Kat’s Corner: Dignity of Risk Dignity of Risk: Why It Matters, Especially for People with Disabilities/Visual Impairment The dignity of risk is a crucial part of every person’s development, especially for those of us with disabilities. My name is Kat, and I want to share my perspective as someone who has a visual impairment, and why it’s so important to let people try, fail, and grow.
A Mother’s Love and a Protective World I was raised by what people often call a helicopter mom. My mom cared deeply about me and did everything she could to support my health and development. She worked hard every single day, bringing me to therapies and giving me the tools she thought I needed to succeed. That’s something I’m truly grateful for, and it’s a beautiful part of her love. Her hard work with me definitely made me physically stronger and healthier as a result of her determination and support. However, there’s another side to that love: she didn’t often let me try things on my own.
The Cost of Overprotection If I wanted to do something she thought might be unsafe or too hard, her instinct was to step in and do it for me. For example, if I wanted to climb an obstacle course at the playground, she would either stop me or insist on holding my hand. That didn’t just apply to playgrounds. In our house, even simple daily tasks were seen as too dangerous for me. Things like doing the laundry or taking out the trash weren’t really options. The basement had cement floors, and the laundry basket was “too heavy.” She would say, “She can’t carry it down herself, she’ll fall.” If I asked to take out the trash, it was “The bag is too full. It’ll slip, and the garbage will fall all over you. You shouldn’t have to worry about that.” The stove? “Too tricky to see.” Cooking? “You can try a little, but don’t touch the oven.” Using a knife? “You’ll cut yourself.” Her answer was almost always the same: “It’s OK, I’ll do it for you.” And even in moments when she hesitated and seemed like she might let me try, I could feel her anxiety so strongly that it took over me, too. So instead of pushing forward, I’d shrink back and say, “Actually, you’re right. It’s probably not a good idea.”
Fear Becomes Internalized Looking back, I don’t resent the love behind those words, but I do wish the approach had been different. I wish that when I said, “I want to try,” she could have trusted me to take the risk. Or even if I said, “I’m scared,” that she would have said, “Then let’s try together,” instead of letting fear stop me before I even began. Because the truth is, all I wanted was the chance to try.
I want to be fair. There were moments when I got the chance to do things on my own. The overprotection was definitely there, but it wasn’t constant. Some moments weren’t as intense, and I was able to try and succeed in small ways. But even then, my mom’s anxiety was still in the background. Her fear of me getting hurt or something going wrong was often the loudest voice in the room. And over time, that fear started to become mine too. So even when I was allowed to try, I carried that same nervousness with me. I wasn’t just afraid of failing. I was afraid of proving her fears right. Her constant worry was, “What if she gets hurt?” So rather than letting me try and figure things out, her protective instinct always kicked in. Because of that, I missed out on opportunities to test my limits, explore what I was capable of, and build trust in myself. I understand why she did it. Being a mom is a huge responsibility, and when your child has a disability, the desire to protect becomes even stronger. But if I asked to do something independently, the answer was often, “No, it’ll be too hard for you,” or “You won’t be able to see it.”
Trying Late, Struggling to Trust Myself As a result, I ended up doing a lot of things later in life than my peers. But more than the timing, the long-term effect has been internal. As an adult, I’ve struggled with self-doubt, low self-confidence, and not trusting myself to make decisions. For example, if anybody asked me for help, my body immediately went into fight or flight. I didn’t know if I could trust myself to help them. When I was running a preschool with my high school class, I felt anxious every time one of the little kids asked for my help. I always figured it out and was able to help, but I didn’t trust myself. I was scared, and that feeling stayed with me for a long time during my teenage years. No matter how small the task was, I would get anxious. If someone was explaining something we were going to do in class or at work, my anxiety would spike because I was always wondering, “Will I even be able to do it?” If anybody asked me for help, I immediately felt like I wasn’t capable. A thought that often came to my mind was, “Why are they trusting me to do this? I can’t even trust myself.” But somehow, every time, I got it done and figured it out. I’m slowly working through those challenges, but they’re rooted in my not being given the chance to try and fail when I was younger.
The Turning Point: Learning to Speak Up The older I got, the more I began to realize the impact of all this. Now, at 20 years old, my mom and I have an incredible relationship, and we’ve had many honest conversations about this very concept. She often tells me that she wishes she had given me more opportunities to try, fail, explore, and figure things out on my own instead of stepping in and saying, “It’s OK, I’ll just do it for her.” These days, I speak up more. I’ll tell her, “No, I want to try this myself,” and she steps back and lets me.
A Small Victory with Big Meaning One moment that stands out to me happened at the beginning of 2025. My mom was preparing to take down the Christmas tree, and I offered to help. She let me remove the ornaments, but when it came to the Christmas lights, she kept repeating how difficult it would be. She reminded me how tangled the lights were, how the line was transparent and hard to see, and how disassembling the artificial tree involved a lot of small, tricky pieces. She said, “If I can barely do it, I don’t think you’ll be able to.” Instead of backing down, her doubt gave me even more determination to prove to both of us that I could. And here’s the best, most ironic part: I ended up taking off those Christmas lights faster and more efficiently than anyone in my family ever had. My mom was in complete shock. The thing is, I didn’t even need to see what I was doing. I just used my hands to feel where the lights were wrapped, and I carefully untangled everything without even looking.
Growth Requires Risk This is just one small, condensed example of why the dignity of risk is so important. As I mentioned earlier, both as a teenager and now as an adult, I’ve struggled deeply with trusting myself. Over the last two years, I’ve started to better understand where some of that self-doubt comes from. Being in therapy has been a huge game-changer. It’s helping me learn how to trust myself, take risks without fear of failure, and recognize that making mistakes is part of growth. Everyone deserves the chance to discover what they’re capable of because without the dignity of risk, we miss out on the dignity of growth.
