Can't or Won't?

"Is it you can't change or that you won't change?"

This lyric from Kid Kapichi (who I happened to see last week in Blackpool of all places) has been rattling around my head for days. It's deceptively simple yet cuts right to the heart of something I've observed in leadership, education, and frankly, in myself over the years.

I was laughing with a friend recently about certain leaders we used to work with – those adamant types who were absolutely convinced they didn't need to change. The fascinating part came when circumstances forced them to acknowledge change was necessary, but they quickly pivoted to "I can't". I eventually concluded it wasn't a matter of ability, but will.

As Tony Robbins reportedly put it: 

"Change happens when the pain of staying the same is greater than the pain of changing." Tony Robbins

We are masters at avoiding discomfort, even when the status quo is slowly destroying us. We'll tolerate mediocrity, toxic situations, and even self-sabotage rather than brave the temporary pain of transformation. We confuse "won't" with "can't" so frequently that we often can't tell the difference ourselves.

I want to unpack this distinction – between genuine inability and unwillingness – and see if we can shine a light on our own resistance patterns in the process.

The Psychology of Resistance

Our resistance to change isn't random or illogical – it's actually a deeply wired survival response. From an evolutionary standpoint, change equals risk, and risk could mean death. Our ancient ancestors who approached new situations with caution tended to live longer and pass on their genes. We're the descendants of the cautious, the wary, the change-averse.

This biological predisposition manifests in several well-documented psychological phenomena. Loss aversion – our tendency to prefer avoiding losses over acquiring equivalent gains – makes us roughly twice as motivated to avoid losing £5 as we are to gain £5. The status quo bias inclines us to prefer things as they are, even when alternatives might serve us better. The sunk-cost fallacy I mentioned last week keeps us investing in failing endeavours simply because we've already put time, money, or effort into them.

But perhaps the most illuminating framework comes from psychologist Leon Festinger's cognitive dissonance theory. Festinger observed that humans experience significant psychological discomfort when holding contradictory beliefs or when our actions contradict our self-concept. Let me give you an example from my own life.

Years ago, I considered myself a health-conscious person, yet I regularly worked 60+ hour weeks, grabbed unhealthy meals on the go, and rarely exercised. When my doctor highlighted these contradictions, I experienced classic cognitive dissonance – the uncomfortable tension between my self-image and my actual behaviour.

To resolve this tension, I had three options: change my behaviour to match my self-concept (start actually living healthily), change my self-concept (admit I wasn't actually health-conscious), or find ways to justify the contradiction ("I'll start next week" or "My work is too important to prioritise exercise right now").

Guess which route most of us take? The third one, of course. It's far easier to rationalise our contradictions than address them directly. This is where the "can't change" narrative often emerges as a convenient shield against having to actually try.

"I can't exercise because my schedule is too demanding." "I can't delegate because no one else will do it properly." "I can't speak up in meetings because that's just not who I am."

These statements feel like objective truths to us when we utter them. But I think they're often rationalisations designed to protect our self-image while avoiding the discomfort of change. The "can't" narrative allows us to maintain a positive self-image ("I would if I could!") while avoiding the real work of transformation.

This distinction between "won't" and "can't" becomes even more critical when we consider how rapidly our world is changing. The skills, mindsets, and approaches that served us well in the past may be precisely what's holding us back today. The teacher who "can't" incorporate technology, the leader who "can't" adapt to hybrid working, or the organisation that "can't" reimagine their business model – these "can'ts" might be more accurately framed as "won'ts" stemming from deeper resistance.

“A man with a conviction is a hard man to change. Tell him you disagree and he turns away. Show him facts or figures and he questions your sources. Appeal to logic and he fails to see your point. We have all experienced the futility of trying to change a strong conviction, especially if the convinced person has some investment in his belief. We are familiar with the variety of ingenious defenses with which people protect their convictions, managing to keep them unscathed through the most devastating attacks. But man’s resourcefulness goes beyond simply protecting a belief. Suppose an individual believes something with his whole heart; suppose further that he has a commitment to this belief, that he has taken irrevocable actions because of it; finally, suppose that he is presented with evidence, unequivocal and undeniable evidence, that his belief is wrong: what will happen? The individual will frequently emerge, not only unshaken, but even more convinced of the truth of his beliefs than ever before. Indeed, he may even show a new fervor about convincing and converting other people to his view.” Leon Festinger

The Comfort of ‘Can't’

"Can't" is a remarkably powerful word. It builds walls, ends conversations, and perhaps most importantly, it absolves us of responsibility. When we convince ourselves we "can't" change something, we no longer need to try. We no longer need to face potential failure. We no longer need to experience the discomfort of growth.

