A story about low vision, inner resistance, and learning to meet ourselves with gentleness. It happens every time I have a morning shift. Without fail, I arrive at work at 10 a.m., and despite my alertness, caffeine intake, and good mood, my eyes refuse to cooperate. In case you’ve forgotten, I have low vision. Most days I get along just fine at work—even with my disability—except in the mornings. For the first hour or two of my shift, my eyes and brain argue. I give my eyes

A rushed October morning, the scent of fallen leaves, and a quiet invitation to let go. It was 9:30 on a late October morning, and I was hurriedly walking to catch the bus for work. The sky was a clear blue, the sun was still low, and the air had that crisp freshness that wakes up all your senses. As someone with low vision, I’ve learned to rely on my other senses to stay aware and experience the world around me. Like a dog, I’ll often stop and sniff the air, a bush, a boot t

A season of firsts, a few lasts, and the bittersweet realization that time never slows down. If you asked me now, “Would you do it again?” my knee-jerk reaction would be a hard no. But in hindsight? I’d consider it. Some aspects of it, anyway. Certainly not adorning an afghan and walking down a runway (that’s a one-time-only kind of thing), but maybe next time with a less… unconventional outfit. I’m all for stepping outside of my comfort zone, but a girl has to have her bound