The most Insidious 4-Letter Word

When you think about common “4-letter words,” what comes to mind? I would guess: swear words. They’re common and obvious enough that I don’t need to list them here.

But there’s one lurking around … causing self-doubt, inflicting strong emotions and beliefs in yourself and others, subtly, yet deeply and steadily, wriggling its way deep into your psyche: CAN’T. As in: “I can’t.” That instant wall of limitation. Like those pop-up barricades used around important buildings to stop something in its tracks and, yes, keep the building safe.

I had a moment when I was a young ballerina that was a turning point (pun kind of intended, ha) for me and one of my earliest lessons on the importance of our self-narratives. I was in ballet class, a teacher was telling me to do a specific step (a type of turn I found particularly challenging), and—out loud to the whole class—I kept repeating, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.” And, so I didn’t.

It became so disruptive to myself, and the class, (and I imagine super-irritating for the teacher, in retrospect), that she stopped the class, she looked me dead in the eyes, really held my gaze for a moment and said, “Helena. If I hear you say that one more time, you’re kicked out of my class.” She paused for a moment, letting the gravity of the consequences of my words and actions sink in. And that was that. Getting kicked out of class was not an acceptable option to me. Getting over my fear (and myself) and Just. Freaking. Doing. It. all of a sudden became much easier.

And what did I find? The obvious: That I actually could. Was it perfect? No. Is that what she was expecting? No. She did expect that I show up. REALLY show up. And give it my best effort. Whining and repeating over and over that “I can’t” was not part of that best effort. She knew it, even if I didn’t.

There’s a lot, as an adult, that I’ve unpacked from this moment through great introspection. A lot to say about fear; insecurity; perfectionism (even at such a young age); self-narratives; word choice; time and place to voice thoughts, feelings, and emotions; considering the impact the words had on myself AND the other dancers in the room; understanding consequences and choices; untapped potential; not seeing in yourself what others can see, etc.

What I took from that, even at 12 or 13 years old, is how much power there is in the word CAN’T. I often believe that words have the power we give them or allow them to have. But CAN’T … that has a special sense of boundary associated with it. Sometimes for good reason, as with laws and rules. But, often, for ill when it’s falsely applied—our hurled—at our own capabilities or that of people around us … be it coach-athlete, teacher-student, or leader-employee/team member.

Looking back, I probably didn’t have the language to express what I was really feeling: Fear, discouragement, being challenged, and embarrassment … all in one big, uncomfortable ball. Public vulnerability rarely feels safe—especially when you didn’t choose it. I was, in that moment, the personification of fight/flight/freeze, and freeze I did.

As a Doctor of Clinical Nutrition who specializes in stress, it’s fascinating to me now to look back at some of these memories and dissect them from a scientific observer's perspective. Being such a visceral memory, I can still recall how I felt in my body, in that moment. I now have a LOT of language that helps me deeply understand what I was experiencing.

Chronic stress is insidious. Taking tiny pieces and chunks of you, day after day. So subtly at first that you don’t notice it until it’s looming in an overwhelming way. And CAN’T is one of its foot soldiers. Don’t buy into it. Don’t self-limit, or play small, right out of the gate—throttling yourself before you’ve even had a chance to discover what you’re capable of. In the words of supertrainer Chris Downing: “Try before you modify.”

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