2022 REFLECTIONS

The events of 2021 set in motion a domino-effect of transitions in my life, and transition is how I’ve come to define 2022.

Becoming a Mrs.

In October of 2021, the love of my life slipped an engagement ring onto my left hand. And six months later, I said “I do.” [So did he!] Before 30 of our close friends and family, we committed our lives together in a ceremony that was uniquely us, full of love and joyful giggles [on my part]. It wasn’t the wedding I’d dreamed about growing up. But it was the perfect wedding for who I have become and the people my husband and I are and hope to be in our marriage.

On The Move

But as wonderful as it was to begin the year becoming a wife in the beautiful, crisp, island sunshine, it also was just the beginning of what felt like constant change and unpredictability.

Six weeks after our wedding, my husband and I moved into our 2-bedroom condo that overlooks the creek. For me, this was the third official move in a year and a half. But it felt like just another one, since for the duration of my husband’s and my year-long relationship, I’d been commuting between our homes, an hour apart. I could feel in my body the unease and the anxiety of everything that comes with learning a new home, city, and routine–I had to learn the routes and teach them to my guide dog, I had to memorize a new layout and learn where we kept everything in the house [and teach my husband not to move everything on me!], and face the most daunting task of all–making friends.

It was a slow process. It took six months to even begin to feel at home here in our house. And I’m still in the midst of it. What used to come naturally takes an extraordinary amount of physical and mental energy. But I’m determined to keep moving forward, and reassuring my brain that this move is permanent, it won’t disappear, and we are safe here. But as with most things: easier said than done.

Alongside our move, my husband and I faced employment and financial challenges. I wrote a mini series on how the British Columbia government handles disability income after marriage, and how it’s designed not to lift people out of poverty, but actually keeps people in it. This weight is intensely heavy, and leaves both my husband and I feeling very devalued and like we are fighting a battle that we are destined to lose.

Just Keep Writing… Just Keep Writing

I celebrated my one-year blogging anniversary in May, and my passion for disability equality and accessibility is still going strong.

In July, I began the Authors with Disabilities Showcase, an online bookstore to highlight the talent of the disabled community. From memoirs to children’s books to stories about guide dogs, I’ve learned so much, not just about different disabilities, but about people. That’s why I began this bookstore–to learn and to grow in my understanding of others’ experiences and perspectives, and I’m excited to share it all with you.

In August, my husband, a former web designer, migrated my website to a new hosting platform. This was a major learning curve, but it also opened the door to many more opportunities to expand my online reach than I had previously. While the blog looks and feels much the same, behind the scenes is a different story, and one that I’m excited to keep exploring.

It was during this migration that I started toying with the idea of what would become the Writely Disabled Newsletter. While the newsletter only lasted four months [September-December], I’m grateful for the experience: While it taught me a bit about web design and marketing, it taught me to take what I perceive as failure and rebrand it. Though not easy, it is a life skill that I’m glad to be learning, and will undoubtedly, have to learn over and over again.

And all throughout, the idea for my memoir/non-fiction book had been building. This fall, I began a concerted effort to begin the journey. I have a long way to go, but I’m proud of how far I’ve come, and I have big dreams for this book and many others. I’m excited for where the events of 2022 will take me in 2023.

Back to Basics

But the most transitional moment of this year has been the re-embracing of my Christian faith. I accepted Jesus Christ as my Saviour as a young child, and while it’s remained a defining feature of my life, it hasn’t always been my driving force.

In growing with my husband and deciding what kind of life we want to build together, I felt a profound, personal return to my faith and a desire to make it my center. I declared that I will not renounce the word Christian even when it makes others assume on my values and standards, but my faith is not about what others might think of me–it’s about God.

However, the decision to embrace my faith more deeply has caused friction in my relationships. I have been and continue to be accused of many things that I have not done and am not as a person, and it hurts. And I know I’ve hurt others, but in the spirit of the faith I’m trying to live out, I am trying to forgive, and hope that they can forgive me. I should have handled these conflicts with more grace and understanding. But I will not deny my faith or ignore its commands. And it’s my goal to continually learn how to stand firm in my faith and still be kind, but I know I’ve failed and will fail again. But I will never stop trying. That, I can promise.

