by: Lori Becker

Last week, I was honored to be named a Titan 100 St. Louis—an award recognizing business executives who demonstrate exceptional leadership, vision, passion, and influence. It’s a tremendous honor, and I’m especially grateful to Jeff Zornes, of The Bank of Missouri, for nominating and supporting me.

Truthfully, receiving accolades like this often makes me feel a little awkward. But I’m learning to let myself enjoy it. This one means something. I work hard. I’m not always perfect or right—but I always give my best. And as a person with disabilities, I often have to work twice as hard just to keep up in a world that wasn’t built with me in mind. That’s my reality.

These days, “resilience” is a buzzword, and one often pinned on me. Employers want resilient teams that can weather change and uncertainty. But, for me, perseverance feels more accurate. We keep going. We push through. That’s grit. That’s perseverance.

And that’s what you get when you hire someone with a disability. You get a problem solver. Someone who’s creative, adaptable, and deeply determined. Someone who works their behind off. You get strength.

Too often, nondisabled people look past us. They don’t see what we’re doing or how we’re doing it. But if they took the time to watch how a disabled person navigates the world, they’d see a highly skilled, adaptable problem-solver who would make a great hire.

The Titan 100 celebration was held at The Factory—a vibrant, high-energy venue with neon lights, swirling vapor, passed hors d’oeuvres, sharp suits, and elegant gowns. It was glamorous, theatrical, and powerful—titanic, even.

As the program unfolded, we were instructed to enter the stage from the side, walk backstage, and then step forward one by one to receive our award in front of the massive Titan logo. It was designed to feel cinematic.

When it was our group’s turn, I stood up, grabbed my white cane from the table and jogged toward the stairs. I had thought about this moment all week. Should I bring the cane onstage? What message would it send if I did? What message would it send if I didn’t?

The truth is, I don’t always use a cane. I have low vision and am “legally” considered blind. In familiar spaces, I get around fine. But new environments—especially dimly lit ones—are hard. And while the cane is helpful, it still carries a stigma. People often see it and think, “Oh, poor thing, I need to help her,” instead of, “What a boss. I need her business card.”

So yes, I think about when and where to use it. But the cane gives me control. It lets me navigate new spaces without having to constantly explain myself. When people see it, they understand. And that’s empowering.

That night, I had decided: Take the cane. I was going to fight stigma and show the world what a blind boss Titan looks like.

So I headed backstage wearing my chic LBD, heels clicking, cane in hand. And just before I reached the curtain…

…I tripped over a piece of lighting equipment in the dark.

Because I wasn’t using the cane at that moment.

So here’s the lesson—simple, but true:

Take the cane. Use the cane. You’ll be better off for it.

I’m proud to represent the blind and low vision community—and all disabled professionals—among the Titan 100 St. Louis. I look forward to bringing my voice and perspective to this exceptional group of business leaders and expanding the message even further: