"What future do I imagine for my daughter?" That was the question Anna Maria Canonico kept asking herself. An architect, educator, and mother of two—her older daughter is eighteen, deafblind with an intellectual disability—Canonico was working toward her degree in special education when she and her husband began to imagine an answer: that their daughter might continue to find, in her own neighborhood and home, the possibility of a meaningful life ahead.
For her thesis, Anna Maria undertook a comprehensive survey of her Roman municipality, mapping out every nonprofit and association in the area and cataloging their work. What emerged was a striking gap—one I suspect extends well beyond Rome—in services and training for people with psycho-sensory disabilities once school years end.
The finding itself won't surprise anyone familiar with the landscape. But what stands out is the rigor with which Anna Maria conducted her research, her determination not to duplicate existing services, and her commitment to turning this need into something concrete and real. That kind of systematic approach doesn't happen by accident.
The Nutshell Association was born from that vision. The Sisters of Providence offered space within their facility—the same place that opened Rome's first home for at-risk children roughly three decades earlier. For these sisters, anyone who comes to them for help becomes part of their mission. A nutshell is a frail vessel to cross the sea, but what little they have, they offer freely to those they meet. And so they welcomed Anna Maria, whom they already knew as a volunteer in their residential program.
The nutshell speaks to the magnitude of the challenge ahead. Yet if this is the only resource available—and if, as the Sisters of Providence believe, we must trust in it—then trust is what we do. The association focuses on training (teachers, volunteers, professionals in the field) and on supporting families (parents and siblings of people with disabilities). Through the initiative called Track 18, it aims to serve as a bridge: connecting each person with the community where they live.
It is surely too early to assess results meaningfully. The work itself is straightforward: identify a welcoming opportunity in the person's neighborhood—a restaurant, a workshop, a craft business—while training and observing the individual over three years in the association's own labs, so they might develop skills that could make them a resource to that community. The goal is not only employment inclusion, which realistically may not always be possible, but above all social inclusion. Even home care services take on new meaning here. As the municipal social services director noted at the opening, thirty years ago, such services revealed an urgent need to support families and people with severe disabilities. But home cannot be only a house. While in school, people benefit from a collective environment—a community with real value. Yet for most, that ends the moment school does.
The project operates from a space equipped to develop the potential and autonomy of deafblind individuals, designed in consultation with the Lega del Filo d'oro, Italy's leading diagnostic and therapeutic center for these conditions. Participation carries no cost to users. Staff currently volunteer their time. The association's goal is financial self-sufficiency.
It is an ambitious project, supported by significant partners: parents and educators, the Salesian University and several of its faculty members, and—if not yet financially—the relevant public agencies.
For now, Providence has not been lacking.
Cristina Tersigni, 2016