2022 has been a year of transition. While many of these have been welcome and long prayed for changes, they haven’t come without conflict or inner struggle. I’ve cried out to God, felt lonely and lost, and believed I was worthless. The year feels less about marking events on the calendar as it does recalling the emotions and internal struggles I’ve endured. I’ve doubted myself and everything I’ve believed, and it has taken me into some dark places.

But the truth is that these are lies told to me by the Deceiver, and I’m hopeful, that with God’s help [and therapy], I can rid myself of them and start believing God’s truth about who I am.

And that’s my prayer for 2023, that I might not just believe, but truly become, a deeper, more faithful follower of God and embrace what He has for me in my life.

Happy 2023!

I GOT MARRIED! HERE ARE SIX UNEXPECTED AND WONDERFUL THINGS THAT HAPPENED AT OUR WEDDING

I’m BAAACK!

And I’m MARRIED!

It already feels like so long ago, but in actuality, is still only days ago. Anyone else feel this way after their wedding? But in all the planning that went into our special day, it’s nice to sit down and reflect, and I wanted to share some of those reflections with you.

Weddings are a time to celebrate a couple’s love and commitment and the people that got them there, but it can also be a day of (mostly) organized chaos. But with the right people and the right outlook, it can still be beautiful and wonderful and everything you dreamed it would be.

Mine certainly was. Here are six things that happened that made it uniquely ours and totally wonderful.

I. We Changed Locations The Day Before

Third time’s the charm, right? My husband and I were engaged for six months and we had laid claim to our dream venue within the first week. But, sparing you all the back-and-forths, we had to give it up due to our provincial Covid-19 restrictions. So, we changed to an outdoor location, choosing to say our I dos on the lakefront. We knew a mid-April wedding might be cold, or raining, even snowing, but we had no choice.

Except we did.

During the rehearsal at the lake, my fiancé and I were shivering like two baby chihuahuas; it was shaded, windy, and the next day wouldn’t be much better. My Aunt, who officiated the ceremony, pulled us aside and gave us the permission that we weren’t able to give ourselves: we could move locations, and it was OKAY.

But where would we go? Well, both my fiancé and I, my Aunt, and my dad, had all thought to ourselves the previous evening that the AirBnb my parents had rented for my mother’s side of the family would be perfect. It had a large basement where my fiancé could get ready, the upstairs where I could get ready with my parents and my Aunties, and a deck where we could be married in the sunshine (and out of the wind).

So 24 hours before the wedding, we changed our venue … for the third time … And it was perfect. It was so much better than we’d dreamed; yes, it was easier in the practical sense, but emotionally, it gave my fiancé and I that ahhhh… just right feeling that we’d been hoping to have on our wedding day since we got engaged. And it made all the difference for us.

II. My Dress, Uh, Had A Malfunction

As I nervously texted a friend of mine in the days leading up to the wedding, she said that something will not go as planned but that all I needed to do was enjoy it [and that my family/wedding party would handle the rest]. I found that comforting, because yes, something did not go as planned, but her words helped me not to see it as a failure but simply part of the memories.

I was giving my parents hugs before taking my soon-to-be-husband’s arm to walk to the front. I leaned forward to wrap my arms around my mom, and POP! We burst out laughing. The clasp at the back of my dress had busted. The zipper was still intact, but as I discovered later, it isn’t that the clasp just unhooked, but vanished completely. But that wasn’t the last of it. As we made our rounds for goodbye hugs before heading off for our honeymoon, I leaned down to hug my grandma, and POOF! My left strap ripped loose from its front holding. Good thing I had my shawl on!

I laugh about it now, and you know what, I was laughing then, too. Some brides’ worst fear might be a wardrobe malfunction, but to me, it wasn’t worth the stress. I was with my family and friends. I was getting married. And in the last moment with my parents before heading up to stand with my husband, I was a nervous wreck, but the moment of laughter released all the stress. It wasn’t about timing the music for my walk down the aisle anymore. It wasn’t a performance. It was life, and a moment in life shared with people I love. And you know what? Sometimes, life is funny.

III. The Person I’m So Thankful I Invited, But Almost Didn’t

I won’t divulge the details here, but sufficed to say that there is a member of my family that I’ve had a rocky relationship with for several years now. When things first fell apart, I decided that I would not invite them to my wedding—I wanted to enjoy my day and not be focused on the hurt that I felt.

But as soon as my fiancé and I started writing the guest list, I had to make a choice, once and for all. My daddy, who’s always been good at walking me through difficult decisions, said something that stuck with me and made all the difference. He said: “If you don’t invite them to your wedding, it will make building a relationship with them later much harder.”

He was right.

So I sent them an invitation.

And when the wedding day came, I was so overcome with gratitude and love and such joy that they were there. Our hug was our first hug in years, and contrary to all my fears, their presence didn’t detract from my marriage celebration—it enhanced it.

IV. I Giggled All Through The Ceremony

During the reception, I was told many a time by my friends and family that they’d never seen a bride giggle so much. At first, I wasn’t sure what to make of this remark, but when I asked one friend, they reassured me that it was a good thing.

The joy was bubbling out of me and everyone watching could feel that joy.

I worried that my giggles would be construed as nervousness, and sure, there were some wedding jitters that day, but my giggles were of pure happiness and joy. I giggled when my dress clasp broke. I giggled when we all started crying because my sister-in-law had dubbed it a “sob fest” even at the rehearsal. I giggled while crying through my vows.

All because I was so filled with joy at marrying the love of my life, and believing firmly in what God had started in the two of us.

I’ve always been a smiley, giggly girl, and I didn’t want my giggles to come across as childish or young. But whether they did or not, I’ve decided not to stress about. My giggles were just me, and an outpouring of love and joy. There’s nothing to worry about with that!

V. We Opened Gifts With Our Family

A wedding signifies only the beginning of a life together. My husband and I would have our honeymoon and years after that to be together, but we wouldn’t always have family—particularly our family from far away. They came for one weekend to celebrate with us, so the least we could do is give them our time in return.

After our friends had left and only family remained, we gathered in the living room of the AirBNB to open gifts and cards that our guests had brought. While it may not seem like much, it meant so much to both my husband and I, and I’m hopeful, for those that were with us then, too. It was a way to relax, to unwind, and to say thank you for taking the time to come to our wedding. There was no reason to rush away as fast as possible—the honeymoon would still be there, but our family wouldn’t be. And as our families mean so much to us and have played such significant roles in our lives leading up to this day [and will continue to in the future], we wanted to spend time with them.

We didn’t want the wedding day to focus only on my husband and I. We weren’t the only ones there who mattered. And spending time with them after the festivity had calmed and we could relax, joke, take pictures and just chill, is such a wonderful memory from that day that I know I’ll take forward with me and cherish when I look back.

VI. The Focus Was On The Marriage, Not The Wedding

And, in everything that happened that day, I am so blessed that my wedding day wasn’t simply a production or a timeline of events.

My wedding day represented the covenant that my husband and I made before God. It wasn’t the final destination or an ending, but a beginning. Throughout the celebration, I was so thankful that the focus of the day was kept on what was to come and the lifelong marriage that had just been committed. It wasn’t about dresses or charcuterie boards or photos. It was about much more than that, and when the details of the wedding day have been lost to memory, the meaning of the marriage will last.

Just because my wedding is over and my husband and I are settling into married life and figuring out what our normal will be, doesn’t mean that I’m out of wedding mode.

So please, tell me about your wedding in the comments! I want to hear something that made your wedding uniquely you!

I’M GOING ON HIATUS … AND GETTING MARRIED!

As much as I want to be like the energetic, go-getter writers (and people) that I see on Twitter and in my community who seem to be able to do it all and never need a break, I’m just not. I take afternoon naps most days and have since I was a teenager. Writing one blog post mentally drains me and I can’t write again for a few days while I recharge. I go to bed early and sleep late, not because I’m lazy, but because my body really does need that much rest.

And as much as I want to have blog posts prepped and scheduled twice a week for the next month, the words haven’t materialized and I don’t have the energy, or the mental capacity, to push them out now.

That’s why I’m going on a short-term hiatus.

April will see me married to the love of my life, and moved into a new apartment in a new city. It will see me make final arrangements for the wedding, spend quality time with friends and family that are travelling for the celebration, and organizing and settling into a new routine. Sheesh, even the thought is exhausting!

But I’ve never been more excited, nor felt such a deep joy.

But in the same way that my body needs more rest than many others my age to function at its best, my mind also needs rest. And while writing this blog does invigorate my mind and is intensely satisfying, it takes a great deal of mental energy, and as I tire rather easily, I have to ration my energy appropriately.

And during my marriage celebration, I want to be fully present—physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. I want to be in every moment, in every conversation, and give the gift of my time and attention to everyone who is blessing me with theirs. I spent years dreaming about this wedding, and now that it’s here, I want to celebrate as best as I’m able.

But as my closest friends know, you can’t get rid of me that easily. I will still be on Twitter, available through the contact form here, and in the comments. I will still be taking requests for freelance writing projects, so please reach out to discuss your ideas with me through any of the above methods.

But until May, there will not be any new posts on the blog. But fear not! Simply because the blog will be on hiatus, does not mean that my mind is not spinning with new content for when I return. Already, I have multiple posts outlined that I cannot wait to finish and post for you all to read.

But for now, I will be taking a break so that I can fully embrace the new and wonderful changes in my life and cherish the people that I love.

Be well, be kind to yourselves and others, and keep reading! I will see you soon!

NINETEEN YEARS AGO TODAY…

I Became Blind

Nineteen years ago today, I took one last look around the Children’s Hospital with blurry vision.

I saw my family, together with the ophthalmologist, holding hands in a circle as we prayed for what was about to happen.

Nineteen years ago today, my Daddy carried me into the operating room and laid me down on the operating table.

And I smelled the watermelon scent that always lulled me to a blissful, dreamless sleep.

Nineteen years ago today, I became fully blind.

And nineteen years ago today, I became cancer-free.

This day goes by several names—my blindaversary, my blind birthday, Classy Glassy Day, but no matter what I call it, it will always be a day that I celebrate.

Yes, it’s the day that I became blind. It’s also the day my little body was free of the retinoblastoma. But this day acts as a marker for much more than that.

It reminds me how far I’ve come.

It reminds me of what my family and I went through, because cancer and blindness isn’t just my story—it’s theirs, too.

It reminds me that everyone who has a disability has a story, and each of those stories are unique and worthy.

It also teaches me things that I wouldn’t have learned otherwise.

It taught me the value of my health, and how nothing in this life can be taken for granted.

It taught me to be thankful for what I have, and who I have.

It taught me that my story has shaped me for the better, that I wouldn’t be who I am without having experienced what I did.

And it taught me that God is here through pain and suffering, and sometimes, it’s through those times that He’s the most visible.

So, happy Blindaversary to… me! I’m excited for what the next year will hold. How will I grow? How will God shape me into the person He wants me to become? I’m excited to find out.

Oh, and I forgot to mention one thing that this day always reminds me to be thankful for:

It isn’t the end of my story.

2021 REFLECTIONS

I have never been, and never will be, a party girl. In high school and college, while tolerating the celebrations echoing across the city, I sat outside on the porch swing, basking in the cool, fresh breeze of the new year and the glimpses of silence caught between fire crackers.

It’s my favourite moment of the year. Not because I’m a keen celebrator of New Year’s—in fact, the holiday is one I don’t much appreciate and could quite happily do without—but because for a moment, I can be quiet and reflect on the blessings and trials of another year.

The Island Calls

On a walk around the pond last December, while temporarily moved into my parents’ house, I announced to my dad that I wanted to move to a new city in the new year. I budgeted, I wrote lists, and one month later, with my parents’ love, support and packing expertise, I moved into my first above-ground suite and basked in the winter sunlight streaming in through the living room windows.

I learned my routes to the beach, the coffee shop and thoroughly enjoyed the abundance of thrift shops at my fingertips. My dream had come true, and it felt amazing, particularly when I breathed in the scent of salty ocean air. I was home.

cricket’s Chapter

But a few months after settling into my new environs, I came face-to-face with a reality I hoped wouldn’t come for many more years. I wrote the story in a post for my friend, Anneliese’s blog, and please feel free to read it to get the whole story. But on April 23, 2021, I made the decision to retire my first guide dog, Cricket. He was only three years old and many a trainer and fellow guide dog handler said he wasn’t ready to retire. But after several weeks of Cricket refusing his guidework commands and thus, placing me in dangerous situations (i.e. in the middle of crosswalks), I had no choice.

I reverted back to using a white cane, though not very successfully. Two years of working with a guide dog left me longing for the harness and the confidence that Cricket had provided when out and about in the community. So I applied to three guide dog schools and waited to be matched with my second guide dog.

Cricket stayed with me as a retired guide until August when I was able to travel to Michigan to deliver him home to his puppy raiser turned mom. It was bittersweet, watching him recognize the house, his doggy sister, Willow, and bond with his raiser. I felt sad for myself, but happy for him, and so I left Cricket in his new home with a floppy ear drenched in my tears and came home to Canada. Now, with the friendship I’ve developed with his mom, I couldn’t be happier or more thankful for the way God arranged everything.

Meeting The Mr., Soon To Be The Mrs.

On June 16, I met a man. On June 17, I kissed that man. And four months later, when that man asked me to marry him, I said yes!

Since I can remember, I’ve wanted to be three things: a writer, a wife, and a mom. And I don’t think anyone, me least of all, saw that second one coming this year, or this quickly.

But I couldn’t be more excited or more thankful. My fiancé is a man of God, loves to hug, is devoutly loyal to his family and loves me unconditionally. We’ve set a wedding date for spring 2022 and are over the moon to begin a married life together. It’s a blessing beyond what I could have hoped for.

And don’t you worry—you’ll get wedding updates!

The Saint and I

With Cricket retiring in May, I didn’t know how long it would be until I would snuggle my new guide dog. But I tried to reconcile the very real fact that it could be close to a year.

But the call came sooner than I expected and I was overwhelmed in the absolute best way. I was chatting with the ladies at the jewelry counter about my wedding ring at the tail end of October when I got the call. They had a dog for me and wanted me in Oregon at Guide Dogs for the Blind to train in THREE WEEKS!

And when Saint came wiggling into my world, I was immediately in love. He was everything I wanted—a boy, a yellow lab and a whirlwind of energy. We trained for two weeks and then came home to begin our new life together. And I couldn’t be more happy, and I don’t think Saint could wag his tail any harder!

The Sad Stuff

As a self-proclaimed pessimist (or realist, if you prefer), I can’t go on without addressing the challenges that the year has brought.

The Covid-19 pandemic has brought many challenges, and a very personal one I’ve experienced is the struggle of friends who disagree on the vaccine. In the summer, I ended a friendship with someone I was extremely close to because of our differing views; it was very clear that our priorities were pulling us in opposite directions.

And in the fall, another friendship that had been touch-and-go for almost two years, ended yet again. While I will not share details for her privacy and mine, I will say that neither of us are innocent, neither of us are to blame completely and both of us have more growing to do and I believe it’s healthier to do it separately. All I hope, in the silence that’s replaced our friendship, is that we can forgive each other and not hold onto the anger. That isn’t the person I want to be, and it isn’t the person I want her to remember, even though that may very well be the case.

Ending friendships hurts. That’s the hard and simple truth. And it’ll take a long time to be okay and look back on those relationships with fondness and not bitterness and anger. Because… I am angry. So angry. And I’ll only get there with the help of Jesus.

Blog Or Not, Here I Come!

But 2021 is also the year that I fulfilled one of my deepest dreams.

I became a blogger.

Not Your Blind Writer started out of a love of writing and a desire to use my voice to normalize disability by sharing my life as a blind woman and writer. Whether that has been accomplished is up to you, my readers, but all I know is that whether anyone continues to read my words or not, I will always continue to write. I feel the call to be a writer in my soul, and nothing will change that.

A fiancé, a guide dog and a blog… oh my!

It hasn’t been the easiest of years, and there will never be a year that is free of struggle. But in the midst of mine, I know I am incredibly blessed. My year began with a move to where my heart has wanted to be for a long time, and it’s ending with Saint guiding me, my fiancé holding my hand, my family and friends surrounding me, and my God clearing the path ahead. And that’s more than enough for me.

So if you’re celebrating with fire crackers, then HAPPY NEW YEAR and go crazy (but safely, please)! And if you’re like me and just like taking a quiet minute to think and reflect on the year that’s ending and the one that’s beginning, take one of those minutes to say thank you. Thank your people for being there for you and that you’ve lived to see another year of adventures.

Happy 2022!

I HAVEN’T WRITTEN IN TEN WEEKS, AND THIS IS WHY

For better or worse—and mark my words, it’s most often for worse—I am an all-or-nothing, idealistic pessimist. Just ask my therapist: I’m either a success or an utter failure. I either eat healthy, or one cookie deems me a lost cause. I either write consistently, or I am not worthy of the title.

When I started this blog, I had dreams of writing posts twice a week, growing a community of readers and allies, and bringing awareness to the realities of life with a disability. I still have those dreams. But sometimes, life wakes you up with a freaking loud alarm, and those dreams are put on pause.

So many times in the last ten weeks, I have sat down to write a post and nothing has come. I stare at a blank page, then wait for the tears. I slam the laptop shut, debate throwing it out the window, decide against it, and go take a burning hot shower and wonder why I thought I could do this. How could I call myself a blogger if I let my darling sit untouched for ten weeks? It deserves better, and so do those that honour me by reading it.

But in the past two and a half months, words have eluded me. I’ve cried, and when there are no more tears, I’ve just sat in the silence, wondering what I’m supposed to do now. It reminds me of the book of Job, when, after he lost his children, livestock, his home and his health, his friends “sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights, but no one spoke a word to him because they saw how intense his suffering was. Sure, I haven’t endured loss on that scale and I’m thankful for that. But I also want to acknowledge the grief that I am experiencing.

The Goodbye

On May 17, my guide dog, Cricket officially retired from his life as my working Leader Dog. In reality, he had not guided me for weeks and in my heart, I knew it was over. But now it was official and I couldn’t deny it any longer.

I put myself full throttle into “get it done” mode so that I wouldn’t stay in “cry all the time” mode. I applied to CNIB Guide Dogs, Guide Dogs for the Blind, and re-applied to Leader Dogs for the Blind for a successor guide.

And knowing that I didn’t have the physical space or the financial capability to care for Cricket in retirement as well as a new, working guide dog, I had to make the decision of where Cricket would live. I decided, together with Cricket’s puppy raiser, that giving him back to her was the best thing for him. God had affirmed that in both our hearts, but this decision brought its own challenges, namely how to get Cricket back home to Michigan.

Due to Covid-19 and the travel restrictions that both the United States and Canada set in place, getting Cricket to his new home proved much more challenging than expected:

His puppy raiser could travel to Canada to pick him up as she was fully vaccinated, but she could not take him back on the plane as she was not his handler.
I could not travel to Michigan as I was not fully vaccinated and could not go through a two-week quarantine upon return.
We didn’t feel comfortable putting Cricket in cargo, as he needs to be medicated on flights to mitigate anxiety, so sending him alone was not an option.
We applied with Puppies in Flight, a program through American Airlines to transport service dogs with an employee, but nothing came of it.
We tried to get permission for his raiser to become his temporary handler for the duration of the flights, but that was not possible.
We asked if a LDB trainer could transport Cricket, but again, due to restrictions, that was not feasible.

Once I knew that I would be fully vaccinated and able to travel without the need to quarantine by August 8, the plan was for me and Cricket to fly to Michigan, get him acclimated to his new home and come home… alone.

It was frustrating practically, but it was even harder emotionally. I had come to terms with Cricket retiring as my guide, but I was not able to grieve the loss of his companionship until he was gone, and not knowing when that would happen became almost unbearable. By July, I was having trouble sleeping. The feelings of guilt over leaving him home for hours at a time since I couldn’t legally bring him into shops, restaurants or on public transit made me feel like a failure as a handler. I wasn’t giving him the life that he deserved.

