my life. I’ve heard the assumptions, felt the weight of expectations—or lack thereof. I’ve seen how quickly the world can focus on what we can’t do, instead of exploring what’s possible.

Eventually, those external messages can take root. We internalize them. We stop trying. We shrink our dreams to fit someone else’s imagination.

But here’s the thing: Belief changes the equation. And belief is something we can choose—and model.

What if one of the first lessons you ever learned was actually misleading?

From a young age, most of us are taught to say, “I’m sorry.” It’s an important phrase—necessary for empathy, growth, and healthy relationships. But sometimes, we learn it too well.

Lately, thanks to my daughter’s growing curiosity, I’ve been revisiting some of the Disney classics.

I’ll be honest—I didn’t expect Dumbo to stop me in my tracks. But there we were, at the end of a long Sunday, winding down with a movie when I heard it:

“The very things that held you down are going to lift you up, up, up.”

That line—spoken by Dumbo’s sidekick, Timothy Q. Mouse—hit me square in the chest.

It’s still echoing days later.

Over the past few months, four themes have emerged again and again in my work and in my personal life:

Resilience in the face of disability and disappointment

Reframing setbacks as new doors, not dead ends

Mutual support and interdependence within families and teams

Turning fear and grief into purposeful action

 
If you're working to support a family member, coach a team, or lead yourself through loss or limitation, this post is for you. Let's explore how resilience, reframing, and community can shape a path forward—even when the world seems to be saying you can’t.

Push, don’t punish.

It’s a simple phrase, but it could change the way we work, live, and lead.

Whether you’re a professional navigating burnout, a student juggling expectations, or someone living with a disability like I am, this truth applies: The only way to grow is to stretch yourself—but growth doesn’t require self-punishment.

Becoming a Father Changes Everything

When you’re single, life comes with one set of responsibilities. Add a relationship, and the layers grow. Add children? That’s a whole new level.

I first wrote about the emotions tied to these life phases in my book, I'MPOSSIBLE: Life Lessons on Thriving with a Disability, when I was three years into marriage and still child-free.

Now, I’m a father to a beautiful daughter. She has transformed my understanding of purpose, love, and vulnerability.

I love her so deeply, I feel like my heart could burst.

And like most parents, I want the absolute best for her—not just in terms of safety or success, but freedom. I want her to feel fully alive and inspired to pursue whatever lights her soul on fire.

But that desire brings up a familiar set of questions.

Like many kids, I dreamed of making the middle school basketball team. I lived and breathed the sport—SportsCenter in the mornings, sports biographies after school, and long-range three-pointers in my driveway. Cerebral palsy limited my use of the left side of my body, but I believed I could become the best right-sided player around.

Reality had other plans. My name wasn’t on the roster after tryouts. I was crushed.

But instead of giving up, I pivoted. A mentor’s advice stuck with me: "It’s okay to get down—you just can’t stay there."

“Am I loveable? Is what I have to offer—is who I am—worth it?”

These questions have followed me—quietly, consistently—through many seasons of my life.

They don’t always show up boldly. Sometimes they whisper in the background: in moments of self-doubt, fear of rejection, or silence after vulnerability. They’re especially loud when I forget to be intentional about how I view myself.

As someone living with cerebral palsy, it’s been easy to fall into the trap of thinking that my differences make me less valuable. But thankfully, I didn’t grow up in isolation. I was raised in a home where love was modeled, not just mentioned—and that foundation made all the difference.

As I move deeper into both life and leadership, I find myself returning to the same essential questions:

• What does success actually mean to me?

• What does it look like to live that out day by day—especially when the path isn’t straight?

• And how can we align our actions with our values, even in the face of uncertainty?

Maybe it’s because I’m on the verge of turning 40, but I’ve found myself reflecting a lot lately. As a speaker and coach, I often tell my clients: the last thing any of us should settle for is simply going through the motions.

Living with intention takes hard work, persistence, belief, and clarity—especially during seasons of grief, transition, or uncertainty.

So how do we stay centered when life throws us off course?

When I sat down to write my first book, I didn’t begin with triumph, success, or hope.

I started with fear.

Why? Because fear has been the single greatest opponent in my life. It’s shown up in countless forms—some obvious, some subtle. Sometimes it’s felt like it won. Other times, I’ve stood up to it, stared it down, and kept going anyway.

“Get the book done.”
Those were the words my dad said to me every time we saw each other in what turned out to be the final six months of his life.

He meant it literally—he wanted me to finish writing the book I had been working on. But over time, I’ve realized he also meant it figuratively:
Finish what you start. Step into your purpose. Don’t let fear hold you back.

"How High Can I Go?"
That was the question I asked myself countless times growing up, especially while watching basketball games with my dad. As I watched athletes soar toward the hoop, I couldn’t help but compare their physical capabilities to my own reality—navigating life with cerebral palsy. I knew my path looked different, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t strive for greatness in my own arena of life. In fact, my dad believed that whatever his ceiling had been, it should become my floor. That belief challenged and inspired me. If he had reached a certain point in life, then where could I begin, standing on his shoulders?

Years passed before I consciously remember stopping to think about my reality. Stopping to think about my life could reveal even less control and say so over it than I previously acknowledged. Easier to keep going and power through without asking a lot of questions, I reasoned.

I now realize that everyone needs healing. None of us escape life unscathed. Like Louis Armstrong sang, yes, “What a Wonderful World,” and yet, as he also recognized, what a scary and cruel place the world can be.

Do you find yourself saying things like, “Nobody understands me”? Or feeling a bit misunderstood, and unsure what to do with it?