Psychologist Robert Kegan offers a fascinating framework for understanding this phenomenon through his work on ‘immunity to change’. Kegan argues that our resistance to change isn't merely stubborn behaviour but a complex, hidden system designed to protect us from perceived dangers.

“...more than we understand, most people deal constantly with fear. “I’m not afraid,” we know you are saying to yourself right now. “I feel fine.” And you are right. You do not feel your fear. The reason you do not is because you are dealing with it. Though you are not aware of it, you have created a very effective anxiety-management system, and that system is what we call the immunity to change.” Robert Kegan

Much like our biological immune system defends against physical threats, our psychological immune system protects us from emotional threats – anxiety, fear, loss of identity, or challenges to our self-worth. The brilliant and maddening thing about this system is that it operates largely outside our awareness.

Here's how Kegan's immunity to change works in practice. Imagine a school leader who genuinely wants to delegate more responsibility to their team (conscious commitment) but continually finds themselves micromanaging every detail (contradictory behaviour). When asked why they can't delegate, they might cite practical reasons – "My team isn't ready" or "There's too much at stake to risk mistakes".

But Kegan would suggest looking deeper for the hidden commitments – unconscious goals that contradict our stated aims. In this case, the leader might have hidden commitments to being seen as indispensable, to maintaining control, or to preserving their identity as the expert. These hidden commitments create an immunity to change – a system that actively works against their conscious goal of delegating more.

The beauty of Kegan's framework is that it helps us understand why simply trying harder often fails. If your psychological immune system perceives change as a threat, it will generate powerful resistance – often disguised as rational "can't" statements – to protect you.

I've seen this play out countless times in schools, where teachers or leaders claim they "can't" implement a new approach because of time constraints, lack of resources, or inadequate training. While these barriers are often real, they frequently mask deeper concerns: "What if I look incompetent while learning something new?", "What if this challenges my identity as an expert in my field?", "What if this makes my previous methods seem outdated or ineffective?"

"Can't" statements offer us several psychological benefits:

1. They protect our self-esteem ("It's not that I won't try, it's that I can't succeed")
2. They shield us from judgement ("Don't blame me, it's impossible")
3. They prevent us from having to confront our fears of inadequacy ("I'm simply not built for this kind of challenge")
4. They preserve our existing identity and comfort zone ("This just isn't who I am or what I do")
5. They allow us to avoid the vulnerability that comes with attempting change ("Better to stay with what's certain than risk failure in the unknown")

There's something so seductively comfortable about claiming inability. It places the barrier outside ourselves, beyond our control. After all, we can hardly be blamed for not doing what we genuinely cannot do, can we?

The problem, of course, is that these "can'ts" often become self-fulfilling prophecies. When we decide something is impossible before truly trying, we ensure our own failure. We create the very barrier we claim to be confronting.

The Complexity of ‘Won't’

While "can't" masquerades as inability, "won't" represents a more complex form of resistance. "Won't" isn't always a conscious, deliberate refusal. Often, it operates beneath our awareness, a subtle but powerful resistance borne from our values, identities, and unconscious motivations.

Understanding "won't" requires us to explore uncomfortable territory – the hidden benefits we receive from not changing. Psychologists call these ‘secondary gains’ – the advantages or payoffs we get from maintaining problematic behaviours or situations.

Take the chronically overworked manager who complains about long hours but never delegates (look in the mirror, Ben). The primary problem might be burnout and stress, but the secondary gains could include that feeling of indispensability we mentioned earlier, avoiding the vulnerability of trusting others, or maintaining an identity as the hardest worker in the room. These secondary gains aren't trivial – they often fulfill deep psychological needs for recognition, safety, or identity. I know an early years teacher who is always talking about doing too much but then wears the badge of ‘busy’ like she’s going on an Armistice Day parade! 

The ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus offers a fascinating lens through which to view our resistance to change and I loved teaching this to my philosophy students back in the day. Famous for his doctrine of flux, Heraclitus observed that change is the only constant in life: 

"No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man." Heraclitus

He recognised a fundamental paradox – while change is the very nature of existence, humans crave stability and permanence.

This tension between flux and stasis explains much about our relationship with change. When we say "I am who I am" or "That's just how I've always been", we're pushing against Heraclitus' fundamental insight – that both we and our circumstances are in constant flux whether we acknowledge it or not. Our resistance isn't to change itself (which is inevitable) but to conscious, intentional change that requires our active participation.

Our unwillingness to change often has deep roots in our identity. We construct narratives about who we are – "I'm a traditional teacher", "I'm tech-challenged", "I'm a straight-talker" – and these identities become prisons that confine our growth. The teacher who defines herself by traditional methods may resist new pedagogical approaches not because they're ineffective, but because adopting them challenges her core identity.

