When Parts of Us Refuse to Cooperate

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 heads-up: We’re going to work this morning. I need your full cooperation. My eyes don’t care. It’s almost as though they cross their arms, give me a defiant glare, and say, Try me.

I work with what I get—eyes that won’t focus, squiggles, and a constant sense of disorientation. Eventually, after an hour or so, they give up the fight and work with me to the best of their ability.

It’s annoying. How can I have a part of me that I desperately need, yet that part acts as though I’m the enemy?

It made me wonder how many other parts of me have a stubborn mind of their own. Not in the physical sense—I only have the one disability—but in the deeper places.

Do I cling to habits or thought patterns that no longer serve me? Do I resist vulnerability in certain relationships?Is there a part of my soul that stands off to the side, arms crossed, justified in its stance?

I can think of a few.

And if I can be honest, I’ve learned to be gentle with those parts. They’re likely wounded. They probably need a hug—and maybe a good cry.

Then we work it out.

Last January, I had a moment like this. I wrote a letter to that part of me. I told her I loved her. That it was going to be okay.

This has been part of my journey over the past few years—seeking wholeness. Not just surviving, but learning how to thrive. To stand with open arms instead of crossed ones.

I know I’m not alone in this. And neither are you.The invitation is there—along with the grace to meet ourselves with kindness along the way.

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