Connecting With a Rehab Group


Orientation and Mobility Trainers Conducting Rehab Training Group Meeting
Orientation and Mobility Trainers Conducting Rehab Training Group Meeting

“I had to get past my fear of what ‘blindness’ meant to me,” I explained. “In our society, that word conjures up frightening images in our minds–in my mind, at least.”  For over twenty-five years, I had clung to my “clumsiness,” something I must have unconsciously felt I had some control over.

I was speaking to a group of individuals in rehab training. Some were about to begin orientation and mobility  training. Some were in the midst of it. All had various stages of vision loss. One had recently lost all sight.  The oldest one in the group was 93.

When I  shared my story, I found them easy to connect with. I simply focused on the important parts I would have liked someone to share with me at the same point of my training.

At our first meeting, my mobility instructor quietly posed the question, “Why don’t you just tell people you are blind?” He seemed curious. I didn’t know he was prying away at my tough, fossilized exterior. I immediately backed off any training I might have received, trying to continue living the lie I told myself.

He even patiently explained to me that blindness isn’t like a switch, being sighted or blind.

“I’m not,” I assured him,”I. am. clumsy.”

It took time to pierce through that tough defense I’d built up to protect myself for so long. Like many other vision-impaired individuals, I believed my life would change if I admitted I were blind. Like I would lose everything that I was.

How silly. 

It’s a word.

“Who I am can only get lost if I choose to perceive myself in a negative way, that I am losing something. But the truth is I define who I am, not what I am. Equipping myself with a positive mindset and learning new skills to adapt will always give me a better life and outlook.  I have that power to choose.”

Suddenly, one of the visually-impaired orientation and mobility instructors interjected, “You have to own it.”

Own it.

Accept it.

I liked that. What a great way to think of it.

I shared how my mobility instructor modeled positive and straightforward ways to respond to others we encountered when he taught me how to use a cane.  At the time, I felt like there was too much to grasp in those lessons.  In fact, I learned just as much from what I observed in his responses to the community as I did cane techniques.

“I’m so glad you’ve chosen to begin mobility training,” I said to the group. I told them what I wished someone had told me. “Losing one’s vision is not a prison sentence. Each of us can have a fulfilling life when we adapt to the challenges.  I am not, and you are not, an island to yourself. We need to connect with others and this training will help us get out and do that again.”

My mobility instructor has since retired. But his teaching continues on as I share the life lessons and how I learned to view myself through that training. He was direct. No nonsense. At times, unyielding. That’s what comes out in my talks as I strive to encourage others to see themselves in a positive light.

I concluded by saying, ” We are our own best advocates and we can only do that when see ourselves as people of vision with futures filled with hope even with our varying degrees of sight. Or without sight. Don’t doubt yourselves. Embrace your training because it will provide independence. Educating ourselves will lead to educating others. ”

Throughout and after my talk, attendees posed questions. I had feared not hearing all of the questions–but guess what? I did hear them all this time. Maybe it was the face-to-face interaction. Maybe I read their lips. But we had no difficulty understanding and sharing with each other.

I think together we took another step in “owning” this word.

My hope is that it’s losing its power over us. The more we share with each other and point out practical ways to navigate around word barriers, the faster we can focus on actual navigating skills to connect us with the people and places we enjoy being a part of.

My journey can be found in my book Mobility Matters: Stepping Out in Faith

My orientation and mobility instructor impacted my life and changed my outlook toward my future. Who has left a big impact on your life and changed the way you see things?

You have just read “Owning Your Blindness,” by Amy L. Bovaird. © Copyright March 26, 2015. If you enjoyed this post and learned something, please take a few minutes to leave a comment, like it or share it in your community.

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6 thoughts on “Owning Your Blindness

  • March 27, 2015 at 12:42 am

    Amy! What an encouragement you are. <3 Your address to the group was real, honest and I'm sure that they were blessed. I know that I am.

  • March 27, 2015 at 2:14 am

    Thank you, Barbara.
    My book is opening up different venues for speaking, It’s really been a great experience. I always take away a lot from it.
    Thanks so much for your kind words, Barbara.

  • March 27, 2015 at 3:02 am

    Thank you for your honest, heartfelt post – again! As I’ve shared in other comments, while I have a slight vision impairment, I deal with other physical challenges that hamper everyday activities (think buttoning and unbuttoning clothing, or anything that requires a pinching or gripping action between the thumb and fingers).

    I do like the advice to “own” our problems and struggles. It’s only in acknowledging them that we can learn to manage them.

  • March 27, 2015 at 3:08 am

    K Lee,
    That’s true. We all have certain struggles that to get past them, we have to “own” whatever they are and that’s really difficult to do. Bless you! Hope you can find some tools to adapt in order to continue with your sewing aspirations.

  • March 27, 2015 at 9:02 pm

    I am 31 and have been visually impaired all my life. Sure, it’s gotten progressively worse, but still I have not accepted all I should about my life. I get down on myself sometimes for that, but it is a continual uphill fight and I have to keep trying.
    My brother is who I look to. He deals with a lot of what I do, but in many ways he does it more effectively. He is growing bolder, but I fear I am going the opposite way. I talk to him when I need a pep talk. He gets me and he pushes me to do better and to go for more and to not accept defeat.
    I am lucky to have all that in someone.

  • March 28, 2015 at 12:50 am

    I think we all adapt in our own timing. I understand about the continual uphill climb and the setbacks. But you said it, we have to keep trying, moving forward. Your struggle reminds me of something from my childhood. We used to have a very high slide in my backyard. Remember from my book the slide my dad purchased from our town boro? Once It was so easy to slide down on wax paper. I got down in a jiffy. But when I tried to climb up, my feet kept slipping and I’d have to retrace my steps clinging to the wooden sides of it. I got slivers in my hands! Instead of going up the ladder to our tree house, I just kept trying to go up the down slide. That’s what happens when we struggle for long periods of time. We fight the direction and keep retracing our steps, inching up and sliding down. I want a shortcut ’cause I’m really tired. But when I climb up the stairs, my feet find the rungs of the ladder and it’s so much easier.That’s what it’s like with acceptance.
    Yes, I’m glad for your brother and that he pushes you. I’m sure you push him too. Acceptance comes easier on some days than others. But I feel your determination is such that you are going to fly up those stairs one day, one foot in front of the other. You’re going to stand at the top of the tree house where everyone will be cheering for you. And going down the slide is going to be a beautiful feeling because you’ll be going out further and faster on that wax paper, enjoying every moment of the ride! Be encouraged! So many are rooting for you to reach your dreams!
    Championing your efforts~

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