From Mobility to Messenger

Post Title:  From Mobility to Messenger.

Have you ever been highlighted in the spotlight but in a way that devalued you instead of showed off your talents? I sure have!

I had been a successful teacher overseas for many years, had navigated through mega-airports without blinking an eye. I was savvy to passport and visa regulations, restrictions and even various caveats. I had followed travel schedules of all kinds—bus, subway, air, and train. I felt accomplished and proud of who I was.

When Our Disability Takes Control.

I returned to my hometown to help my mother, but it wasn’t long before I felt like I was on a journey without a map. How did I get here and where was I going? Why did I trip up the stairs in public or stumble over a curb? I couldn’t walk out at night without crashing into some kind of an obstacle. Why couldn’t I see that pop machine in front of the store?

I knew why but I pretended I didn’t. Decades earlier a retinal specialist had diagnosed me with Retinitis Pigmentosa, an incurable eye condition that resulted in blindness. It was a hidden disability with no tell-tale signs. My eyes—actually, one of my best features—looked as sighted as anyone else’s eyes. The speckled pigment that covered my retinas and the faulty nerve ending that disintegrated my rods and cones caused the loss. But only the specialists knew that.

I had always adapted and never allowed my sight loss to deter me. But my time was running out. I didn’t seem to be in control anymore. Never-ending shame accompanied me everywhere, like a naughty shadow.

Navigating the Tunnel.

It was as if I was driving an out-of-control “car” bouncing off the walls of a tunnel in obscure lighting. The foggy “tunnel” in my vision grew longer, narrower and had no clear end. As the driver, I had to make my way forward the best way I could and try to minimize the damage.

I tossed the many other hats out the window, saying goodbye to the confident teacher, the leader, the knowledgeable traveler. Hatless, the cold wind whipped my hair across my eyes, further obscuring my view. I recalled how the Detroit airport tunnel with its bright fashionable colors and beaming lights on either side at the top used to look and how the colors delighted me. In this obscure tunnel, the memory only taunted me. This tunnel often made me stop and start in hesitance, unsure of my “driving” capabilities.

I was sideswiped by the lack of visible cues. Every time I crashed, I knew the car gained another dent, suffered a bent mirror here or paint scratched off there. But I reassured myself, “This car is getting older. That’s to be expected. It runs well and it will be okay.”

White Cane Training.

But accountability comes to us all. A crossroads. We must decide how to handle it. Luckily for me, the Bureau of Blindness guided me to an orientation and mobility coach that changed not only my outlook … but the way I looked out at the world.

My white cane did the grunt work—it saw for me. I treated it, eventually, like a trusted teacher’s aid worth its weight in gold. We made a good team.

Somehow with my white cane, the educator surfaced again. It was as if I slid my clumsy feet into a pair of sturdy shoes with comfortable soles that moved me more smoothly from one place to another. With my writing, I brought my hidden disability to light, and I focused on mobility – how to get past the embarrassment and unexpected debacles that no longer derail or define who I am.

Now I fill my car with the gasoline of self-confidence and unleaded acceptance for who I am. With the windows down, refreshing breezes of humor blow in. I’ve inflated my tires to the brim with patience. A GPS helps me get out of the tunnel.

I am not alone in my disability, and neither are you.

Disability InSIGHTS.

Where our stories merge is where Disability InSIGHTS comes into the picture.

Sometimes our obstacles overwhelm. It’s impossible to find a way around them. We need each other as fellow guides.

Top of Mt. Fuji with sunrise sky in spring season

We often need to leave our cars and take to the footpath. Our world is like a mountain. Climbing higher requires certain skills and a lot of good will. In Japan, when I climbed Mt Fuji, the elderly gave me a valuable Japanese phrase to motivate me to climb higher when I felt exhausted and couldn’t see clearly where I needed to go. They shouted, “Gambatte Kudasai!” – Do your best.

Sometimes the ooji-sans (elderly) pointed to the trail when I lost track of which route I needed to follow. The mountain had five or six trails that ran parallel from time to time but led to different places on the mountain. Some held danger, even in good weather. I didn’t want to get lost or cause a rock slide, so I followed their instructions. Sometimes I pointed out key routes to travelers that followed me.

We listened to each other’s words. We became courageous messengers as we traveled the mountain together. The goal was to seek the best route and stay on it to move ahead safely. We had to learn sound techniques to descend back the base of the mountain safely. Sharing that information helped each of us. I was a newbie, who leaned into the experience of the Japanese climbers who knew the mountain well—and so glad I listened to their words.

Whatever Terrain You Find Yourself in …

You may find solace in the story of how Aimee overcame bullying, self-harm and depression to advocate for those with mental illness and who were bullied in schools.

Or Emmanuel’s story may resonate with you as he tells you about the bullies and abuse he went through as he dealt with deafness as a toddler, bullying and then extreme sight loss as an adult. How did he move forward to smile and laugh and empathize with others today?

Autism might be your challenge-or a struggle of someone you live with or know. How does Casey live and handle it? Why does he find so much strength in sharing his tale?   How does Erica cope with two children who struggle with Autism?  How does she help find the right trail? What knowledge can we learn today to help us navigate this disability?

Wherever we go, we sit at the driver’s seat of our own car. We get out and climb, and get back in to travel other landscapes.

Come, load your courage and dialogue into your backpack. Let’s connect at Disability InSIGHTS 2019.

October 18 | Erie, Pennsylvania.

Event Link: https://amybovaird.com/disabilityinsights/.
Register before seats sell out! https://amybovaird.com/product/disability-insights-seminar-registration/

You have just read “From Mobility to Messenger” by Amy L. Bovaird. © September 10, 2019. All Rights Reserved.   

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