It’s exactly what we are seeing with the trads in education currently when it comes to edtech or dare I mention, AI in education. There’s a reluctance to accept that AI tools may well help learners learn more effectively and even teachers teach more effectively but because there is the hyperbole and the scaremongering of “AI will take our jobs”, then we get stuck in the mire. (The truth is that whether we resist the change or not, if the technology is what it is seen to be, then resistance is futile - just like the Borgs told us in Star Trek!)

Heraclitus would perhaps point out the irony: by resisting conscious change in the name of preserving our identity, we miss the opportunity to shape our inevitable transformation. The river flows regardless; we can either engage with it consciously or be carried along.

This philosophical perspective helps explain why meaningful change often requires identity work – not just skill development or behaviour modification, but a reimagining of who we are and might become. When we say "won't", we're often really saying "I won't become the person that change would require me to be".

When Leaders Resist Change

Nowhere is the won't/can't distinction more consequential than in leadership. When leaders mistake unwillingness for inability, the effects ripple throughout entire organisations, creating cultures resistant to adaptation and growth.

I recall working with a headteacher – let's call him John – who insisted he "couldn't" implement a more collaborative leadership approach because his school faced unique challenges that required centralised decision-making. The evidence suggested otherwise; similar schools had successfully adopted distributed leadership models with positive outcomes. John's "can't" was actually a "won't" rooted in fear of losing control and diluting his authority.

The interesting thing about John's situation wasn't just his personal resistance, but how it manifested throughout his school. His leadership team began echoing the same "can't" language regarding their own departments. Middle leaders "couldn't" engage teachers in curriculum development because "there wasn't enough time". Teachers "couldn't" try new instructional approaches because "the students weren't ready". John's "can't" created a cascading effect, establishing a culture where resistance to change was legitimised and normalised.

This illustrates an essential truth: leaders don't just manage change – they model how to respond to it. When leaders confuse "won't" with "can't", they communicate that such confusion is acceptable, even desirable. They create what organisational psychologists call ‘defensive routines’ – patterns of behaviour that protect people from experiencing embarrassment or threat while preventing them from identifying and addressing the causes of these problems.

But the converse is also true. Leaders who can distinguish between genuine constraints and personal resistance create spaces where honest conversations about change can occur. I've seen this approach transform organisations, as in one school where the principal openly acknowledged her own resistance to a new assessment framework before working through it with her staff. By naming her "won't" rather than disguising it as a "can't", she created permission for others to do the same, leading to more authentic engagement with the change process.

The most effective leaders I've encountered approach resistance – both their own and others' – with curiosity rather than judgment. They ask questions like:

• What would make this change feel safer or more manageable?
• What identity or value might be threatened by this change?
• What hidden benefits might we be getting from the status quo?
• What's the smallest step we could take to test our assumptions about what's possible?

These questions shift the conversation from "We can't because..." to "We might if..." – opening up possibilities rather than shutting them down.

Breaking Through the Barriers

Distinguishing between "won't" and "can't" isn't merely an intellectual exercise – it's a practical pathway to more authentic and effective change. So how do we break through these barriers, both in ourselves and in those we lead?

Aristotle's concept of akrasia – acting against one's better judgment – offers valuable insight here. Aristotle recognised that humans often know the right course of action but fail to take it, a phenomenon he saw not as a simple weakness but as a complex failure of practical reasoning. In modern terms, we might say that knowing what to do isn't the same as being able to do it – especially when emotions, habits, and identity are involved.

The first step in overcoming resistance is developing what we might call ‘resistance literacy’ – the ability to read and interpret our own responses to change accurately. This involves:

1. Challenging "can't" statements by asking "What evidence do I have that this is truly impossible?". When I catch myself saying "I can't find time to exercise", I now ask, "Is it really impossible, or am I unwilling to prioritise it over other activities?".
   
   
2. Exploring emotional responses to proposed changes. Physical sensations like tightness in the chest, shallow breathing, or a knot in the stomach often signal deeper resistance than we're consciously aware of.
   
   
3. Examining the identity implications of change. Ask yourself, "Who would I become if I made this change? What parts of my current identity would I need to release?".
   
   
4. Identifying the hidden benefits of not changing. What needs does the current situation meet? What would you lose if you changed?
   
   

One particularly effective approach I've used with resistant teams is pre-mortems (a concept I learned from the wonderful Andy Griffith) – imagining that a change has failed and working backwards to identify what caused the failure. This technique often surfaces genuine constraints that need addressing (true "can'ts") while also revealing assumptions and fears (disguised "won'ts") in a non-threatening way.

Another powerful strategy comes from psychologist Jonathan Haidt's rider and elephant metaphor. Haidt suggests that our rational mind (the rider) has limited control over our emotional side (the elephant). When trying to change, we often focus exclusively on the rider – using logic, data, and reasoning – while ignoring the elephant, which responds to emotions, identity, and social influence. (Notice I didn’t mention mobile phones!)

