Physical limitations don’t diminish a person’s abilities

The pool was loud in the way summer pools usually are — whistles, splashes, kids calling out to each other, coaches raising their voices above the noise, parents chatting on the sidelines. Our 7-year-old daughter stood at the edge, waiting for her instructor to guide her into the Olympic-sized pool. She hadn’t had swimming lessons in some time, but something about the water still felt familiar to her.

When she slipped in, her movements weren’t perfect, but they were intentional. She listened, tried again, and stayed with it. Even after her session was done, she asked to stay a little longer.

Three years ago, the head coach told my husband, Jared, that she was “easy to teach.” It was a small comment, but one he held on to. “She really is my daughter,” he said.

And I understood what he meant. Because if there’s one thing about Jared, it’s this: He is a swimmer.

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Growing up with severe hemophilia B meant Jared was almost always exempted from physical education (PE). Most sports weren’t considered safe, especially at a time when access to factor wasn’t consistent or guaranteed. Swimming was the exception. It was one of the few spaces where he could move freely, where his body didn’t require constant restriction. In his words, being in the water felt even more natural than walking.

He joined an after-school swim club and trained there. Over time, he became good — not in a conditional sense, but in a way that was clear to anyone paying attention. His coach saw it. The other kids at the swim club knew it.

But to his classmates, he was simply that kid who was always exempt from sports.

So on one of the rare days he participated in PE, it surprised them. When he got into the water, people noticed. Some of them even praised his speed and form. For a moment, it was simple. He did something well, and others saw.

Then another student told the entire class that the only reason Jared was good was that swimming was the only sport he was allowed to participate in.

And just like that, the moment shifted. What could have remained as simple recognition became something qualified, something diminished. As if his ability needed an explanation. As if it didn’t fully count on its own.

For a child growing up with hemophilia, that kind of comment lands differently. You already know your world is smaller in certain ways. You’re aware of the limitations, even when no one says them out loud. Yet you don’t expect your strengths to be framed as a byproduct of those limitations — as something less legitimate because of them.

Becoming anyway

Years later, that moment still lingers, leaving behind existential questions. Am I good because I worked for it, or just because I had fewer options? It’s a subtle kind of doubt, one I think many people with chronic conditions carry.

Jared’s recent burn injury brought some of that back. He wondered whether he would still move the same way in the water — whether he still had the form, the speed, the ease that once came naturally to him. But I’ve seen him swim, and I don’t think that kind of skill simply disappears. It’s built over time, shaped by repetition, discipline, and persistence. It may exist within limitations, but it isn’t defined by them.

Later, we told our daughter the story and asked what she thought.

“I’d say to that kid, ‘But you’re doing it [swimming], too!’”

As random as that comment was, she had a point. Because in her mind, there was no need to qualify it. No need to explain it away. Jared swims. He’s good at it. That’s it. How is he supposed to be any different?

There was no hierarchy in her thinking, no sense that his ability counted less because it existed within limits. Just a straightforward recognition of what was there.

And maybe that’s the part we tend to lose over time.

Hemophilia does shape what’s possible. It affects what you can do, when you can do it, and how safely you move through the world. But it doesn’t cancel out effort. It doesn’t make ability less meaningful. And it doesn’t mean that the things you become good at somehow count less.

If anything, they matter more — not because they’re the only options available, but because you chose to work at them, anyway.

Note: Hemophilia News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or another qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Hemophilia News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to hemophilia.