“You can do anything you set your mind to.”
If you know me personally, you’ve heard me say this more times than you can count. I say it to my kids, friends, and to myself when life starts acting like it pays rent in my head.
It’s one of my favorite phrases. A personal mantra. A quiet declaration of faith in human capability.
And then one evening, a sleeper sofa tried to humble me.
The Sofa That Outgrew Its Purpose
I recently downsized my home. One of the casualties was a beautiful sleeper sofa. Solid and sturdy. The kind of furniture that has seen things —guests, life phases, emergency naps, broken plans.
At first, I couldn’t let it go.
I stored it, telling myself I’d repurpose it. Create space for it. Figure it out later. You know that lie we tell ourselves when we’re emotionally attached to things that no longer fit our lives.
Storage fees, however, are brutally honest. They don’t care about your intentions.
So I decided to give the sofa away for free.
But not just to anyone.
I wanted it to go to someone who needed it. Someone who would appreciate it. No bargaining, back-and-forth, or drama. Ideally, a woman.
I posted it. My phone exploded. Messages came in faster than spam emails on payday.
One stood out.
“I really need this sofa. I just moved to the area and I’m crunching on cash.”
The profile photo looked like a woman. Something about the message felt sincere. So I chose her.
She scheduled pickup immediately. Told me she was an hour and a half away. Sent her ETA.
Confidence, Energy, and a Very Small Detail
Then a middle-aged woman showed up exactly when she said she would.
She arrived driving a U-Haul truck—tall, sturdy, and looking like she meant business.
Full of energy. Moving fast. Very ready to go.
Already, I was impressed.
Then I asked the question I probably should have asked earlier.
“Did you come alone?”
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
This was not a small arm chair. This was a full three-seat sleeper sofa. The kind that hides a metal bed frame inside and weighs roughly the same as regret.
I hesitated. She assured me she had a dolly and would just need a little help.
And there it was, that familiar thought.
“There’s nothing we can’t do if we set our minds to it.”
Famous last words.
When Motivation Meets Physics
The moment we lifted the sofa, reality entered the conversation.
The hallway was narrow. The sleeper mechanism kept shifting. The door frame disagreed with our optimism.
We tried every angle. Up and down. We tilted, pushed, and pulled.
Nothing worked.
At some point, the sofa wedged itself perfectly between the doorway and the hallway. Not in. Not out. Just stuck. Like it had decided this was its final resting place.
The sleeper part that kept sliding out had bruised us both. We were sweating and breathing hard. It was 8:30 p.m. The storage facility was empty. No help in sight.
We sat down on the floor, exhausted, staring at this massive object that had somehow become a shared problem.
“So… what do we do now?” one of us asked.
Great question.
The Cost of Holding On
As I stared at the sofa, something shifted.
There was a time this sofa was everything I needed. A symbol of stability. Comfort. Home.
Now, it felt like a burden I couldn’t wait to release.
I thought about how stressful it was to move it out of my old place. The cost of storing it. The mental energy spent convincing myself I’d make space for it again.
It had cost money to own. Money to move. Money to store. And now, bruises to remove.
I was silently ranting. Regretting every decision from the day I bought it.
And then another thought arrived.
A Small Reframe That Changed Everything
If the movers could get it in, we could get it out.
That was it. No magic. No inspiration poster. Just logic.
I stood up.
“If they got it in here,” I said, “we can get it out.”
Something shifted between us. We stopped forcing and started thinking.
We examined angles. Restrained loose parts. Adjusted our approach. Took our time. Planned instead of panicked.
Thirty minutes later, we tried again.
And this time, it worked.
The sofa came out.
Not only that. We loaded it into the truck. Alone.
We laughed. Giggled like kids. Hugged. The kind of hug you share with someone you just survived a minor battle with.
Mission accomplished.
What That Sofa Taught Me About Belief
That night, lying in bed, sore and exhausted, I thought about that phrase again.
“You can do anything you set your mind to.”
It hadn’t failed me. Not once.
The challenge was never the sofa. Or the hallway. Or even the weight.
The real obstacle was the moment we almost decided it was impossible.
Most things don’t defeat us because they’re impossible. They defeat us because we agree with the story that they are.
We tell ourselves something is too hard. Too late, complicated, and unrealistic. And we stop thinking creatively. We stop trying differently.
Mindset isn’t about blind positivity. It’s about refusing to accept impossibility as the first answer.
Why We Struggle With This as Adults
Somewhere along the way, we were taught to be “realistic.”
Realistic usually means cautious. Limited. Afraid of looking foolish.
But growth doesn’t happen in realism, it happens in willingness.
Willingness to try again. To reassess, change strategy, get bruised, and still believe there’s a way through.
Every time I’ve put this belief to the test, it has held. Even through disappointment. Loss. Grief. Detours I never asked for.
The truth always lands face up.
You can do anything you set your mind to.
So… Says Who?
And if anyone ever questions you, when you say it out loud, tell them this:
Says the woman who gave away a sofa and got a life lesson instead.
Says Ms. Normal.
Not because it’s easy.
Not because it won’t hurt.
But because most limits are negotiated, not fixed.
Call to Action
If this story resonated with you, share it with someone who’s staring at their own stuck doorway right now.
And if you’re navigating a moment that feels impossible, stay a little longer with it. Sometimes the solution isn’t more force. It’s a new angle.
Subscribe to Ms. Normal for more real stories about growth, resilience, womanhood, and learning life’s lessons the slightly bruised way.
You’re more capable than you think.
