My Time To Shine
This year, I have decided that it is going to be my year to shine, my year to rediscover who I am and what I need to be happy. No, it’s not a New Years resolution; it is more of a pledge to start taking care of myself. It is time to begin looking at what I need to be happy — what I need to be me.
Over the last couple of weeks, I have been doing a lot of soul searching about what I would need to do to accomplish this. I realized that I need to begin by taking myself out of the shadows. We all have a part of ourselves we hide away from others, except for a select few who we love and trust. The part of us allowing ourselves to be so vulnerable to the world makes us cringe with fear.
This part of me I have hidden away for much too long. It isn’t something I have always hidden. Until I reached my mid-twenties, it was something I was very proud of. Something that gave me confidence in knowing I could achieve anything despite it. But as I grew older, the comments from others led me to slowly begin hiding it until the shame of the opinions of others was louder than the pride I had in myself.
Coming to the decision to share this part of me wasn’t an ah-ha moment or an epiphany; I found the inspiration and courage to share this from a fellow writer, who has shown more wisdom and courage at her young age than my forty-something self. To her I owe my deepest gratitude.
So here it goes. I am legally blind. On a 20/20 scale, my vision is 20/800 in my worst eye. Yes, I can see, just not very well. I have been asked by many people to try and describe what it is like, which isn’t an easy thing to do. The best way I knew to explain it was to tell them to look at an object that is 800 feet away. Then I told them this is how I see it 20 feet away.
This is something I was born with. I have known no different, so it really hasn’t affected me as much as people think. Sure, there are some things that are more difficult for me. I must look very close at things, especially when reading or looking at the computer. I can’t drive, which means at times I must be dependent on others to help, which is a big deal because I am one who is very independent and hates asking for help.
Yes, I do have glasses, but they only help with distance, and I can’t wear them for very long because I get horrible headaches from them. So essentially, I use them for cleaning or if I am going somewhere new, so I don’t get lost.
Yes, I have gotten lost before. Not long after I moved to New Zealand, I found myself lost and terrified. This was pre-GPS, and I had to do the one thing I hate: call on family for help. I get that people get lost all the time and call for help, but for me I put it on my visual impairment. rather than just the simple fact that I was in a new country and didn’t know where the heck I was.
For the most part, my visual impairment hasn’t stopped me from achieving my dreams. I raised four beautiful daughters, much of the time as a single parent, and then helped to raise my two stepchildren. I have traveled alone. I am the handyman of the family and have rebuilt a washing machine motor, and repaired electrical cords on small appliances. I can change the oil and tires on a car. I am not much different from anyone else.
While my girls were growing up, anything I achieved that anyone would find difficult, I would tell them, “I am woman hear me roar.” I would always tell them you can do anything you set your mind to. I did just that and was proud of myself for it.
Because I was born like this, I really didn’t realize anything was wrong. I did what everyone else was doing, just in my own unique way. As I grew older and realized the significance of my visual impairment, the pride I felt for what I was able to accomplish gave me such confidence in myself. I strived for excellence in whatever I did, and when I achieved it, I was proud to say I did it and that I did it despite my visual impairment.
There was one defining moment when the pride I felt turned to shame. I was at a routine eye exam, and my doctor told my mom to put me in a home because I would never be able to care for myself. Luckily, she didn’t listen. This is the first time I felt shame for being visually impaired. I never thought of myself as different, or never saw anything wrong with me until this point.
My first reaction was anger. You see, I am the type of person who doesn’t accept being told they can’t do something. Instead, I work my tail off to prove them wrong, and that I did. But still, I had this cloud of shame looming over me. This wouldn’t be the last comment that made me want to hide myself away.
I know comments that are made come from a place of ignorance much of the time, but it still doesn’t make it feel any better. Slowly, I started not sharing openly about my eyes, in fact, I worked really hard to hide it from others to the point where no one would have been the wiser unless I said something. Of course, there were times I had no choice but to say something.
A couple of times when mentioning it out of necessity, the person I was speaking with ignored me from that point on and began to speak to whoever I was with, like I wasn’t there or couldn’t understand what they were saying. I have been ridiculed for it, have had people make cruel jokes about it. I have been bullied for it, but the worst was being pitied for it.
I hate being pitied. I understand that it is coming from a caring place, but being pitied means they think something is wrong with me and there isn’t. I am a unique person and am the first to celebrate that about myself. I like that I march to my own drummer, as my mom always used to tell me. I am never one to follow the herd. My visual impairment is just another part of my uniqueness.
The pity caused me to work harder to prove myself worthy. I didn’t want to be seen as someone with something wrong with them. I became a perfectionist of the worst kind. It became so bad that I felt nothing was good enough. I had this idea in my mind that if I worked my hardest, then I would be seen as good as a “normal” person. No matter what I did, the comments about my visual impairment would rear their ugly head, causing me to hide myself more and more.
It has taken me many years to come to terms with the fact that there is actually nothing wrong with me, that even though I have a visual impairment, I am no less than anyone else. Each and every one of us has something about us that can be seen as an impairment. Some have physical limitations, some with mental or emotional limitations, and some with past skeletons they see as limitations.
We were never meant to be perfect. The differences in us all should be celebrated. We should be able to look at one another not for our impairments and limitations, but for the qualities we hold. No one should feel as though they are less than others. So starting today, I will embrace my limited vision that has allowed me to tap into my other sense on a deeper level that allow me to feel in a much different way.
I don’t just listen to music, I feel it within my soul as the lyrics and melody touch me emotionally. The smell of my jasmine candles bring peace to my spirit. The softness of my grandbabies’ skin as I hug them tight, and yes, even the beauty of the world around. Each and every thing I see, smell, and feel, I do on a deeper level thanks to my visual impairment.
So now I ask that each of you embrace your own unique differences along with me, and maybe, just maybe, we can clear the world of ignorance that makes us feel separated.