I returned home from Michigan on August 13. Cricket is now in his new home and I am able to grieve. But dear Lord… it breaks my heart.

The Other Goodbyes

Out of respect for the privacy of those that I am referring to, I will not go into detail here. But as I’m sure others have experienced throughout the last year and a half, differing views on the Covid-19 pandemic have caused significant conflict in relationships. The decision to get vaccinated or not, to wear masks and physically distance, among others, have divided families, friends, partners and communities.

And now, it’s happening to me in some of my close friendships. I still love and care for these people, but when our opposing views propel our lives in different directions, it is hard to know how to maintain a respectful, mutual, loving relationship. When the conflict is something as significant as the pandemic, how do you go forward when those closest to you do not agree?

I don’t have the answers. All I know is how it feels to be in the middle of it. I’m questioning how easily I trust others, if I have even been a friend if I can consider ending it, what it looks like to love like Jesus, and whether it is “christian” to let these differences influence the relationship. I cry myself to sleep because I feel, once again, that I can’t do friendships the right way.

The pandemic has caused so much grief in countless ways in our world. Is it a test from God? Am I loving those around me with His love? Am I doing enough?

Am I failing the test?

I’ve Had Enough of Saying Goodbye

We were walking to the lake yesterday afternoon when I stopped, threw my arms around my boyfriend and with tears in my eyes, said, “it’s starting again.”

“It” is my depression. As I’ve struggled with my mental health for years now, I’m very aware of my personal indicators of a depressive episode—I’m not enjoying activities that I love in the same capacity that I was even a few weeks ago, I’m not initiating get-togethers with friends, I’m sleeping late.

I’ve had enough of saying goodbye. To Cricket, to close friends.. what’s next? I’m exhausted. My brain is exhausted.

Is it starting again? Can I work to stave it off, even just a little bit? Maybe my medication will help this time, seeing as I wasn’t taking it the last time an episode came. I will have to work hard to eat. I will have to drag myself out of bed in the mornings and tell myself out loud that yes, there is a reason to get up today even though I don’t have to take Cricket out to pee or go for a walk.

And I will also have to give myself grace. And that will be harder than any of the others. But with the love of my family, my partner, Jesus and my medication, I will make it through.

But I am scared.

So, What Now?

Things feel very fragile right now. I feel like I’m about to break, and it must be by God’s grace, that I’m holding on. He’s here, and He’s blessed me with a support system and people who love me and hold me up when I can’t do it by myself. But as I’ve been learning to do in therapy, I’ve been trying to hold all of my opposite emotions. I imagine that in my left hand, I’m holding the love, the support and the faith that gets me through the tough times. And in my right hand are the tears, the grief, the pain and the sadness.

I want to write, and I’m hoping that this post will help break through the wall that’s built up over the past ten weeks. This blog, and you, my readers, are too important to me to let you go again. But there’s no telling if life’s alarm clock will sound again. But be assured that even if I am silent, I’m still here, and I’m doing my best.

That’s all anyone can do.

IN THE BEGINNING

“In The Beginning Was The Bird and the Bird Was Blind.”

Every story begins somewhere, and the story of my blindness begins with a bird.

To this day, I do not know what kind of bird it was, but I remember with vivid detail its crooked feet, its red-flecked breast and its eyes… oh those eyes. I remember specks of colour—maybe red or black?—but what I remember the most is how wrong they looked. Something was wrong with this bird.

Something was definitely wrong.

This bird was dead, having died after flying into our back kitchen window. I’d found him in our side yard and being filled with compassion for this hurt bird and no cares for the safety or cleanliness of such an act, I picked him up and cuddled him in my little hands. My four year old heart broke.

And when I was diagnosed with bilateral retinoblastoma—cancer of the eyes—within weeks, the connection was clear. This, in all truth and sincerity, is what I believed about how and why I became blind:

The bird had cancer and was blind, and because he couldn’t see our window, he flew into it and subsequently died. I touched the bird, caught his cancer and that’s why I became blind.

