The Limits of Your Mind: How Naming and Narrow Thinking Build Barriers

The Call That Stuck With Me

I recently got off a call with a person of means who had reached out more than once to get involved with adaptive soccer. They were enthusiastic, motivated, and clear they wanted to help.

So, I did what I always do: I asked about their why. What they care about and how they want to contribute. Based on that, I gave them three options:

The role they initially asked for.
A role that aligned most directly with their stated why.
And a third role – the one that, in my professional opinion, was the best fit.

They didn’t even pause to consider the third option. Before trying it, before hearing the full picture, they shut it down. It didn’t fit their view of what sport is and what is worth their involvement. They assumed it wasn’t safe. They assumed there wasn’t a need for someone of their caliber.

This is where my ego wants to scream: We don’t want your sh*t attitude and pity. But. . . this isn’t about me. It’s about something much bigger.

When Your Limits Become Someone Else’s Wall

I’ve said this before in presentations, and I mean it with my whole heart: the limits of your own mind create barriers for others.

When you can’t imagine yourself in a space, you’re missing-out on personal development.
When you can’t picture a game played differently, you may assume it isn’t really competitive.
When you can’t see a need to try something new, you suggest it’s not worth your effort.

That’s not objectivity – it’s projection. It builds walls where ramps should be.

What’s in a Name?

This conversation connected to something I’ve been wrestling with for a while: the power of naming.

A colleague once asked about a talented athlete, but looked at him over my shoulder with confusion when I referred to him as an Olympian. “Don’t you mean the Paralympics?” they asked, sizing-up the baller with dwarfism. It was not the first time I’ve been forced to reflect on how naming shifts perception. With one word, the awe of the athlete was diminished – their legitimacy questioned, their achievement reframed as “different.”

We like to believe labels are neutral, but they’re not. They shape perception. They signal belonging or separation, value or diminishment.

Terms like special or different might have once sounded kind, but today they read as condescending and alienating.
Separating Olympics from Paralympics may highlight visibility, but it also reinforces that disabled athletes are fundamentally “other.”
Even “adaptive” gets twisted by some into meaning unsafe, less-than, or second-tier.

The irony? We adapt sports all the time.

Adaptive Is Still Sport

Let’s be clear: adaptive sport is not a lesser sport.

High schools divide players into varsity, junior varsity, and junior varsity two. That’s ability-based programming.
Youth leagues adjust rules for six-year-olds who can’t yet play a full 90 minutes. That’s an adaptation.
Women’s leagues, men’s leagues, co-ed leagues – all programming that adjusts to the population.

But when you tack adaptive onto soccer, basketball, or swimming, suddenly people question its safety, its value, or its legitimacy. That’s not about the sport. That’s about your mindset.

Research backs this up. Athletes in adaptive climbing reject the labels of being pitied as “objects of sympathy” or elevated as “superhuman.” They just want to be recognized for their athletic skill – for what they can do, not for “overcoming.” Similarly, studies show that separating athletes into “special” or “disabled” categories can reinforce exclusion rather than build inclusion. The problem isn’t the competition – it’s the naming.

The Ceiling of Your Imagination

The donor’s reaction on that call was a microcosm of this larger problem. Their inability to imagine themselves supporting a certain version of the game wasn’t just limiting them. It was limiting access for athletes who need allies, resources, and champions.

Your imagination shouldn’t be the ceiling of someone else’s opportunity.

If you don’t understand it yet, ask. If it doesn’t look like the version of sport you’re used to, learn. But don’t shut the door before you’ve even walked through it. Because when you do, you’re not just protecting your own comfort – you’re building barriers for others.

The Real Ask

If you want to get involved in adaptive sport – or any work around disability inclusion – here’s the baseline:

Lead with humility. Your worldview isn’t universal.
Check your projections. Is your skepticism grounded in fact, or just discomfort?
Let professionals guide. You asked us for help. Trust the people who live and breathe this work.

Because the limits of your own mind? They don’t just box you in. They box other people out. And the more we let labels and narrow thinking dictate who belongs, the more we reinforce the very walls we claim we want to tear down.

Works Cited

Brown, B. (2021). Atlas of the Heart. Random House.
Howe, P. D. (2024). Paralympics ‘inclusive’ messaging is misleading. The Conversation.
Kauffman, J. et al. (2023). “Adventures in Naming”: Labels and disability rights.
Nishida, D., & Schinke, R. (2023). Adaptive sport as affirmation: Climbing communities and athlete identity.
NDRN. (2020). Guidelines on communicating about disability. National Disability Rights Network.
Pearson, E. (2024). Media representations of Paralympians. Communication & Sport.
Röhm, A. et al. (2022). Applying labeling theory to inclusive education. Frontiers in Psychology.
Sjöblom, E. et al. (2021). “Everybody with Disability Should be Included.” Scandinavian Journal of Disability Research.
Silva, C. F., & Howe, P. D. (2012). The (In)validity of Supercrip Representation of Paralympian Athletes. Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 36(2), 174–194.
Young, S. (2014). Disability and the Media: Prescriptions for Change. Peter Lang Publishing.

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