We will all, at some point in our lives, experience the same disability—and it’s far more common than you think.

A bad attitude.

Before you roll your eyes, no—I am not claiming immunity. I live in a body that occasionally ignores instructions, hands that freelance, I’m raising two daughters, working full-time, writing, and speaking. Some days, optimism doesn’t show up until its second cup of coffee.

Case in point:
A few mornings ago, I woke up motivated. Focused. Ready to conquer the day.

Then I stubbed my toe on the corner of my bed.

If you’ve never felt your soul temporarily leave your body through your foot, I envy you. Any positive thought I had evaporated instantly, replaced by a creative string of curse words I didn’t know my brain had stored.

That wasn’t a bad attitude.
That was just… being alive.

The trick isn’t never having a bad attitude—it’s realizing when it’s driving the bus and politely asking it to pull over.

When I played golf in college, I hit the gym regularily. I usually avoid treadmills that face mirrors because I already know how I run—on my tiptoes—and I don’t need high-definition evidence. When I spotted a treadmill facing the parking lot instead, I jumped on it faster than someone skipping leg day.

Two minutes in, curiosity got me. I glanced at the wall-length mirror.

Big mistake.

Across the gym, two young women were watching me. Laughing. Then—because life loves extra credit—they started copying the way I ran. I pretended not to notice while internally rehearsing my dramatic exit.

I cut my run short. Grabbed my towel. Escaped down the stairs, hoping the cool fall air would calm both my nerves and my rising urge to cry in public.

Halfway down, they passed me.

Running on their tiptoes.
Still laughing.

And just like that, my bad attitude clocked out early.

Why was I embarrassed? I was the one showing up. I was working out. I was strong, capable, and minding my business—which, frankly, is elite behavior.

So I stopped. Turned around. And said,

“Excuse me—no offense—but I think I do that kind of runway walk way better than you.”

The looks on their faces?
Museum-worthy.

They walked away. I walked back inside taller, lighter, and significantly less interested in other people’s nonsense.

That’s when it hit me:

The most common disability isn’t physical.
It’s the moment we let a bad attitude convince us we should shrink.

And the good news?

Unlike most things in life—that’s one disability we can check ourselves out of.