Of course, now as a woman in my mid-twenties, I understand the childlike ignorance that bore this theory into being; cancer is not contagious, neither is blindness and blindness is not always the result of a retinoblastoma diagnosis. But as a child, I carried this theory as fact with me throughout my childhood and adolescence, and even while I knew the truth of my medical history, a small part of me always clung to the bird. I wanted it to be real, to have an answer for why this happened to me. Follow up genetic testing would prove inconclusive, and with no family history of RB, my cancer effectively came out of nowhere. This bird gave me a reason and a tangible reality to hold onto while grappling with questions and emotions that were too big for a little girl to carry. To believe that the bird gave me cancer was easier than the truth.

How It Really Happened: The True Origin Story

My diagnosis of bilateral retinoblastoma came on April 19, 2001. It was just shy of six weeks before my fifth birthday. Everything I know of this time comes secondhand from my parents—the greenish-whitish thing my mother saw floating in my eye, the appointment with the optometrist, the consult with the ophthalmologist that same afternoon and the diagnosis of retinoblastoma at BC Children’s Hospital a week later.

The year 2001 saw me through several rounds of cryotherapy and chemotherapy, and in November, an enucleation of my right eye. In terms that I understand? My right eye was surgically removed, thus, I became legally half-blind. In 2002, I underwent further treatments and a trip to Disneyland which was generously provided to my family by The Children’s Wish Foundation. That trip holds many memories and smiles in my heart and I hope to share those with you in a future post. But 2002 came and went and I found myself in a back room of the surgical unit, holding hands with my family and ophthalmologist, praying to Jesus for what was about to happen. Then Daddy picked me up and carried me into the operating room. I breathed deep the scent of watermelon and when I woke up, my life had changed completely.

It was January 27, 2003, known in my family as Classy Glassy Day in honour of my first prosthetic eye. As of this writing, I have been completely blind and cancer-free for eighteen years. And while I continue to be followed by a team of medical professionals, I thank God that I have not been given a second diagnosis.

In The Middle… Is The Rest

But now, with the initial cancer treatments in my past and a life lived in total blindness stretching ahead, I live in a feeling of the middle.

I live in the middle of sight and blindness. I have memories of having vision, of knowing my colours and seeing the faces of my family. When someone describes a sunset to me or says that the dog in the park is a golden retriever, I can imagine it because I’ve seen it. And yet, I live in the middle of those memories, clutching them close to my heart yet I watch them fade with every passing day. The longer I live, the more my sighted life becomes a smaller and smaller piece, like an island that appears to be shrinking but it’s merely the ocean growing bigger around me.

I live in the middle of what society expects of a disabled woman and how I try to live outside that box. This is a Pandora’s box that I’m hesitant to open, but simultaneously, I feel is important to explore. I will go into depth in future posts, but sufficed to say that living as a woman with a visible disability brings with it a disturbing disparity that clings to me like a shadow. From society, I often feel an expectation to be an overachieving inspiration for the mere act of living, or a person of whom nothing is expected because I have a disability. I have to fight for accessibility, to be treated as equal, and yet all I want is the same things as you—equality, respect, dignity and a place in our world.

And I live in the middle of a life that is messy and broken, full of joy and lots of green tea. My faith in Jesus Christ guides everything I do yet I find myself struggling against Him because I can’t reconcile the world I live in with the love that He gives to us. I suffer from disordered eating habits where I hyper-focus on healthy ingredients to the point where I go without food for hours or days to avoid eating what I’ve deemed “unhealthy.” My mental health is steadied by medication and I go to therapy every two weeks. I cry during the radio drama production of Little Women EVERY. SINGLE. TIME! I’m an intense personality with deep, strong emotions that I’m learning to embrace. And I’m complex, quirky and valuable, and I have a story that matters–just like every human being.

This is my life. And I’m happy to have you apart of it. While this blog is centered around my experiences as a blind woman, I hope you will take from it much more than that. I hope that through my words, you will find me a person much like you, someone stumbling through life’s challenges and joys and just looking to do it with God and with those I love.