These are very powerful words in my household, and recently I found myself writing them on a piece of paper and sticking them to my bedroom door where I could be reminded of them many times a day.

In January 2020, I was finally in a position to purchase a property of my very own. It was exciting but very scary at the same time. It would be the biggest financial commitment of my life – and a chance for me to live the way I’ve always wanted: closer to nature. Having never lived anywhere for longer than ten years, this was an opportunity for me to put down roots – to make a “forever home”, as five-year-old Alice put it.

Many people thought they knew what was best for me and my daughter, and they seemed to have no hesitation about sharing their opinions with me:

“All you need is a little two bedroom unit with an easy-care yard.”

“Buy in Hastings, so you’ll be nearer to the hospital.”

“You don’t want to be buying a big section with the health problems in your family.”

“Land? You don’t want to buy land! It’s a lot of work and you get no thanks from it.”

In the end, I simply had to shut my ears to all of the advice and do what my head and my heart told me was right. I didn’t want to “chicken out” of achieving my dream because some well-meaning person had scared me into choosing a “safer” and far less satisfying option.

These people aren’t me, and they aren’t my daughter. Although their words are kindly meant, they have no idea what we need, let alone what we want. What they do know are the choices that they might make if this was their decision and their life.

So I put up a piece of paper on my bedroom door that read:

I honestly struck so many hurdles in the search for the right property that there were times when I nearly gave up. Then I would find myself standing in front of that little sign, reading it to myself over and over until I began to believe it again. And it worked.

“Yes, I can!” has long been a powerful phrase in my household. Born with a chromosome disorder and a hole in her heart, my daughter, Alice, has had more than her fair share of challenges. Yet rather than wrapping her in cotton-wool and condemning the both of us to a very limited life lived largely indoors, I have always encouraged her to believe that she could – that she could walk, that she could communicate with others, that she could be incredibly capable and strong…

Out of a walking frame for over a year in 2018, Alice was still unsteady on her feet, unable to climb a kerb unaided or cross uneven ground. I told her that when she was “as sure-footed as a mountain goat”, I would take her to the top of Te Mata Peak, which stands 399 metres above the Heretaunga Plains.

Instead of choosing the path of negativity and believing that she could never achieve that, Alice began to look forward to it, to actively work toward it, to let go of my hand more while walking, and to persevere on bumpy ground.

Two weeks before her fourth birthday, I took her to the top of the peak. We drove most of the way, but she still needed to negotiate the narrow, rutted tracks and steep rocks in her scramble to the summit. Once there, we sat on a limestone outcrop eating snacks and watching the scene below us: cars like tiny toys on the bridge across the Tukituki River, sheep so distant that they looked like grains of rice, fearless souls with paramotors strapped to their backs riding the air currents around the cliff face, a kingfisher catching lizards in a jumble of rocks. It was a glorious, blue-skied winter’s day.

I know from experience that fear can trap us into not achieving our dreams and our full potential. Alice has climbed her peak, and I have bought my land, so I know that we both “can”.

But there’s a long way to go between buying a piece of land and turning it into one’s dream. I think I’m going to keep that sign on my door for a bit longer, just in case I have trouble remembering sometimes that “I can”!