Still seeing in the dark.

An Afternoon Reflection from a Totally Blind Advocate I am totally blind. I have no natural eyes. That sentence alone often carries assumptions for people who can see. Many imagine darkness. Emptiness. Nothingness. But my experience of blindness is not empty—and it is not dark in the way people often think. In my inner world, what I call my mind’s eye , there is color. This is not something that happened overnight. After losing my eyes, my experience began with small sparks and scattered spots of color. Blues here. Browns there. Fleeting flashes that didn’t yet have meaning. Over time, especially after my right eye was removed in 2016, those inner sensations became more frequent, more fluid, and more emotionally connected. My brain adapted. It learned a new language. Today, that language showed itself again in a way that felt especially clear. After a quiet nap this afternoon, while resting and listening to stories on my phone, my inner world shifted. The deep orange that oft...

The Hidden Truth About Caregiver Burnout: When You’re the Only One Holding the Load Caregiving is often called an act of love — and it truly is. But it’s also one of the hardest, most exhausting roles someone can take on, especially when it feels like you’re doing it all by yourself. Since my grandma’s hip surgery in April 2023, I’ve been there for her every step of the way — through her recovery, her illnesses, and as she regains some independence. I help with the things she can no longer do on her own, like bathing, lotioning her back, and laundry. I do it because I love her. But every day, the “small” tasks pile up: bringing her ice, fetching water, reminding her to take her pills. Tasks she could do herself now, but still leans on me for. The emotional weight of caregiving isn’t always talked about enough. It’s more than physical labor — it’s the feeling of being the only one showing up, of carrying the load when others step back. It’s the exhaustion that builds up when you d...

Space Today, after a short nap, my mind created something gentle. A light purple with a little pink mixed in.   Two colors I love, blended together in memory. I am totally blind, but color still exists for me in thought, emotion, and imagination. This wasn’t sight. It was comfort. It was peace. Sometimes the mind takes pictures without eyes.

The orange is still here. It didn’t soften. It didn’t drift away. It didn’t quietly change into something else. It’s still burning strongly. Still glowing brightly. And there’s something about that persistence that feels important enough to sit with. This isn’t a loud color. It’s not chaotic or demanding. It’s a plain, bright orange — steady, warm, alive. The kind of glow that doesn’t rush you but doesn’t let you disappear either. It holds its place. I’ve noticed that for the past few mornings now, this is how the day begins. Orange arrives first. Not as a warning. Not as a question. Just as presence. And today, instead of fading as the hours passed, it stayed. Seeing in the dark has always meant trusting what doesn’t announce itself with words. It means paying attention to what lingers. What repeats. What shows up again and again without needing an explanation. This orange feels like that. It feels like energy that knows how to sustain itself. Like creativity that doesn’t bur...

The hot pink never left me today. It stayed — steady, present, evolving — like it had something to say without needing words. What began earlier as pink leaning toward red slowly shifted throughout the afternoon, settling more fully into a hot pink undertone. Not loud. Not demanding. Just there. There’s something deeply reassuring about that kind of presence. I’ve learned that when you’re someone who “sees in the dark,” you don’t always experience things in straight lines. You notice gradients. You notice movement. You notice when something doesn’t disappear but instead transforms . This color didn’t feel chaotic or intrusive. It felt grounded. Alive. Expressive. Hot pink carries warmth, confidence, and a kind of joyful defiance. It doesn’t ask permission to exist. It simply shows up as itself. That feels meaningful right now. I’m in a season where my voice is being received. My words are landing. People are responding, engaging, and connecting — not because I’m trying harder, bu...

     The color is still with me — but it’s changing. What was once a hot pink-red leaning heavily into red is now moving a little more toward hot pink. The warmth is still there. The intensity hasn’t disappeared. But there’s a softness arriving alongside it, and that feels important enough to notice. I’m learning that seeing in the dark isn’t about clinging to what stays the same. It’s about paying attention to what shifts. This color doesn’t feel restless or unstable. It feels like motion with intention. Like something that knows where it’s going, even if I don’t have the language for it yet. A hot pink carries boldness, but it also carries expression. It’s vibrant without being harsh. It shows up unapologetically. There’s something comforting about realizing that energy can evolve without losing its strength. As someone who navigates the world through lived experience, disability, adaptation, and awareness, I’ve come to trust subtle changes more than dramatic ones....