Effective change strategies address both: they provide clear direction and compelling logic for the rider while also motivating the elephant through emotional connection, identity affirmation, and social proof. As a leader, this might mean both articulating the rational case for change and creating psychological safety for people to express and work through their emotional responses.

The role of vulnerability cannot be overstated here. When leaders acknowledge their own resistance – "I've noticed I'm hesitant about this change, and I'm working to understand why" – they create space for others to do the same. Vulnerability transforms "won't" from a shameful admission to a starting point for authentic engagement.

When Not Changing Is Actually Wisdom

While I've focused largely on unhelpful resistance, it's important to acknowledge that not all resistance to change is unwarranted. Sometimes, "won't" represents not stubborn defiance but principled discernment.

The Stoic philosophers, particularly Epictetus, emphasised the importance of distinguishing between what we can control and what we cannot. "Make the best use of what is in your power, and take the rest as it happens", advised Epictetus. This wisdom suggests that true maturity involves both the courage to change what we can and the wisdom to accept what we genuinely cannot. Indeed the serenity prayer is one I have come back to on many occasions.

The challenge lies in honest discernment. When we say "I won't change", is it because the proposed change violates our core values? Does it contradict evidence or experience that suggests another approach would be more effective? Or is our refusal simply a reaction to discomfort, a protection of privilege, or an unwillingness to grow?

I've worked with educators who refused to adopt certain assessment practices not because they were resistant to change generally, but because these practices contradicted their deeply held beliefs about student development. Their "won't" came from a place of principled commitment rather than fear or comfort-seeking.

The key difference lies in the quality of their resistance. Principled non-conformity tends to be:

1. Reflective rather than reactive
2. Specific rather than blanket resistance
3. Values-based rather than comfort-based
4. Open to dialogue rather than defensive
5. Willing to consider alternatives that might achieve the same ends

The wisdom of "won't" emerges when we've thoroughly examined our resistance, understood its sources, and determined that not changing represents our best judgment rather than our fear or comfort-seeking. As Heraclitus might remind us, even our principled refusal exists within the river of change – we are standing firm not against change itself, but for something we value more highly.

"Is it you can't change or that you won't change?"

The Kid Kapichi lyric that started this exploration now carries deeper resonance. The distinction between "won't" and "can't" isn't merely semantic – it's the difference between honest engagement with our resistance and hiding behind a façade of impossibility.

When we mistake unwillingness for inability, we rob ourselves of agency. We become victims of circumstance rather than authors of our experience. We close doors that might lead to growth, innovation, and deeper fulfilment.

I'm reminded of my own journey with public speaking. For years, I insisted I "couldn't" speak to large audiences without mumbling and stuttering. The reality, which took me too long to acknowledge, was that I wouldn't invest in developing this skill because I feared looking foolish and struggled with pausing in order not to appear slow. Once I recognised my "won't" for what it was, I could address the real barriers – my fear and lack of practice – rather than accepting an imagined limitation.

This doesn't mean change is always easy once we recognise our resistance. The path from "won't" to "will" is often challenging, requiring us to confront fears, reshape identities, and tolerate discomfort. But naming our resistance accurately gives us somewhere to start – a handhold on the climbing wall rather than a sheer face we claim is unscalable.

As Heraclitus might remind us, we are always changing whether we choose to or not. The question isn't whether we will change, but whether we will participate consciously in our transformation or simply be carried along by the river's flow.

The next time you hear yourself say "I can't", pause and consider: Is it truly impossible, or am I unwilling? And if it's the latter, what's really holding me back? The answer might just be the key to your next breakthrough.

Key Takeaways

1. Question your "can'ts". When you hear yourself saying "I can't", ask whether you're describing a genuine inability or an unwillingness you haven't fully acknowledged.
   
   
2. Look for secondary gains. Identify what benefits you might be getting from not changing – these hidden advantages often fuel our resistance.
   
   
3. Recognise identity protection. Much resistance stems from protecting our sense of self. Ask, "Who would I become if I made this change, and what about that feels threatening?".
   
   
4. Address both the rider and the elephant. Effective change requires both rational direction and emotional motivation. Don't neglect either aspect.
   
   
5. Create spaces for honest resistance. Leaders should model the difference between "won't" and "can't", encouraging authentic engagement with change rather than superficial compliance.
   
   
6. Distinguish between principled and fear-based resistance. Not all resistance is unhealthy. Learn to recognise when your "won't" comes from values worth preserving rather than comfort worth challenging.
   
   

Remember Heraclitus's river: We are always changing whether we acknowledge it or not. The choice isn't whether to change but whether to engage consciously with our transformation. And finally, a question to ponder: What "can't" in your life might actually be a "won't" in disguise, and what first step might help you explore that resistance with curiosity rather than judgment?